6. Irrevocable Proxy
Chapter six
Irrevocable Proxy
By Tuesday afternoon, Simon decided to sell his corporate takeover to our clients by parading me around a crowded restaurant like a dying pet.
The chaotic dining room of Le Petit Bistro was overwhelmingly loud.
The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasted garlic and reduction sauces, smothering me after a week of kale smoothies and hospital antiseptics.
Silverware clattered sharply against fine china.
A dozen overlapping conversations bounced off the vaulted ceiling.
“Move that chair to the left, please,” Simon murmured to the ma?tre d’, his voice slipping into its practiced, gentle cadence. “We need the clearance for the wheels.”
The chair glided silently as Simon steered me forward. I kept my hands folded tightly in my lap, looking straight ahead to avoid the curious stares of the hostesses.
Nina walked right beside us, carrying my leather purse hooked over her forearm.
She smelled like a jasmine bomb, practically vibrating with the thrill of playing my ‘supportive caretaker’ in public.
She wore a tailored emerald sheath dress, while I was trapped in a stiff, high-necked linen piece Simon had selected for me.
It was too tight across my chest. Every shallow breath I took caused the rigid seams to bite fiercely into my lower ribs.
Simon maneuvered me directly up to the white tablecloth where Martin and Sarah, the clients representing my agency’s two largest accounts, were already waiting. The moment they saw me, their professional smiles faltered, melting into a hollow, sickening pity.
Simon locked the wheel brakes with the tip of his expensive loafer. He stepped behind my chair and anchored his hand over my shoulder, his thumb resting flush against my collarbone. The warmth of his skin bleeding through the thin linen made my stomach turn.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Simon said, pitching his voice low enough to sound sorrowful. “Audrey has been having a tough week, but she really wanted to see you both before she steps back.”
Martin leaned across the table, his eyes lingering on my hollowed cheeks. “We’re so sorry to see you struggling, Audrey. You’ve always been the backbone of the agency.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying a word.
I spent six years building the Vanguard account from nothing, treating Martin and Sarah to countless dinners, fighting for their market share.
Now, buying into the illusion that Simon was a capable heir rather than a thief, they were looking at me as if I were already in the ground.
“Thank you,” I said, letting my voice waver slightly. “It’s been difficult, but Simon has been managing my workload perfectly.”
Nina stepped into their sightline, resting her manicured fingers gently on the back of my wheelchair. “He’s been a saint. We’re all just trying to make her comfortable right now.”
The sheer audacity of her standing there, claiming credit for my comfort, made me press my fingers hard against my palms. But I needed this lunch.
I needed Simon to publicly cement his timeline in front of reliable witnesses.
The trap required my absolute submission, so I sat under their pitying stares and let them dig their own graves.
A waiter in a crisp black vest slid plates of roasted chicken and asparagus onto the table.
Before the heavy ceramic even settled, Nina reached across the table and dragged my plate toward her.
She picked up a silver knife and fork, scraping the metal loudly against the china to ensure Martin and Sarah were watching.
She began to slice the meat into tiny, bite-sized pieces meant for a toddler. I purposefully relaxed my tense grip, forcing my hands to lie uselessly over the restrictive linen of my lap.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Nina said, projecting an artificial, practiced sympathy. She pushed the edge of the plate back in front of me. “Don’t strain your wrists. Just let me help you.”
She picked up a crusty piece of baguette from the woven basket in the center of the table, holding it directly up to my mouth. A humiliating heat flushed up my neck. Martin and Sarah quickly looked down at their own meals, clearly uncomfortable watching a grown woman being hand-fed.
Nina wasn’t just performing for Simon’s timeline anymore; looking at the slight, arrogant smirk on her glossed lips, I realized she was actively enjoying this. She loved stripping away my adulthood in public. I parted my lips and let her place the bread on my tongue.
“Thank you, Nina,” I managed to say, forcing a strained, grateful smile. “You’re always so helpful.”
