Accurate enough to be impressive. "Go on."
"The real business happens up here, away from the performance below. Down there is theater. Up here is where decisions get made." She meets my eyes directly. "It's brilliant, actually. And probably extremely profitable."
The genuine appreciation in her voice does something warm to my chest. Most people see Vestige as either sinful entertainment or a necessary evil. She sees it as the carefully crafted enterprise it actually is.
"You approve?"
"I respect competence," she replies. "Whatever else you are, you're good at this."
Before I can respond to that unexpected compliment, my floor manager appears at the table's edge. Marcus is reliable, efficient, and smart enough to not comment on my unusual companion beyond a polite nod in her direction.
"Sir. Ready for the weekly review?"
I should send Heidi away while we discuss business. Revenue figures, staffing issues, security concerns—nothing she needs to hear. But the bond's pressure increases the moment I consider asking her to move to another table, and something protective and possessive rebels at the idea of letting her out of sight in a place like this.
"Yes. Heidi, this is Rantel, my floor manager. Rantel, Heidi."
Rantel offers her a respectful greeting before settling into the chair beside mine with a folder of reports. As he begins outlining the week's numbers, I'm peripherally aware of Heidi listening with obvious interest. She doesn't interrupt or ask questions, but her attention never wavers.
Twenty minutes later, when Rantel finishes his presentation and excuses himself, she's the first to speak.
"Your revenue is up eighteen percent from last quarter," she observes. "That's impressive growth for an established business."
I stare at her. "You were following the numbers?"
"You were discussing them three feet away from me. It would have been impossible not to follow along." She sips her wine, apparently unaware that she's just demonstrated mathematical skills that most nobles would struggle to match. "The seasonal variations are interesting. I assume winter brings higher volume because people want warm places to gather?"
"Among other factors." I'm still processing the casual way she absorbed and analyzed complex financial data. "Do you often listen to business discussions?"
"I listen to everything. It's a survival skill." She shrugs like advanced mathematical analysis is something every street thief masters as a matter of course. "Numbers don't lie the way people do."
Another mystery to add to the growing collection. Her education, her obvious intelligence, the cultivated way she speaks when she's not actively trying to intimidate or deflect—none of it matches the background I'd assumed for someone who makes her living through theft.
Before I can pursue that line of inquiry, my suppliers arrive. Two xaphan brothers who import rare spirits from the southern regions, men I've done business with for years. Their greeting is warm but professional, though I don't miss the way their gazes linger on Heidi with obvious curiosity.
"Gentlemen," I acknowledge, rising to clasp hands with each of them. "Heidi, meet Darius and Evander Stellan. They keep Vestige stocked with the finest amerinth money can buy."
The brothers offer polite greetings, but their attention keeps drifting back to her with the kind of speculation that sets my teeth on edge. Not lustful—they're too professional for that—but interested in a way that suggests they're trying to place her significance in my life.
As we settle into discussion of shipping schedules and pricing adjustments, I become increasingly aware of how the evening's dynamics are affecting me. Every time someone looks at Heidi with interest, possessive heat flares through my chest. When she shifts in her chair, drawing attention to the elegant line of her legs beneath emerald silk, my hands clench involuntarily.
The bond is making everything more intense, but this feels like something deeper than magical compulsion. This feels personal.
Midway through our discussion of transport security, Heidi excuses herself to visit the powder room. I watch her navigate the VIP area with fluid grace, noting how she instinctively chooses a path that keeps her back to walls and exits within sight.
"Beautiful woman," Darius comments once she's out of earshot.
"Indeed," Evander agrees. "Quite striking. How long have you had her?"
The casual assumption that I own her should prompt immediate correction. Instead, I hear myself saying, "That's not your concern."
Both brothers raise eyebrows at my sharp tone, but they're smart enough not to press. We return to business discussions, though I find my attention split between contract negotiations and tracking Heidi's progress across the lounge.
She's been gone too long. The powder room visit should have taken five minutes, ten at most. It's been fifteen, and the bond's pressure is building toward actual discomfort.
"Excuse me," I interrupt whatever Evander is saying about customs delays. "I'll be right back."
I rise from the table with enough controlled urgency that both brothers immediately understand something's wrong, though they're too professional to comment. The VIP lounge suddenly feels too large, too full of potential hiding places and exits I can't monitor simultaneously.
