His hand settled at the small of my back as we walked through the foyer. We had been invited for a business dinner. I still didn’t know what it entailed because Julian said it was a surprise. I was nervous—sweat ran down the middle of my back—and I was glad I’d chosen to wear my Hanifa Taliah Knit Dress instead of something clingy and silk, a small concession to how out of my element I felt.
“The famous Elara!” he boomed.
A man who looked nothing like Julian met us halfway. The voice was warm, rolling. Julian Senior was nothing like the austere patriarch I’d imagined. He had been at the banquet, but he was rarely seen in the news. Tall, silver-haired, and athletically built but soft around the edges, the only thing he seemed to share with Julian was the boyish grin. He took my hand in both of his, his grip firm and genuine.
“Stunning,” he declared, winking at his son. “He finally got something right.”
I laughed, disarmed. Julian pinched the bridge of his nose as if enduring a familiar, fond torture.
The warm welcome froze over the moment we entered the dining room. Two guests were already seated. A man in his late fifties with a pinched, sweating face—Gerard Moreau, CEO of Fortier Global Logistics. My professional mind snapped to attention. A deal with them was the holy grail for anyone dealing in intimates. My heart sped up. Were they here for me or for the Hales?
Beside him was his daughter—polished, blonde, and beautiful. I recognized her from industry digests: Seraphine Moreau, former Head of Special Acquisitions at LuxePartout. There had been vague rumors of a sudden, quiet resignation a few months back.
Julian’s mother was dressed in black, looking like an assassin, sitting at the head of the table. Everyone was smiling. Too widely. It made me think I was missing something. The room felt staged.
Then Julian and his mother exchanged a glance—a flicker of silent understanding passed between them in a nanosecond. They thought I missed it. I didn’t. The air hummed with a tension no amount of saffron or silver could disguise.
Vivienne rose with perfect posture, dressed in a fitted black silk gown. Vivienne Hale always intimidated me—not because she was rude; she wasn’t—but because she radiated the kind of power women earned, not inherited. I wanted that.
“Everyone, this is Elara Vance,” Vivienne said, her voice smooth like a pour of chilled champagne. “The formidable mind currently saving Ashworth Intimates, and, more importantly, the reason my son has been marginally less insufferable lately.”
Gerard Moreau offered a stiff nod. “A pleasure,” he said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t.
I sat. Julian did too, moving the ornate dinner chair closer. I raised my eyebrow in his direction. He gave me a stiff smile and a pat on the thigh. I frowned internally. What was going on?
Seraphine’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Elara Vance,” she said, as if tasting the name. “Of course. I met your husband and his… Brielle a few times. And it’s still Ashworth, isn’t it? I heard rumors of divorce. If it’s true, you’re handling it with… remarkable poise.”
The barb was delicate, expertly placed. Julian’s hand, resting on the back of my chair, went rigid.
“Her name,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, “is Elara Vance. And her personal life isn’t a topic for discussion. Unless yours is too, and you want to discuss the specifics of your own recent… career transition, Seraphine.”
A frozen silence crashed over the table. Seraphine’s porcelain complexion flushed. Gerard looked like he might be sick. Vivienne watched, a faint, approving tilt to her head. The air wasn’t just tense now; it was poisoned.
Dinner was a masterclass in performative civility. Julian Senior told charming stories. Gerard Moreau tried not to look at me. Seraphine watched me with the detached interest of a scientist dissecting a specimen. It was all perfectly horrifying.
When the servers returned to clear the plates, Vivienne clasped her hands together with a bright, brittle smile. “Well. Now that the food has played its part, let’s discuss why we’re all here.”
Gerard straightened and finally looked my way. “Fortier Global is prepared to offer your family’s company a five-year distribution partnership valued at sixty million. Expansion intoSwitzerland, Belgium, and parts of Eastern Europe. A massive undertaking, but one we’re eager to finalize.”
A contract was slid across the table. My breath caught. Sixty million dollars. That wasn’t a contract—it was oxygen. It would save Ashworth Intimates and guarantee international expansion.
“That’s… significant.” I blinked, trying to keep my expression neutral. Julian’s thumb brushed my knee under the table—a small, reassuring gesture. He wanted me to simply take what I was being given.
I lifted my chin. “What’s the catch?”
Gerard laughed, hollow. “Catch? No catch. Mutual benefit.”
Seraphine speared a piece of fruit with delicate precision. “Fortier usually chooses partners with more… stability,” she said. “But Julian assures us you’re quite the asset, so who needs to think about money and losses in an arrangement like this?”
My jaw tensed. This bitch was trying to be funny. I looked at her, and for the first time, I saw it. Her eyes were bright—but with fear. She caught me watching and narrowed her eyes, mouthing something I couldn’t read.
Then she outright insulted me. “I do hope your… hands-on management style translates to the European market, Elara. It’s a bit more… civilized over there.”
She offered me a smile so sweet it rotted. A knot of anger tightened in my stomach. Julian was getting ready to snap.
“Excuse me,” I said quickly, cutting off his explosion. “I’ll just be a moment.”
I slipped out of the room before anybody could say anything. I turned down a hallway, realizing only then that I didn’t know where the restroom was. I finally found a discreet bathroomtucked out of sight, closed the door, and let out a steady breath. It was cool and scented with expensive soap. I braced my hands on the marble vanity, breathing through my annoyance. I didn’t feel like this deal was a win. There was something I wasn’t being told.