The dry, chalky texture of the crust stuck to the roof of my mouth. I chewed slowly, forcing it down my throat without breaking eye contact.
Simon ignored the humiliating display. He leaned forward into the bright natural sunlight pouring through the restaurant windows.
A fresh waft of his vanilla cologne drifted across the table, overpowering the savory smell of the roasted garlic.
He rested his forearms on the edge of the table, shifting his focus away from my manufactured frailty to lock onto Martin.
“As for the Vanguard account,” Simon said, his tone dropping into a smooth, effortless corporate command, “I’ve entirely restructured the creative team to handle the increased volume. We won’t miss a beat.”
I stared at the crystal water glass resting near his perfectly manicured hand.
I had spent three grueling months designing that exact team structure before the poison in my morning smoothies forced me out of the office.
As I watched him take full credit for my architecture, I realized just how dangerous his competence truly was.
He was lying to our biggest clients without a single stutter or tell.
Martin took a slow sip of his wine, his shoulders relaxing under his suit jacket. “That’s reassuring, Simon. Vanguard was getting nervous about the transition with Audrey’s sudden leave of absence.”
He was actively rewriting my legacy right in front of me, and I had to swallow the dry bread and simply nod.
The waiter leaned over my shoulder, stacking our empty ceramic plates with a sharp, grating scrape.
As the plates were cleared, a sudden blast of air conditioning cut down from the ceiling vent overhead, chilling the damp sweat on the back of my neck.
Simon waited for the restaurant staff to retreat before he shifted his posture.
He adopted a somber, hollow expression, lacing his fingers together over the stark white tablecloth.
“To ensure absolute stability for Vanguard, Audrey and I have made the difficult decision to execute an irrevocable proxy this Friday,” Simon said, his voice dropping into a tragic murmur. “I will be taking over as CEO permanently.”
He let out a rehearsed, heavy sigh to really sell the performance. He was publicly locking in the timeline, arrogant enough to think the transition was already a done deal. Across the table, Martin and Sarah exchanged a quick, sympathetic glance.
“We completely understand,” Martin said, his tone softening with false reverence. “Family health comes first, Audrey.”
I picked up my water glass with both hands. The icy glass slipped against my wet palms, but I managed to lift the rim to my lips. I took a slow sip, swallowing hard against the tightness in my throat, and set the glass back down near my plate.
“It does,” I said, pitching my voice to sound properly defeated. “Simon is entirely ready to take my place. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
Nina leaned forward, her emerald dress rustling against the leather dining chair. “He’s going to make you so proud, Audrey.”
Under the guise of adjusting the thick blanket over my lap, she slipped her arm beneath the tablecloth.
I felt the smooth, sickening slide of her forearm past my paralyzed calves.
Instead of grabbing the wool edge of my blanket, her hand traveled farther right.
She settled her palm squarely onto Simon’s thigh, her fingers curling intimately into his suit trousers right out of sight.
Knowing her hand was on his thigh mere inches from my unmoving legs made me sick to my stomach.
I dropped my gaze to the polished silver steak knife resting near my water glass.
The urge to grab the handle and drive the blade straight through the linen and into the table was nearly impossible to fight.
I kept my hands firmly in my lap, forcing a slow, steady breath through my nose. I let them smuggle their illicit touches under the linen, enduring the humiliation because their sheer overconfidence was exactly what I needed.
I just need the video.
The lunch stretched on for another slow, excruciating twenty minutes before Simon finally checked his crystal-faced watch.
“I’ll go pay the valet so they can bring the car around,” he announced, standing up and smoothing the front of his jacket.
Right on cue, Martin’s cell phone buzzed loudly against the table. He glanced at the screen, tapping Sarah’s elbow. “Excuse us. Sarah and I need to take this call on the patio.”
They hurried off toward the glass exit doors, leaving Nina and me entirely alone at the large table. The second they were out of earshot, Nina’s posture changed. The sympathetic slump of her shoulders vanished. She sat up perfectly straight, a sharp, cruel smirk breaking across her face.
