I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I just slid my phone out of my clutch and tapped the screen twice. “Margot,” I said softly, “before I go, I think the table deserves some context.” Her smile twitched. “Sit down, dog walker.” “In a moment.” I turned to Daniel’s father, Richard — the only Hastings who’d ever shaken my hand. “Sir, do you remember the architect you’ve been trying to hire for the Riverbend hotel project? The one who keeps ghosting your assistant?” Richard frowned. “Lena Cho. Yes. Brilliant. Won’t return our calls.” I nodded. “That’s because Lena Cho is me.” The clinking of forks stopped. Margot’s flute paused mid-air. “I never told Daniel what I did for work because he said his mother judged careers harder than character. So I let her think I walked dogs. I actually do walk her dogs — because I felt sorry for them.” Richard’s mouth opened slightly. “You designed the Marlow Tower?” “And the Westbridge Pavilion. And the proposal sitting on your desk for Riverbend.” I slid the gift bag toward Daniel. “Happy birthday. It’s the sketch of the house I was going to build us.” Then I turned to Margot, whose face had gone the color of the tablecloth. “I withdrew my Riverbend bid this morning. I also recommended your biggest competitor instead. Consider it my final delivery.” Daniel finally looked up. “Lena — wait —” “You watched her humiliate me for three years, Daniel. You watched tonight.” I set my napkin down gently. “Walk your mother’s dogs yourself.” I walked past the silent table, past the waiters hiding smiles, past the elevator mirror that showed a woman finally standing up straight. My phone buzzed before I reached the lobby. Richard Hastings: *Please reconsider Riverbend. Name your price. And I’m so sorry.* I didn’t reply. Some bridges aren’t worth rebuilding — especially when you’re the architect.
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