I don’t respond.
“Lucky me.”
“Most people would consider it an opportunity.”
“Most people aren’t being forced into it.”
“Fair,” I say.
She glances up at that.
“Don’t worry,” I add. “No one expects you to enjoy it.”
“That’s reassuring.”
The waiter arrives before she can say anything else.
I order for both of us. Sea bass for her. Veal for me.
I nod to the waiter. “Wine?”
She hesitates. “I don’t really?—”
“Red or white.”
“Red.”
I order without asking anything else.
She watches that. Files it away.
“Can I ask something?”
“You can ask.”
She looks around the restaurant. “This assessment. Is it actually about galas and fundraisers, or is there something else you’re looking for?”
Direct.
“What would I be looking for?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” She leans back. “You don’t strike me as the type to do anything without a reason. So, either this dinner means more than I’m seeing, or you’re making choices that don’t fit your usual logic.”
“My usual logic.”
“You eliminate problems. You do not take them to dinner. So, why am I here?”
The question sits between us.
This is usually where I cut the conversation off—before she convinces herself she has any real leverage.
I let it go a little further.
“You think this is irrational.”
“Definitely.” She meets my eyes without flinching. “I’ve seen your calendar. You’re booked from sunrise to midnight most days. And yet you’re here, spending an evening deciding whether I can hold my own at one of your events.”
“You’d be surprised how many people can’t.”
