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Sloane stares at him for a beat, almost incredulous. “You were comfortable discussing my sex life in front of random strangers five minutes ago.”

Preston looks ready to combust. Francis, meanwhile, has gone very quiet. “You told us the relationship ended because she was unwilling to support your career,” he says.

Preston’s head snaps toward him. “Can we not do this here?”

“Interesting request considering you started it here.”

I like his father.

Preston looks at me instead, clearly deciding I’m the easier opponent. “Whatever Sloane told you, you don’t know what our relationship was like.”

“I don’t need ten years of context to recognize poor judgment when it introduces itself. You’re Vice President of Acquisitions and Strategy.”

“What does my role have to do with any of this?”

“That role requires discernment, restraint, and the ability to assess risk.” I glance at Sloane. “You’ve demonstrated none of the three.”

Francis says nothing, but his expression changes as he looks at his son. Preston sees it too and tries to switch tactics. “You’re seriously going to let this affect a deal that has nothing to do with her? Is she really worth the risk to your business?”

“You misunderstand me, Preston. I’m not allowing her to affect the deal.” He visibly relaxes. “You did.”

Francis exhales through his nose, thoroughly pissed that his son has blown this deal before it even made it to the table. “Nathaniel, I assure you my son’s personal behavior is not representative of Lane Capital.”

“Then your first strategic decision should be deciding whether he represents Lane Capital at all. I don't separate character from business, Francis. Especially when trust is involved.” My attention returns to Preston. “That isn't morality. It's due diligence.”

Preston looks at Sloane, anger replacing embarrassment. “Are you happy now?”

Her expression barely changes. “Actually, yeah. I am.”

“Because of him?”

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, because even now, Preston can't imagine Sloane's happiness existing independently of another man. From the way her expression settles, I suspect she's reached the same conclusion.

“Think what you want,” she says, almost softly, “I don't care. My happiness was never yours to define, Preston.”

He opens his mouth, but she dismisses him, turning back to his parents whose faces tell two different stories: Regina devastated, Francis furious.

“Goodnight, Francis, Regina,” she says, and there is genuine warmth in her voice when she adds, “It was good seeing you.”

Regina reaches for her hand. “Sloane, I’m so sorry. But I’m glad you’re happy. Please take care of yourself.”

Sloane squeezes her hand, the faintest suggestion of a real smile on her lips. “Thank you.”

Francis gives me a grave nod. I return it. He gives Sloane a fatherly hug before telling her to call more often, and then I usher her towards the car, ready to be done with them.

Sloane is a few steps ahead of me when Preston calls her name. She doesn't stop and I almost smile at that. She's spent enough of her evening explaining herself to a man who never deserved the privilege of knowing her.

Unfortunately, Preston hasn't reached the same conclusion. He catches up just as she reaches the car, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her around to face him.

“I'm not finished talking to you.”

Sloane jerks free. “Well, I am. Keep your fucking hands off me.”

My hand closes around the back of Preston's neck, and I pull him away from her before he can find another reason to touch her. He stumbles, reaching for my wrist, but I steer him several feet toward the curb.

“Nathaniel,” Sloane calls.

“Get in the car, Sola. Me and Mr. Lane are going to have a little chat.”