"I know that, too."
We sat for a minute, having said everything we needed to say.
"The Henderson auction," I said.
"Elevate will handle it. They're transitioning all current bookings." She reached across the desk and covered my hand with hers briefly. "I'll refer you everywhere I personally can. You have my word on that."
"Thank you, Maryanne."
I stood. Shook her hand. Walked back through the open plan office with my shoulders straight and my face arranged into something professional and calm.
I made it to the parking lot.
The Tesla was still there. Leaning against the driver's door, arms folded, expression pleasantly neutral, was a woman I recognized and didn't at the same time.
Mid-forties, expensive haircut, the posture that came from years of walking into rooms and knowing she was the most prepared person there. Though how she walked anywhere in those heels was anyone’s guess. They’d have crippled me in five minutes flat.
The other thing that threw me was that the Elevate website had her looking ten years younger and considerably less predatory, proving filters could only do so much.
She smiled when she saw me. "Ms. Becker. I've been hoping we'd get to meet."
"Ms. Morrison." I didn't bother pretending I didn’t know who she was.
Something flickered in her expression. She'd expected surprise, and I hadn't given her any. "You've done your research."
"I know who's been circling my business for the past month." I stopped a few feet from her. Not close enough to suggest I wanted a conversation, not far enough to suggest I was rattled. "I also know what you're doing and how you've done it in other markets."
"We're offering local businesses the chance to be part of something larger." She said it with practiced ease, as though she'd delivered that line many times. "It doesn't have to be adversarial."
"You've pressured my suppliers. You've spread rumors about health violations. You've poached my staff."
I kept my voice even. "Which part of that isn't adversarial?"
She tilted her head. "We're very interested in Coogan's Catering specifically. You've built something impressive. Our offer reflects that."
"I've seen your offer."
"The revised terms are considerably more generous."
"I'm sure they are." I looked at her, jaw clenched. At this woman who'd been running the same play in town after town and was now standing in a parking lot telling me she was impressed. "I'm not interested."
Something gave in her expression. Not exactly a surprise. A recalibration.
"Ms. Becker?—"
"I need to get back to work." I turned toward my van. "I have a business to run."
I felt her watching me cross the parking lot. I didn't look back.
Inside the van, I sat unable to move. Maryanne's face in my mind. Four years of finger food platters and clifftop auctions and genuine warmth, and it had ended in an office with a rehearsed apology. A move straight out of Elevate's playbook, and Maryanne hadn't even known she was in it.
I started the engine.
There was a meeting to organize, a corporation to fight, and a family depending on me not falling apart in a parking lot.
I pulled out onto the street and didn't let myself look in the rearview mirror.
Twenty-four hours. That's what I had before the Coogan's Break Business Roundtable dinner, fifty local business owners in a room, and me catering the event. The perfect opportunity to show everyone that the rumors were garbage.
