Chapter 2
His hand stayed locked in Daniel's and I could not make my mouth close.
The handshake had gone on too long. That was the first thing I registered beyond the sound of my own question still hanging there — Daniel, what paperwork? — because neither of them had answered it. Daniel's grip was steady, polite, the gold watch on his wrist catching the chandelier light. Mr. Calder had shifted that enormous bouquet of red roses to his left arm to free his right hand, the black paper crinkling against his dark suit, the red ribbon pressed flat to his chest while he tried to hold both things at once without dropping either.
"Daniel," Mr. Calder said, and he gave a short, professional nod. His voice was low, measured, the kind of voice he used on client calls when he wanted to end a conversation. "Good to finally meet you. My wife — my wife mentioned you might be joining us."
He didn't look at me. He looked at Daniel, and then he looked past him, scanning the room for a witness or an exit.
Daniel smiled. It wasn't his real smile. It was the calm, controlled one he'd worn since he stood up.
"Thanks for having her," Daniel said. He released the handshake then, cleanly, without a squeeze or a tug, and took a half step back. He gestured with an open palm to the table, to the two brown leather chairs and the round table with its white cloth still perfect except for the faint tremor in the wine glasses. "Please. Sit. We were just ordering."
No one sat.
Mr. Calder adjusted the bouquet again, higher against his shoulder, and I saw the effort it cost him not to set it down. The small vase of red roses in the center of the table sat between the two wine glasses, the candle between them still burning, wax pooling. Someone at the table behind us had stopped talking. I felt every stare without turning my head.
I was still standing. I had pushed my chair back so hard its legs had shrieked against the floor, and now I stood in my red satin wrap dress with my hands nowhere to put them. I clasped them, unclasped them, then pressed them flat to the table edge to keep them still. My smartphone was face-down by my plate where I'd left it, screen hidden, and next to it my wine glass shivered. Not from anyone touching it. From my hand. My fingertips were on the tablecloth and the whole glass trembled, the red wine catching light and shaking in a tight circle.
"Please, don't make a scene," I had said in the video. I heard my own voice again in my head and felt heat flood my neck. I wasn't making it. He was.
"Jessica," Daniel said quietly, looking at me. He didn't raise his voice. He pulled my chair out another inch with two fingers, an invitation. "Sit down. You're making Mr. Calder uncomfortable."
Mr. Calder cleared his throat. "Really, it's fine. Perhaps — perhaps we could step just outside for a moment? The lobby by the elevators is quiet. We can talk there without—" He glanced at the tables around us, at a server hovering with a water pitcher and no place to go. "Without disturbing dinner."
It was the most minimal answer he could give. He wasn't going to touch the word paperwork. He wasn't going to explain the bouquet or why he'd brought it or why my husband was standing in front of him like he'd been expected. He just wanted distance from the table, from the watching room.
Daniel nodded as if Calder had suggested something generous.
"Good idea," he said. "Lobby's better for this."
He didn't ask me if I wanted to go. He just reached for his own chair and pushed it in neatly, then picked up his napkin from where it had fallen and folded it once and set it beside his plate. The gesture was so ordinary, so controlled, that my throat tightened.
I didn't move. The wine in my glass stilled for a second when I lifted my hands, then started shaking again the moment I set them down. My phone was still face-down, buzzing once against the wood, a vibration I felt through the tablecloth more than heard, and I flipped it over without thinking. No new message. Just the black screen reflecting my face.
"Jessica?" Mr. Calder said, softer now, trying to make eye contact.
I couldn't sit. If I sat, we would pretend this was dinner. If I sat, the server would come and ask about appetizers.
"Okay," I said. My voice came out thinner than I wanted. "Okay, lobby."
May you like
Daniel was already stepping away from the table, hand light on the back of my chair as if to guide me, not touching me yet but close enough that I felt the heat of it. Mr. Calder turned with the bouquet still pinned to his side, red roses bobbing at chest height as he walked, and the few steps to the aisle felt endless with every eye in the high-rise restaurant on the red dress moving between two dark suits.
We left the table set. Two full wine glasses, two plates with gold rims, rose petals scattered, candle burning, everything waiting like we would be right back.
