CHAPTER 14: THE CELEBRATION
The restaurant was the same one Gerri had chosen before. Small Italian place, red-checked tablecloths, waiters who'd worked there for decades. Our place, unofficially.
She was already seated when I arrived at eight. Same corner table. Two glasses of wine already poured.
"You're early," I said, sliding into the seat across from her.
"I'm never late." She gestured to the wine. "I ordered for us. Hope that's acceptable."
"Depends. Is it the cheap stuff or the expensive stuff?"
"There's a difference?"
I smiled. She smiled back. The professional distance that had existed six weeks ago had thinned to almost nothing. We'd slipped into an easy rhythm—colleagues, allies, something approaching actual friendship.
Maybe more. Neither of us had said it. But it was there, in the small touches, the comfortable silences, the way she'd started texting me random observations during boring meetings.
She raised her glass. "To asking the right questions."
I raised mine. "To thorough due diligence."
We drank. The wine was good. Better than good—excellent. Of course she'd ordered well.
"So," Gerri said, setting her glass down. "How does it feel to be right?"
"Expensive."
She laughed. Quiet but genuine. "Kendall?"
"Hasn't spoken to me since the meeting. His assistant sent out a 'no meetings' notice for the rest of the day."
"He's licking his wounds."
"He's planning revenge." I swirled the wine in my glass. "Or a breakdown. Maybe both."
Her expression shifted. Attorney focus replacing the casual warmth. "You're worried."
"I'm concerned. There's a difference." I set the glass down. "Kendall's... fragile right now. Logan's back, watching him fail. I just proved he almost made a three-billion-dollar mistake. He's feeling cornered."
"And cornered animals are dangerous."
"Or they collapse entirely." I met her eyes. "Either way, it could be bad. For the company. For everyone."
Gerri considered this. "You want to repair the relationship."
"I want to make sure he doesn't spiral so badly he takes the company with him."
"Noble. Also self-interested."
"Both can be true."
She nodded slowly. "It'll be hard. You were publicly right, he was publicly wrong. That's not something Kendall will forgive easily."
"I know."
"But you're going to try anyway."
"Seems like the smart play." I paused. "You think it's a mistake?"
"I think..." She reached for her wine again. "I think you're trying to protect someone who might not want to be protected. Kendall needs to fail. Properly fail. It's the only way he'll learn Logan isn't grooming him for succession—he's grooming him for useful servitude."
Harsh. Accurate.
"Maybe," I said. "But if I can prevent some of the damage—"
"Then you do. I know." She smiled slightly. "You're more considerate than your siblings. It's one of your better qualities."
The food arrived. We'd ordered the same dishes as last time—she remembered what I'd liked. That attention to detail was very Gerri. Precise. Thorough.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The pasta was extraordinary. Simple carbonara, perfectly executed, the kind of meal that reminded you that cooking was an art.
"Can I ask you something?" Gerri said eventually.
"Sure."
"Why did you change?"
I looked up. She was watching me with that steady gaze, the one that missed nothing.
"What do you mean?"
"You've been different. Since Logan's stroke. Since that day." She set her fork down. "And don't give me the 'almost losing him clarified things' line. That's the story you tell other people. I want the real answer."
Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.
I could deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject.
But Gerri had been honest with me. About her husband. About her assessment of the company. About everything.
I owed her something closer to the truth.
"The stroke was... a wake-up call," I said carefully. "Watching him collapse. Catching him. Seeing how close we were to losing him." I paused, choosing words. "It made me realize I'd been playing a role. The crude younger son. The joke. The one who didn't matter. And I was tired of it."
All true. Just not the whole truth.
"So you decided to matter," Gerri said.
"I decided to try."
She studied me for a long moment. "I don't entirely believe you."
My heart rate picked up. "No?"
"No. I think there's more to it. Something you're not saying." She reached for her wine. "But I also think you'll tell me when you're ready. Or you won't. Either way, I can work with what you're showing me now."
The relief was sharp and sudden. She suspected. But she was letting it go.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet. I'm still deciding if you're worth the investment."
"Harsh."
"Honest." She smiled. "But for what it's worth, the early returns are promising."
We finished dinner. Ordered dessert—chocolate soufflé to split. When it arrived, I took a bite and had to stop.
"This is obscene," I said.
Gerri laughed. "It's chocolate and eggs."
"It's food as art." I took another bite. "How have I never had this before?"
"Because you've been eating at overpriced restaurants that prioritize presentation over flavor." She took her own bite. "This is what food tastes like when someone actually cares about making it well."
I'd had expensive meals before. Both as myself in my original life and in Roman's body over the past six weeks. But this was different. Simple ingredients, perfect execution, the kind of meal that made you slow down and pay attention.
A small joy. A moment of genuine pleasure in a life full of corporate warfare and family dysfunction.
I caught Gerri watching me. "What?"
"You look happy."
"I am happy. This is really good."
"I meant in general." She set her spoon down. "You look... lighter. Less burdened."
"Winning helps."
"It's more than that." She tilted her head slightly. "You're enjoying yourself. The game. The positioning. All of it. Most people in your position would be miserable."
She was right. I should be stressed. Anxious. Worried about maintaining cover, about butterfly effects, about everything that could go wrong.
But I wasn't.
I was having fun.
"Maybe I'm just good at hiding the misery," I said.
"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe you've figured out what the rest of your family hasn't."
"Which is?"
"That if you're going to play the game, you might as well enjoy it."
We finished dessert. Split the check—Gerri insisted. Walked out into the Manhattan evening.
November had turned cold. Real cold, the kind that cut through expensive coats and reminded you that winter was coming.
"Want to share a car?" I asked.
"I'm walking. It's only fifteen minutes."
"It's freezing."
"I have a coat." She pulled it tighter, proving the point. "Besides, I like the cold. Clears my head."
We stood there for a moment. The street was quiet. Few people out this late on a weeknight.
Her hand touched my arm. Brief. Deliberate. Not accidental.
"You did well today," she said. "With the meeting. With the credit deflection. With all of it."
"I had good advice."
"You had good instincts." She held my gaze. "Keep trusting them."
She turned and walked away. I watched her disappear into the Manhattan night, hands in my pockets, breath fogging in the cold air.
Something was building between us. Something that went beyond professional alliance. Something neither of us had named yet but both of us felt.
I pulled out my phone. Texted: Get home safe.
Her reply came a few minutes later: Always do. See you tomorrow.
I headed for my own apartment. The city was beautiful at night. Glass and steel and lights, all the money and power concentrated in a few square miles of island.
Tomorrow I'd try to repair things with Kendall. Probably fail. But I had to try.
Tonight, I'd sleep knowing I'd won. Proven myself valuable. Built something with Gerri that felt real.
Small victories. But in this world, you took what you could get.
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