I feel Rowan’s presence behind the glass, even without looking. I know he’s watching. Measuring how I move after the detonation.
Camille hesitates, jaw tightening, then slowly sits back down.
Good.
I draw in a breath that feels like it scrapes on the way down and take my seat.
Back to work.
Because whatever just happened, I can’t let it slow me down.
I wake the monitors, log in, and pull up Rowan’s private calendar.
Technically, I’ve had access for months.
No one else knows that.I scan the entries with a practiced eye while answering calls, redirecting complaints, and killing a surprise visit from procurement before it can reach the elevators.
Ten days out, a block catches my attention.
Lunch Development Partner
No reservation attached.
No location.
That’s a problem.
I don’t wait.
I draft an email immediately.
Subject: Lunch – Development Partner (Details Needed)
Mr. Ashcroft,
For the upcoming development lunch in ten days, I’ll need the following to finalize reservations:
Number of attendees
Any dietary restrictions
Preference for private dining or open seating
Desired proximity to office or off-site acceptable
Time flexibility (=15 minutes)
Parking or valet requirements
Noise level tolerance
.
Cuisine preferences or exclusions
Once confirmed, I’ll secure a location and update the calendar.
-Violet
I hit send and move on, answering another call before the cursor stops blinking
His reply comes less than a minute later.
Four people.
Me. You. Developer. Their assistant.
GOPrivate. Impressive. That’s all.
I stare at the screen for half a second longer than necessary.
Me.
I don’t question it.
I don’t acknowledge it.
I don’t let my brain spiral into places it doesn’t belong.
It’s work.
1 open a new tab and start researching.
First option: Luminara – Downtown waterfront. Glass walls, private rooms, impeccable service. Pro: flawless reputation. Con: too visible. Too many eyes.
Second: ?lan Noir – Uptown, tucked behind an unmarked door. Michelin-listed. Pro: discretion. Con: pretentious host staff that likes to gatekeep.
Third: Carmine & Slate – Financial district. Private mezzanine. Pro: neutral ground, excellent acoustics. Con: boring.
Fourth: The Meridian Room – Old money, quiet luxury, invitation-only dining room above a private club. Pro: absolute privacy, no interruptions, subtle flex.
Con: reservations are a nightmare.
I choose the nightmare.
I dial.
“Meridian Room,” a voice answers coolly. “Reservations are currently closed.”
“I’m calling regarding a private business lunch,” I say evenly.
“We’re fully booked.”
“I don’t believe you are,” I reply.
A pause. “We don’t make exceptions.”
“Then I’ll speak to your manager.”
Another pause-longer this time. Annoyed.
“Name?” the host asks.
“Violet Pierce,” I say. “Calling on behalf of Ashcroft Industries.”
Silence.
Then, sharper: “One moment.”Music fills the line. I don’t move. Don’t blink. I’ve learned patience the hard way.
A different voice comes on. Older. Smarter.
“This is Marcus,” he says. “How can I help you?”
“I need a private table for four,” I say. *Ten days from now. Lunch. Discretion is mandatory.”
He exhales softly. “The Meridian Room isn’t-“
“I know exactly what it is,” I cut in politely. “And I know you keep one table open for situations that require… flexibility.”
Another pause.
“Mr. Ashcroft?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“That table isn’t cheap.”
“I didn’t ask for cheap.”
A beat.
“I can offer the mezzanine,” Marcus says. “Two-hour window.”
“Three,” I counter.
Silence.
“Three,” he agrees.
I confirm the details, hang up, and wait.
I don’t move until the confirmation email hits my inbox.
When it does, I forward it to Rowan, update his calendar, adjust transportation timing, and shift two internal meetings to accommodate the lunch.
Done.
Logged.
Confirmed.
I’m mid-adjustment when the lobby doors slam open.
“Security!” someone shouts.
Chairs scrape. Conversations cut off.
I look up just as uniformed guards move forward-
And then stop.
Because a woman steps past them.
Councilwoman Hargrove.
Perfect posture. Tailored suit. Smile sharp enough to draw blood.
The lobby freezes.
Her gaze lands on me.
And she smiles wider.
“Well,” she says smoothly. “There you are.”
She walks straight toward my desk.
No hesitation. No pause to assess the room. Just heels clicking against marble like she expects the building to part for her.
“I have some choice words for someone like you,” Councilwoman Hargrove says, voice sharp, smile tight. “Someone who thinks they can keep me away Mr.
Ashcroft.
I don’t react.
I don’t look up from the screen.
I don’t roll my eyes like Camille does.
Hargrove stops directly in front of the desk, leaning forward just enough to invade space. I can see it now-the faint tremor in her hands, the tightness in her jaw. Anger wrapped around panic, not power.
“You don’t belong in this line of work,” she continues. “People like you don’t understand how influence works. Who matters. Who gets access.”
I lift my eyes to her then.
Calm. Neutral. Empty of fear.
She flinches. Just barely.
“Mr. Ashcroft isn’t your boss,” she snaps. “He answers to people like me.”
“No,” I say evenly. “He doesn’t.”
Her lips press thin. “You think you’re important because you answer phones?”
“I think,” I reply, “that you were informed he was unavailable. Repeatedly.”
Her nostrils flare. “You deliberately blocked my calls.”
“I did my job,” I say. “Which is to manage access.”
“You’re a gatekeeper,” she spits. “And gatekeepers get replaced.”
I tilt my head slightly. “You’re welcome to discuss that with Mr. Ashcroft.”
That’s when her composure cracks.
Her hand slams onto the desk. “You think you’re untouchable.”
I don’t move.
I don’t raise my voice.
“I think,” I say quietly, “that you’re shaking.”
The silence that follows is sharp.
IGViolet
She doesn’t leave.
She stays planted at my desk like the marble belongs to her, fingers curled against the edge, nails tapping in sharp, irritated beats.
Before she can speak again, a man hurries in behind her.
Mid-thirties. Tailored suit that’s trying too hard. Tablet clutched to his chest like a shield.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.