She leaned across the bright linen, getting uncomfortably close. The chaotic chatter of the surrounding diners swallowed our conversation. A thick, suffocating waft of her jasmine perfume rolled over me, instantly bringing on a dull throb behind my temples.
“You looked pathetic today, Audrey,” Nina whispered, her cruel tone cutting easily through the restaurant noise. “Like a toddler. It’s almost over.”
The undisguised hatred in her eyes flared. Six months ago, it would have shattered me. Now, it was just the final proof I needed. I didn’t flinch. I just needed to feed her ego to ensure the timeline remained perfectly intact.
I deliberately widened my eyes, staring unblinkingly at the bright white linen of the tablecloth until the glaring sunlight made my vision blur and sting. A single tear spilled over my lashes.
“Please, Nina,” I said, forcing a fragile quiver into my tone. I shrank back against the canvas backrest of the chair, my knuckles bumping against the cold condensation of my water glass. “I’m just so tired. I can’t help it.”
She loved it. She fed on my manufactured fear, her smirk widening into a genuine smile of victory.
“I know you can’t,” Nina whispered back, leaning back into her leather chair. “You’ll finally be out of my way.”
I lowered my chin, letting another fake tear track down my cheek, and stared at my useless hands resting on the blanket.
Keep gloating, Nina. Enjoy the restaurant. It’s the last one you’ll ever eat in.
Simon emerged from the maze of crowded tables, his tailored suit completely unwrinkled. He stepped up behind my wheelchair, entirely oblivious to the hostility still lingering over the table.
He gripped the metal push-handles, drawing the chair backward with a smooth glide that lifted the rubber tires off the hardwood floor. A moment later, his right hand moved, giving my shoulder another patronizing squeeze. The warmth of his fingers pressed into my skin.
The high collar of my dress suddenly felt too tight as I fought the instinct to recoil from his touch. I hated the feel of his hand on my shoulder.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?” Simon asked, his voice pitching back into its manufactured, gentle cadence as he looked down at me. “Did the lunch tire you out too much?”
I raised my hand slowly from my lap. With a single finger, I smeared the moisture of the forced tear across my cheek. I let my head fall backward against the leather headrest, looking up at him in a deliberate show of defeat.
“A little bit,” I murmured, staring up at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling. I added a slight, pathetic sniffle to the performance. “But I’m glad we went. It was good to see everyone.”
Nina stepped into his line of sight, smoothing the front of her dress. She instantly dropped her cruel smirk, seamlessly slipping back into the ‘supportive best friend’ persona.
“You did great, sweetie,” Nina said, reaching out to give my knee a patronizing pat over the wool blanket. “Let’s get you home to bed.”
Simon pivoted the wheelchair around, directing us toward the front of the building. The thick jasmine perfume trailing off Nina was overwhelmingly cloying as we navigated through the tight spaces between occupied dining chairs.
“Just rest,” Simon said, his loafers tapping a steady, confident rhythm on the floorboards directly behind me. “We’ll be home soon, and you can sleep.”
I didn’t answer him. I let my hands fall back down onto the stiff fabric pooling in my lap, keeping my body entirely limp as he pushed me forward. We approached the restaurant’s threshold.
The automatic glass exit doors slid open, hitting me with a sudden blast of hot afternoon air. The loud blare of street traffic and honking horns drowned out the clanking of the silverware inside.
The valet was already holding the passenger door to Simon’s sports car open at the curb. As Simon thanked him in that fake, sympathetic tone, it took everything I had not to react.
I kept my hands folded tightly over the linen, forcing myself to sit still and let them parade me onto the sidewalk like a dying pet. But Friday was coming. I stared straight ahead into the blinding sunlight reflecting off the concrete pavement.
The lunch was a suffocating nightmare, but it had permanently locked him into Lawrence’s timeline.