I stand behind the main console with one hand braced against the edge of the desk and my eyes locked on the camera feed from Conference Room Three.
Caterina sits alone at the long table.
She looks calm in her business attire. Hair smooth over one shoulder. A slim file folder in front of her, a gold pen sitting neatly on top. The always-present tablet sitting next to that.
She looks like Caterina Conti, executive director of The Regent Club, prepared to repair vendor relationships after a difficult month of bad press, shaken confidence, and public speculation.
I hate that I am not well enough to be her bodyguard right now. That I cannot be in that room, standing between her and whatever comes through the door.
Everything in me wants to get out of this room and go to her.
My side gives one hard pulse under my shirt when I shift my weight.
A not-so-gentle reminder about why I can’t.
The wound is healing again, but slower this time. It had been reopened badly enough that I cannot even pretend it is a minor inconvenience. The doctors kept me in the hospital longer than I wanted, which was one minute after I woke up. Caterina threatened me with everything if I left against medical advice.
Then Teresa really did call my mother, and she came down immediately to badger me as well.
Now I am upright, dressed, and armed, but not fully recovered. Not fast enough to be down there if she needs me.
I hate it.
On the screen, Caterina turns one page in the file folder.
The door to Conference Room Three opens.
Every muscle in my body locks as vendors start coming in for the meeting.
One of the men is late thirties, dark hair, dark eyes. He is handsome in the way that some men like to use as a negotiation tactic.
“Matthew Carr,” comes his voice through the monitor. He takes a seat on the other side of the table, and I’m a little relieved he didn’t sit in the seat next to Caterina’s.
A couple more men file into the room and do the same: introduce themselves to Caterina and find a seat.
On the screen, Caterina smiles. Professional and warm.
“Gentlemen,” she says, extending a hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Caterina sits again, smooth as silk.
“I appreciate you making the time,” she says. “Given recent events, I wanted to speak directly with some of our vendors. I know the last few weeks have created uncertainty, and I do not want concerns to fester when they can be addressed openly.”
The one who introduced himself as Daniel Sloane smiles faintly. “Very considerate.”
Caterina inclines her head. “The Regent Club relies on strong partnerships. If faith has been shaken, it matters to me that we restore it.”
Matthew’s fingers rest on the arm of his chair as he looks around the room. “Lovely place.”
“Thank you,” Caterina says.
“I mean the whole operation,” he adds. “You’ve done well here.”
“I have.”
Not we.
Not my family.
