Chapter 20 #2
As we walk towards our party, she slips her hand in mine, delicately, but confident in its place.
The timing reminds me of the intention of the show, so I wrap my fingers with hers.
As I see the table of my colleagues, I lean down ever so slightly to whisper to her before the moment is too late, because from everything I’ve gathered, situations like this are unnatural for her.
“You’re smart, you’re funny,” I take in a breath of her, “beautiful,” I exhale.
“Be yourself and they’ll never fucking see you coming.
” I know I’ve said the right thing, maybe for once, when her shoulders drop where they had been lifted in a state of anxiety.
“Be myself, or be your wife?”
“Lucky for me, tonight, that’s the same thing.”
Arthur stands with enthusiasm when we arrive, which he doesn’t do for everyone, which means he’s been looking forward to this.
He gave me shit the day I returned to work wearing a wedding ring.
The next day, waiting in my office, was a check and a sterling-silver picture frame as a wedding gift with a note that said ‘you should have invited me.’ It now sits on my desk as a reminder, picture and all.
“Hudson.” The back clap and handshake before turning his full-attention to Louisa. “And you are the reason this one has suddenly become something approaching bearable to work with.”
“I don't know that I would ever call him bearable,” she says. “We’re making forward progress, but I’d say we’re still pretty early in negotiations.
” Even though she’s nervous, her voice is packed with the sunshine she expels freely.
And Arthur’s face responds as I’ve seen everyone’s do in her presence, just opening, becoming somehow more alive just by her attention.
The attention of most, particularly those in this room, puts people on the defensive, but not hers.
Because it looks far more like interest, genuine, compassionate affection.
Even if the crux of the comment was roasting me for my lack of friendly nature, there’s something in the manner of her that envelops anyone she’s talking to.
“Well, let’s just say it’s more than anyone has managed in years,” Arthur says, and the look he gives me is one of approval. “I like her,” he says to me, as though she isn't standing directly beside me.
“She’s aware,” I say, and she just responds with a smile.
The Sterlings arrive last. Hugh, the CEO of the Sterling Group, and his family, his two sons, Alfie and Cal.
Something has always felt strange to me about grown men who are exclusively referred to by nicknames.
They both have high-ranking titles in an organization they’ve inherited.
Alfie looks like he has spent his life being the son of the money rather than the earner of it.
While Cal, I imagine, must be short for calculated.
I’ve never had an interaction with him where he wasn’t clearly attempting to shape the conversation in a very specific way for his advantage.
And in the time I’ve been on this account, his opinions have been more shrewd and two steps ahead than anyone I’ve worked with, including his father.
Cal is seated next to Claire, strategic, whether on her part or his I’m not sure. Even though her fiancé is casually on the other side of her. She measured the geometry of the table in advance. She is as she has always been. Polished, tall, and statuesque, in every way.
Louisa walks up to her, gives her a hug.
I know they had met, but with Louisa, meeting someone and knowing someone are pretty much the same thing.
She asks how she’s been, and means it, compliments her dress, and means it, congratulates her on her engagement, and means it.
And Claire does the same. She takes her hand, and with a sincere sense of warmth I’ve never seen, congratulates her, us, on the wedding.
Meals like this are common. Meant to instill confidence, as we all drink overpriced bottles of wine, and I watch Arthur’s cholesterol increase by a dozen points with the slab of steak he orders.
Louisa ends up next to Alfie Sterling. I did not arrange this and I cannot fix it without making a scene, which I am briefly, genuinely tempted to do.
Alfie leans toward her like he has decided she might be interesting. I give it thirty seconds before she has him completely.
She’s got him in ten.
Where most people would cower, or concede to their seatmate, I watch as she charms him. Pulling out honesty that I didn’t think possible from the man who ordered for his wife and told a dick joke within thirty seconds of his arrival, which is coincidentally how long he lasts in bed.
That is a dick joke.
I watch as he becomes a realer version of himself, even involving the woman who he has exclusively referred to as his ball and chain.
Yeah, he’s that guy. They fall almost immediately into a conversation about something I can only catch fragments of from where I sit.
She is making him laugh, and it’s making me fucking crazy.
“That’s exactly the problem with—”
“The Hamptons, I know.” She says it like she’s finishing his sentence because she already knew where it was going, which she probably did, because she listens to people in a way that means she already knows what they'll say before they say it. It's infuriating. It’s the most disarming thing I’ve ever watched another person do.
She leans back towards me, and I lower myself so her lips are at my ear.
“I’ve never been,” she whispers and I can feel the victorious grin that spreads across her face, even though it's hidden in the crook of my neck. Alfie says something else to recapture her attention. It’s fine. This is the point. This is why she’s here.
This merger for the Sterling Group has not only been my primary focus for months, it’s a path to partner and to really carve myself a seat at Arthur’s table for the rest of my career if I want it.
It’s complicated for reasons that predate me that include board approvals and proxy voting members, the fact that multi-million dollar deals like this one always feel like there’s some kind of hidden liability baked in, especially for companies where nepotism is key.
But I’m good at my job, and this will be a big feather in my cap.
Hugh Sterling isn’t here to talk about the deal that he knows will be done one way or another.
But as he and Arthur are deeply engaged in discussing the future, as present as I am trying to be, it’s the conversation next to me that has my attention being peeled away.
Something about the sound of her voice is able to cut through all the layers of the people around us.
Arthur asks something to me that snaps my attention back.
But the thought lasts approximately three seconds before Louisa laughs again, and anything not related to her is ripped from my mind.
I am more than peripherally aware of her, even while she is next to me, that she is somehow not near enough.
By the third course, Alfie has landed on the topic of the silent auction.
Meant as a way to sponsor their arts and music foundation.
I told her about it as part of the run-through for tonight.
I, of course, am attending, I have for the last years as long as I’ve worked with them, or even adjacent to them.
Arthur always buys a table to show the firm's support, and this year, I’ll have a date.
“You'll both come, obviously,” Alfie responds with such assurance, answering the question that wasn’t asked to him. I know it's just pandering, the way he is, but dear god, I can’t stand him.
“Of course,” she says, touching my arm.
Alfie is looking at Louisa like she's the best conversation he's had in recent memory, which I’m sure she is, and the thought is followed immediately by another thought I refuse to finish. I grab the seat of Louisa’s chair and slide her the six inches closer to me.
Is it territorial? Sure. Do I care? Not in the fucking slightest.
Her head spins to look up at me, as she is now nestled closer to me, she can undoubtedly feel the breath I expel with each word in response.
“We’d love that,” I say.
She turns back to Alfie like nothing happened, but her shoulder stays against mine.
Neither of us moves.
The end of the dinner happens the way these things always do, with the handshakes and cheek kisses, the social administration of departure.
Arthur shakes my hand and pulls me in for a hug, all setting him up to articulate the thing he’s had tucked into his pocket behind his pocket square all night.
Just how pleased he is. “You've always shown up, but this is different.” He looks between us with deep satisfaction, and a part of me hates myself for how much validation I get from this man.
I collect Louisa’s wrap from the coat check as we walk out to the valet. “You survived,” I say.
She shrugs into it, into me. “Turns out being your wife isn’t the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”
“High praise.”
“Top ten, maybe.” She starts walking toward the car. “Don't let it go to your head.”
I don't say anything.
But it goes straight to my head.