“Tell me about Chicago,” I say.
“What about it?”
“What was your life like there?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I want to know you.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she closes her laptop. “My life in Chicago was fine until my mother got sick. Then it was hospitals and treatments and watching her die. After she was gone, I had nothing left there except a house full of memories and a boyfriend who cheated on me.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Are you?”
“I’m sorry because I know what it’s like to lose someone who matters.” I think about my own mother, dead since I was nineteen. “And I’m sorry because you deserved better than what that asshole gave you.”
Her expression softens slightly. “Thank you.”
We’re quiet for the rest of the flight.
Chicago is cold and gray when we land. The car takes us to the Peninsula Hotel, where I’ve booked the entire top floor.
“The entire floor?” Savannah asks as we ride the elevator up.
“Security.”
“Right. Because you have enemies.”
“Becausewehave enemies.”
She flinches at that.
Her room is across the hall from mine. Separate spaces but close enough that I can reach her if needed. The bodyguards take positions at either end of the hallway.
“This is excessive,” she mutters, and disappears into her room without another word.
The business meeting is at 2:00 PM. A hotel property on Michigan Avenue that’s been mismanaged but has good bones. Perfect for my portfolio.
Savannah is sharp during the meeting. Asks the right questions, takes detailed notes, and makes suggestions that actually improve my negotiating position.
The sellers are impressed. So am I.
Dinner is at 7:00 PM. I choose Gibson’s Bar & Steakhouse, a place I’ve been to a dozen times for business. The lighting is dim, the booths are made of leather, and the steaks are among the best in the city. Pedro and the other guard take a table near the entrance with clear sight lines to our booth.
Savannah orders the fillet. I get the rib eye. We discuss the meeting, the hotel property, and her analysis of the Chicago market. She’s animated when she talks about work, her hands moving as she explains demographic shifts and tourism patterns.
“The property needs a complete rebrand,” she’s saying. “The location is perfect, but the previous owners let it get dated. If you modernize the rooms and focus marketing on younger travelers, you could increase occupancy by at least thirty percent in the first year.”
“You sound confident about that.”
“I am confident. I know this city and what people want.” She takes a sip of her water. “This is what I’m good at.”
“I can see that.”
The meal is good. The conversation is better. For a few hours, I can almost pretend this is normal, that we’re a married couple having dinner in her hometown. That she remembers me.
But the way she holds herself, the careful distance she maintains even across a table, reminds me that we’re not there yet.
