Chapter 5 - The Car Outside the Hotel
The car waiting at the curb was a black Maybach with tinted windows.
Vivien stopped beside it.
“You said your driver.”
“He is the driver.”
A man in a dark suit stepped out and opened the rear door. He looked at Vivien, then at Damien.
“Sir.”
“Marco.”
The driver nodded and returned to the front seat.
Vivien did not move.
“Is this a kidnapping?” she asked.
Damien looked almost offended. “No.”
“Then why does your driver look like he could dismantle a small army?”
“He's former military.”
“That doesn't help.”
Damien opened the door but waited. “You can take a taxi. I'll pay for it. Or you can come with me to a public place where we can talk.”
Vivien studied him.
He had not touched her since the ballroom. He had not raised his voice. Even when Adrian challenged him, Damien had seemed more bored than angry.
She got into the car.
“Public place,” she reminded him.
“Of course.”
Marco drove them to a late-night restaurant on the river. It was elegant but not crowded, with dark wood tables and windows overlooking the water. Damien chose a booth near the front, where the staff could see them.
Vivien placed her clutch on the seat beside her.
“Start talking.”
Damien removed his jacket and folded it over the back of the booth. “My family owns businesses in several cities. Some are legitimate, some are older than the laws that govern them, and some are things I am trying to leave behind.”
“That's a very careful answer.”
“It's an honest one.”
“Are you the boss?”
He looked at her.
“Of the family?”
“Yes.”
“I am.”
Vivien let out a breath.
“Do you hurt people?”
“Sometimes people get hurt because of the choices I make. I don't pretend otherwise.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“I wasn't trying to reassure you with a lie.”
A server approached. Damien ordered coffee and asked Vivien what she wanted.
“Tea.”
When the server left, he continued.
“My father built an organization that depended on fear. I inherited it when he died. I've been moving its legitimate businesses into legal structures and cutting off operations that make money through coercion. That process has enemies.”
“And Adrian is working with one of them?”
“I believe he is. I don't yet know whether he understands the full arrangement.”
Vivien thought of the man with the anchor pin.
“Why was he watching me?”
“Because Adrian told him your name. I don't know what he said.”
“Maybe he thinks I have the files.”
“Do you?”
“Not the financial records you're looking for. But I have the original design files and emails proving Adrian stole my work.”
Damien nodded. “That may matter.”
Vivien looked down at her hands. “I came here to make him jealous. I wanted him to see that I was happy.”
“Were you?”
She gave a small, humorless laugh. “For about six minutes.”
“Then the evening has been a mixed success.”
She looked up, surprised by the gentleness in his voice.
“Why did you play along?” she asked.
“Because you looked frightened.”
“That's all?”
“And because I was curious.”
“About what?”
“Whether you were always brave enough to walk up to a stranger and ask him to pretend to love you.”
Vivien's cheeks warmed. “I didn't ask you to pretend to love me.”
“Not yet.”
She looked away.
The server brought their drinks. Vivien wrapped both hands around her tea.
“I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”
“Ask.”
“Are you going to use me to get to Adrian?”
“No.”
“Are you going to make me part of whatever is happening with your family?”
“Not unless you choose to be.”
“Will someone come after me?”
Damien paused.
“I don't know. But if Adrian believes you have evidence that can hurt him, he may try to frighten you. I can arrange protection without involving you in anything.”
“I don't want a bodyguard.”
“Then take the driver I assign you when you leave.”
“That's still a bodyguard.”
“It's a ride.”
Vivien sighed. “You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
She looked at him across the table. “You know, I was supposed to meet Christopher Bennett tonight.”
“Your hired escort.”
“Yes. Six-two, blonde, charming smile.”
Damien glanced down at himself. “I apologize for the inaccurate specifications.”
She laughed, a real laugh this time.
It surprised them both.
For a while, they talked about ordinary things. Vivien told him about her design work, her tiny apartment, and her younger sister who believed every problem could be solved with a color-coded spreadsheet. Damien told her he liked old bookstores and hated loud restaurants. He did not explain why he had learned to read people before trusting them.
When the restaurant began closing, Vivien asked Marco to take her home.
Damien walked her to the car.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not making tonight worse.”
He held her gaze. “I could say the same.”
She got into the car.
As it pulled away, Damien remained on the pavement, watching the taillights disappear.
