Page 149 of His Good Girl

Benjamin did not move. I just looked at him.

“She is involved in this too,” he almost argued.

“She is not sitting across from a man using her as leverage.”

“Agreed. But sheisin it.”

I hated that he was right.

“I’ll tell her after.”

“Before you make any decision?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Benjamin picked up the card. “For the record, this has the texture of corporate mafia.”

“Meridian is not the mafia.”

“No. The mafia has the decency to use fewer euphemisms.”

Grant Vale looked like a man designed by a committee of expensive villains who had been told to avoid anything overtly criminal. He was in his mid-fifties with silver hair, wearing a navy suit and no wedding ring. He arrived with a leather folio and one associate, a woman in a gray dress whose expression suggested she had never once wasted a blink.

I sat at the head of the table. Tom sat to my left with a legal pad. Dana sat on my other side. Benjamin stood behind me near the wall, tablet in hand, eyes bright with contained violence.

Vale smiled as he sat. “Mr. Rowe. Thank you for making time to meet with me.”

“I didn’t.”

His smile did not change. “Then I appreciate the adjustment.”

“We’re recording this,” Tom said.

Vale’s associate set a small recorder on the table. “As are we.”

“How civilized,” Benjamin murmured.

Vale glanced at him. “Mr. Mercer.”

“Mr. Vale.”

“You have a reputation.”

“I’m flattered. Let’s continue.”

Vale opened his folio. “I’ll be direct.”

“Please,” I said. “I’d hate for this to become unpleasant later.”

Another small smile. “There are concerns among certain interested parties about Rowe Structural’s continued involvement in the Hartwell Civic Center redevelopment.”

“Lang lost the bid,” Dana said. “They can remain concerned in the parking lot.”

“I don’t represent Lang.”

“No,” Benjamin said. “You represent the miasma surrounding Lang.”

Vale ignored him. “This is not about bid disappointment. It is about risk, public trust, and reputational stability. The city cannot afford distraction.”