Dinner With The Enemy

The restaurant was on the top floor of a building in Tribeca that did not have a name on the door.

You had to know someone to get in. You had to know someone important to get a table. The kind of place where senators ate next to rappers and hedge fund managers ate next to supermodels and nobody bothered anybody because they had all paid too much to cause a scene.

Seraphina had bought out the entire floor for the night.

Damien arrived at 8:01. Late enough to make a point. Early enough to still matter. The host led him to a private dining room where six CEOs were already seated around a round table. Seraphina was at the head. She wore black. A silk dress that poured down her body like ink.

She did not stand when he walked in.

"Mr. Cross. You made it."

"I was invited."

"Sit."

There were seven chairs. Six were occupied. The seventh was at her right hand.

He sat.

The other CEOs watched him like he was a zoo exhibit. They were all men. All older. All wealthier on paper than he was, though he was closing that gap every quarter. They nodded at him. They smiled thin smiles. They knew what this dinner was.

It was a public execution.

"Gentlemen," Seraphina said. "Thank you for coming. I know your schedules are full. I will keep this brief."

She gestured. A waiter set a leather folder in front of each man at the table. Each folder had a name embossed on the cover.

Each folder except Damien's.

He looked down at his empty placemat.

Then up at her.

She was smiling.

"The offer is simple," Seraphina said to the other men. "Exclusive distribution rights to the Kane jewelry line for the next five years. Our margins are twenty two percent better than your current suppliers. Our lead times are half. Our designs have been featured on every major international red carpet this year. I am prepared to sign contracts tonight. I have my lawyer down the hall."

The men looked through the folders.

One of them, Damien recognized him, Silas Moreau of Moreau Maison, cleared his throat.

"Cross Corporation is our current supplier."

"I am aware."

"Our relationship with Damien is long standing."

"Your relationship with your shareholders is longer."

Silas smiled thinly.

Damien was trying to breathe normally.

"Ms. Kane," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Cross?"

"May I speak."

"Please."

He set his hands flat on the table. The six CEOs turned to him.

"Gentlemen. Many of you have known me since I took over Cross Corporation at twenty three. You know my family. You know my word. My grandfather built his company on handshakes and delivered on every one of them. I have done the same. Whatever Ms. Kane offers you on paper tonight, I will match it or beat it tomorrow."

Silence.

Seraphina watched him with something that might have been amusement. Or might have been respect. Or might have been something else entirely.

"A generous offer, Mr. Cross," she said. "But I am afraid it is too late."

She snapped her fingers.

The waiter reappeared with a folder. Placed it in front of her.

"These gentlemen signed contracts with Kane Industries this morning. Before the dinner. The papers were couriered to my lawyer in Geneva and countersigned before any of you arrived."

Damien felt the blood leave his face.

"You never intended to negotiate."

"I never intended to negotiate."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because I wanted to watch you understand what losing feels like."

The six CEOs shifted uncomfortably. One of them, he did not see who, coughed into his napkin.

Damien stood. Slowly. He leaned over the table until his face was inches from hers.

"I do not know what I did to you," he said quietly. "But I am going to find out."

"Are you, Mr. Cross?"

"I am."

"I look forward to it."

He walked out of the restaurant. Down the elevator. Across the lobby. Into the street. He got into his car and told the driver to go home. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples until the pressure made him see spots.

Whatever I did to you.

He had said it. Out loud. He had heard himself say it.

Because somewhere in the back of his mind, in the place he did not look, he had started to believe that he had done something. That this woman was not random. That she had not appeared in his life by accident.

He just could not figure out what.

Or when.

Or who.

Back at the restaurant, Seraphina stood by the window watching his car pull away.

Lucas came up behind her. Slid a glass of wine into her hand. She did not take a sip.

"That was cruel," he said.

"He deserved cruel."

"Did he?"

She turned to him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I am just asking."

"Lucas, he threw me out pregnant in the rain."

"I know what he did. I was the one who picked you up. I know every inch of what he did. I am just asking if you are sure this is still about what he did. Or if it is about something else now."

She stared at him for a long second.

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying you did not eat today. I am saying you have not slept properly since the night at the gala. I am saying when he walked into this room tonight, your hand shook while you were pouring the wine. I have known you for three years. I have seen you pour wine through migraines. Through grief. Through an article in the Financial Times that called you a fraud. Your hand has never shaken. Until tonight."

She looked away.

"I am allowed to be nervous, Lucas."

"You are allowed to be anything. I am just saying. Be honest with yourself about what this is."

She did not answer.

Lucas set his glass down. Touched her elbow. Just a brush.

"I am going to the hotel. Call me when you are ready to go home."

He left.

She stood alone in the empty restaurant and looked at her reflection in the dark window.

His phone buzzed.

A text from Elena. His mother.

"Damien. Come to my house tonight. I need to tell you something."