Marco approached him.
“Sir, we found the man with the anchor pin.”
“Where?”
“He's at the hotel. He asked for Miss Cross's room number.”
Damien's face went cold.
“Find out who sent him.”
“And Miss Cross?”
“Put someone near her building. Discreetly. She doesn't need to know unless there's a reason.”
Marco nodded.
Damien looked toward the river.
The wedding had been supposed to be a business meeting.
Now it was personal.
The restaurant's manager recognized Damien as soon as they entered. He greeted him with a quiet nod and offered a private booth, but Damien chose a table near the front windows.
“Why not the private room?” Vivien asked.
“Because you asked for a public place.”
She sat down.
The menu was small and handwritten. Vivien ordered tea and a bowl of soup. Damien ordered coffee and nothing else.
“You're not eating?”
“I ate earlier.”
“Do you always watch people instead of enjoying dinner?”
“Not always.”
“Only when you're working?”
“Usually.”
She looked around the room. A couple shared a plate near the window. An older man read a newspaper at the counter. The staff moved easily around Damien, but no one hovered.
“Do they know who you are?” she asked.
“Some.”
“Are they afraid?”
“I hope not.”
“Hope isn't much of a business plan.”
“No,” he said. “It isn't.”
When the food arrived, Vivien told him about her first design job. She had worked for a small print shop, creating menus, posters, and packaging for local businesses. Adrian had met her at a gallery opening and praised her portfolio. He had offered to bring her into his new company as a creative director.
“At first, he was wonderful,” she said. “He remembered the names of my clients. He asked what kind of work I wanted to do. He made me feel as if I was building something with him.”
“And then?”
“Then the investors arrived. He started saying I wasn't ready for the business side. He asked me to sign documents I didn't understand. When I asked for time to review them, he said I didn't trust him.”
Damien listened without interrupting.
“I thought love meant believing someone,” she said. “I didn't realize it could also mean being pressured not to ask questions.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“Trust should never require you to abandon your judgment.”
She looked at him. “Did someone teach you that?”
“My mother.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes. She lives outside Chicago. She doesn't involve herself in the business.”
“Does she know what you do?”
“She knows enough.”
“Does she approve?”
He considered the question. “She loves me. That is not the same as approving.”
Vivien nodded. She understood that distinction.
A man entered the restaurant and paused when he saw Damien. He approached the table.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Damien looked up. “Not tonight.”
“I have the documents.”
“Then give them to Sofia.”
The man glanced at Vivien.
Damien's expression cooled. “You can speak freely.”
The man placed a sealed envelope on the table. “The original transfers. And a copy of the company register.”
Damien did not open it. “Where did you get these?”
“From Harlan.”
“Why bring them here?”
“He said you wanted them.”
“I wanted them yesterday.”
The man swallowed. “Things changed.”
Damien nodded once. “Leave.”
The man went.
Vivien looked at the envelope.
“Is that what you came to the hotel for?”
“Yes.”
“Does it prove Adrian was involved?”
“Maybe. It needs to be verified.”
She took a breath. “I don't want to become evidence in your investigation.”
“You won't.”
“Promise?”
“I can promise not to use your name without your permission. I cannot promise that other people won't mention it.”
It was the first answer that made the situation feel real.
Vivien nodded.
“Then I want my own lawyer.”
“You should have one.”
“And I want to see every document that refers to me.”
“Agreed.”
For the rest of dinner, they talked about anything except the envelope.
After dinner, Damien insisted on paying for the meal. Vivien argued that she could pay for her own tea.
“You can pay next time,” he said.
“There may not be a next time.”
“Then I'll remember this as an unusually expensive cup of tea.”
She rolled her eyes.
At the entrance, the restaurant manager approached Damien and handed him a small envelope. Damien opened it, read the note inside, and passed it to Marco without comment.
Vivien noticed the change in his face.
“Another problem?”
“An update.”
“About Harlan?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Not here. It doesn't involve you directly.”
She considered that, then nodded. She appreciated that he did not use danger to make himself seem important.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Damien held the car door while Vivien climbed in. Before he closed it, she looked up.
“Thank you for telling me the truth tonight.”
“You deserved it.”
“I'll decide what to do with it.”
May you like
“I expect you to.”
The car pulled away. Damien watched it turn the corner before returning to the restaurant, where Marco was waiting with the envelope.
