"Come on, Nora," he says. Voice even, almost casual, but there's an edge that presses against me. "You're not really listening. You know how much rides on this. On us. On me. We're a team—don't forget that."
A team.
The word echoes, hollow.
My pulse tightens. Something hot rises in my throat. I swallow it down and smile. The polite, well-trained smile that has kept me alive in rooms like this for two years.
The waiter hovers, hands trembling slightly.
Wes tilts his head at him. Voice casual. "Make sure they serve it properly."
Not a request. An order disguised as a gentle reminder.
The waiter nods, practically melting, and I catch his eyes flicker toward me.
I sip more wine.
If the wine costs eighteen grand, it should at least have the decency to improve the personality of the man across from me.
The next course arrives.
Wes inspects it with the precision of a surgeon—tiny gestures magnified into intimidation. One scallop becomes a verdict.
He prods, pokes, frowns, mutters under his breath about technique, seasoning, and presentation.
"Too dry," he says. "Did you tell them how to cook this?"
His sigh is heavy and deliberate.
My stomach twists. My hand curls into the napkin, gripping it like a lifeline.
"You're making a scene," I whisper.
"No," he says smoothly, almost amused. "I'm just reminding everyone how things are done. I don't settle for anything less than what I expect—why should anyone else?"
I switch plates. Not because I want to. Because it's easier and I can't handle his temper tantrums tonight.
I notice the subtle ways he exerts authority over others. So slight you might miss it if you weren't watching: the quick tilt of his head as a waiter approaches, the polite smile that isn't for the guest but a reminder of who has power in the room, the way he leans forward just slightly to invade someone's personal space without seeming threatening. Nudges that make people bend without realizing they've done it.
I watch it. Sip my wine. Allow the darkness of amusement to creep in.
You should've warned me, universe, that charm this precise could cut so thin.
Another course comes out. He tastes, frowns, instructs, dismisses.
I contemplate standing up. Walking out. Slipping past the valet, down the pristine steps, disappearing into the LA night.
Time slips further. The wine loosens me. The conversation dulls and becomes an abstract buzz.
I drift.
Eden drifts in front of my eyes, almost tangible, almost touchable.
I'm there for a heartbeat. Inhaling salt air. Laughing in the wind. Spinning in sunlight that asks nothing of me.
And then?—
"Nora."
