Then I took out my phone.

I opened a secure chat with our fund’s general counsel.

Do not approve the Mercer extension. Freeze Monday’s review until I call.

I pressed send.

And suddenly, I wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

I was patient.

PART 2

By late afternoon, the Mercer house smelled of roasted garlic, butter, and arrogance.

Evelyn sat at the island drinking wine while I prepared the dinner she had decided I would cook.

Her friends arrived early, dressed in diamonds and expensive perfume, and she performed for them like she had been waiting for an audience.

“Claire used to organize little parties,” Evelyn said. “So this should be simple for her.”

Little parties.

The year before, I had organized a private acquisition dinner where three billion-dollar companies had changed hands before dessert.

I continued chopping parsley.