“You don’t talk down to them. You expect them to meet you.”
He polished off his protein bar. “That’s how you build men.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The lift doors opened directly into the penthouse. No foyer. No threshold. Just uncompromising opulence unfolding in every direction.
It was in a different part of Northgate than Gage’s place but twice as large, and, based on what she could see so far, ten times more intimidating.
To the left, a staircase wrapped around the space in a smooth, architectural curve—brushed gold railings, polished stone steps, and not a single sign of wear. The floors were cool stone, the walls pale and textured. A crescent-shaped sofa anchored the living space, perfectly arranged beneath a wide, recessed television and a sleek, unlit fireplace. Beyond that, a curved bar gleamed like a command post, set with crystal, silver, and untouched glasses.
Bea stood still for a moment, taking it in. This wasn’t merely a place you lived in. It was a place you maintained power from.
She fidgeted, pulling at the folds of her dress.
“You look perfect,” Gage murmured beside her.
Bea wore a floor-length gown in soft, silken chiffon in a shade of winter white just shy of silver, with crimson florals blooming across the skirt and bodice in bold, careful sweeps. The necklinewas edged in delicate beading, the waist ruched and wrapped, and the gossamer sleeves floated to her wrists.
Georgina’s advice had been: “When Gage says wear something nice to dinner, remember he’s going to be in a three-piece suit and dress accordingly.”
Georgie understood high-stakes attire the way surgeons understood arteries: one wrong move and everything could bleed. Bea was smart enough not to second-guess a specialist.
He led her inside.
The table was obscenely long for four people. Sleek black lacquer. Chairs spaced like territory.
Elena stood first. “Bea. How lovely to see you.” Poised, elegant, not cold—just refined within an inch of humanity. Chestnut hair pinned back. A cream sheath dress, diamonds at her ears.
“Thank you for having me,” Bea said.
Victor rose and nodded. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”
No kiss on the cheek. No hug. But somehow welcoming, in an austere way.
They sat.
Gage took the seat across from his mother, beside Bea. His father sat at the head of the table.
Dinner unfolded in quiet, ordered courses. Chilled soup with lemongrass. Salmon with a citrus glaze. A palate cleanser that tasted like crushed air.
“Montenegro still chasing the London committee?”
Bea glanced at Gage. His knife hadn’t paused. “Yes.”
Elena lifted her glass but didn’t sip. “I heard he floated a revised model last week. Open equity?”
“London didn’t bite,” Gage replied. “We’re five weeks into Phase One now.”
Victor gave the smallest nod. “Clause Fourteen.”
“Holds,” Gage confirmed. “I had Nate initiate with two of Montenegro’s original backers. They’ve taken a minority stake in our model. Three percent each.”
“You turned his coalition,” Victor summarized.
“It was the most efficient way to move forward.”
Bea listened. This wasn’t just dinner conversation. It was an unofficial board meeting.
