Chapter 9: The Board Room

"Of course," Lawrence said into the phone. "Thursday would suit me."

His free hand lay on my bare thigh, warm and heavy.

I sat on his lap and listened to a woman who hated me purr into his ear.

"No, I'd be delighted," he said. "Yes. I'll bring nothing but my ears."

He ended the call and set the phone face-down.

"Explain," I said.

"She wants to buy me a lunch."

"Why?"

"Because Hartfield will sell your father's note to whoever offers first, and she wants me to offer. Then she can make the next call."

"And you said yes."

"I said Thursday."

I climbed off his lap, found my jeans, and put them on with great dignity and no underwear.

"You are going to lunch with the woman who ruined my family."

"I'm going to lunch with a woman who is about to tell me what she wants," he said evenly. "That's worth one plate of salad."

"You said you didn't want to be my enemy."

"I'm not."

"Then why do I feel like a chess piece?"

He stood and pulled on his trousers, and for once his face showed something I could read.

It looked a lot like guilt.

"Give me until Saturday," Lawrence said. "Give me one week, Ainsley. Then I'll tell you everything, and you can hate me with the facts."

I should have pushed.

I didn't, and I would remember that later.

On Monday morning at nine, the board of Lockridge Holdings sat down around the long walnut table.

It stood on the fortieth floor of my father's building.

Not one of the directors looked at the man at the head of it.

There were nine directors.

I had known most of them since I was in pigtails.

They were old friends of my father's, or men who liked to say so.

They sat in their dark suits with their hands folded.

My father stood at the head of the table with his hands in his pockets.

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