Chapter 46
Serena
The executive dining room on the thirty-second floor was a study in understated luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan's skyline, tables spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy, and a menu that probably cost more per plate than most people's weekly grocery budget.
I sat alone at a corner table, picking at a Niçoise salad I had no appetite for. The view should have been breathtaking—the city spread out below like a glittering circuit board, the Hudson River a silver ribbon in the distance. But all I could see was Felix's face. That warm, disarming smile. Those calculating eyes.
Lance's enemy is formidable, I thought, pushing a perfectly seared tuna around my plate. Charming. Intelligent. The kind of threat you don't see coming until it's already struck.
Vincent's words echoed in my mind: Lance removed his own uncle from the CEO position. Felix's father. That's a blood feud.
And now Felix was circling me, trying to determine whether I was an asset he could use or a threat he needed to neutralize.
I set down my fork, my stomach churning. How was I supposed to help Lance when his opponents were this sophisticated? When they looked like allies until—
"Miss Vance."
The voice was cool, elegant, unmistakable.
I looked up to find Eleanor standing beside my table, tray in hand, wearing an expression that suggested my presence here was expected rather than coincidental.
Oh, fantastic. Another Lawson family member I need to navigate carefully.
Eleanor didn't wait for an invitation. She set her tray down across from me with the kind of authority that made it clear this wasn't a request—it was a fait accompli. Then she settled into her chair with fluid grace, her movements precise and controlled.
She wore a cream-colored Chanel suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, her dark hair pulled back in a perfect chignon. Everything about her screamed old money and carefully cultivated power. As she'd crossed the dining room, I'd watched other executives subtly shift away, creating a buffer zone around her like she was royalty.
Which, in this building, she basically was.
"Mrs. Lawson," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Is it?" Eleanor picked up her knife and fork, cutting into her steak with surgical precision. "I wouldn't call it a surprise, Miss Vance. I've been meaning to speak with you."
Of course you have. I managed a smile. "You're looking lovely, as always. That suit is stunning."
Eleanor's knife paused mid-cut. Her eyes lifted to mine, and the look she gave me could have frozen nitrogen. "Flattery is wasted on me, Miss Vance. Let's skip the pleasantries and discuss business."
The temperature at the table dropped ten degrees.
"How is your assignment progressing?" Eleanor's tone was crisp, businesslike. "The matter we discussed at the Frick. Your... project regarding my stepson."
Heat crept up my neck. She wasn't even trying to be subtle. "It's going well. Very well, actually."
"Is it?" Eleanor took a delicate bite of steak, chewing thoughtfully. "My sources tell me you spent last night at Lance's penthouse."
I nearly choked on my water. "Your sources?"
"I have people who keep me informed of relevant developments." She said it as casually as discussing the weather. "So let me be very clear about my question: when you were at his penthouse—in his private space, alone with him—did you make any progress?"
"Progress?" I repeated carefully.
Eleanor's patience visibly thinned. "Did you sleep with him, Miss Vance?"
I actually coughed, my hand flying to my mouth to prevent food from spraying across the table. "That's—that's incredibly direct!"
"I don't have time for games." Eleanor set down her silverware, her expression hardening. "Arthur's birthday gala is in less than two weeks. Every major player in New York society will be there. Including—" her voice took on a particular edge, "—my niece, Isabella Lloyd."
Something cold slid down my spine. "Your niece."
"Twenty-three years old. Graduated magna cum laude from Columbia Law. Gorgeous. Charming. From one of New York's most prominent families." Eleanor leaned forward slightly, her eyes boring into mine. "And Arthur has been pushing Lance to meet her for months. This gala will be the perfect opportunity for them to connect."
The salad turned to ash in my mouth. "I see."
"Do you?" Eleanor's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Because Isabella is everything Arthur wants for Lance—pedigree, education, the perfect merger of two powerful families. And if you haven't secured Lance's interest by the time she walks into that ballroom in whatever stunning gown my sister-in-law dresses her in—" She picked up her wine glass, taking a slow sip. "—you'll lose him."