Chapter 3 - The Gala of Knives
The ballroom of the Hilton Downtown was an ocean of black tuxedos, champagne flutes, and predatory networking.
Daniel had tried to manage the logistics of the evening from the moment we got into his Mercedes. He offered to hold my purse; he asked if I was warm enough; he checked my profile three times in the rearview mirror as if looking for signs of a catastrophic malfunction. I wore a sapphire satin gown with an open back, my hair swept up into an elegant chignon, wearing the diamond earrings my father had given me for my fortieth birthday—not the jewelry Daniel had bought me out of guilt.
"Remember," Daniel murmured as we checked our coats, his fingers curling possessively around my elbow, "the regional directors from Chicago are here tonight. This merger depends on the impression the senior partners make."
"You mean your performance bonus depends on it," I corrected softly, slipping my arm cleanly out of his grasp to adjust the strap of my clutch. "Don't worry, Daniel. I know my lines."
We entered the ballroom. Within ten minutes, Rachel Morgan appeared.
She was thirty-two, slender, with porcelain skin and dark hair cut into an immaculate, modern bob. She wore an emerald-green slip dress that was just conservative enough for a corporate function while clinging to every curve with unapologetic intent. When she saw Daniel, her lips curved into an intimate, proprietary smile—the smile of a woman who believes she has already won the war and is merely waiting for the formal surrender.
"Daniel," Rachel purred, gliding up to our circle. She held a flute of vintage champagne in one manicured hand. Then her eyes slid to me, widening with theatrical warmth. "And Sarah! Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you out. Daniel was saying just last week that you prefer quiet evenings in the garden these days."
The other two junior partners standing with us fell instantly silent, their drinks hovering near their chests. They knew. In every corporate hierarchy, the office affair is never the secret the lovers believe it to be; it is merely an open joke that everyone pretends not to see until the equity splits.
"Did he say that?" I asked, turning my gaze fully onto her. I didn't blink. I didn't look down at her dress, and I didn't look at Daniel, whose body had gone rigid beside me. "Daniel often mistakes my peace for absence, Rachel. It’s an easy mistake to make when you spend all your time looking for things in the dark."
Rachel’s smile tightened at the edges. "I suppose so. Well, we're all just thrilled with the Dublin acquisition. Daniel was incredible during the closing negotiations last Saturday. He has such stamina."
Last Saturday. The night he came home at 10:12 on Sunday morning.
Daniel cleared his throat violently. "Rachel, did Tom mention whether the Chicago team had arrived?"
"They’re by the dais," Rachel said, never breaking eye contact with me. "Sarah, you really must try the hors d’oeuvres. The duck confit is exquisite. Though perhaps you watch your cholesterol these days?"
A petty cut. The classic jab of a younger mistress trying to remind an older wife of the passage of time.
I took a slow sip of my sparkling water with lime. "My cholesterol is perfect, Rachel. My vision is even better. In fact, Emma was telling me just the other day how clear the lighting is around the retail promenade at Easton on Wednesday afternoons. She said you can see everything from almost fifty yards away."
The emerald dress didn't move, but Rachel’s fingers tightened so violently around the stem of her champagne flute that I thought the crystal would snap. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her porcelain skin looking chalky and thin beneath the ballroom chandeliers.
Beside me, Daniel made a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat. He looked between me and Rachel, his eyes darting like a trapped animal realizing the gate had swung shut hours ago.
"Excuse me," Rachel whispered, turning abruptly on her stilettos and walking swiftly toward the executive restrooms.
Daniel leaned down, his mouth inches from my ear, his breath hot with adrenaline and gin. "What did you just do?"
"I introduced myself properly," I said, turning to him with an expression of serene, devastating composure. "Now, go talk to your regional directors, Daniel. Tell them how reliable you are. Tell them how well you manage your commitments."
May you like
I turned away from him and walked toward the terrace doors, leaving him standing alone in the center of the crowd, the sweat beginning to bead visibly along his hairline.
***
