Her face hardened.
There she was.
The girl from high school.
“You really have been waiting for this, haven't you?”
“For what?”
“To show me you won.”
I almost laughed.
“Lauren, I haven't thought about you enough to compete with you.”
That hurt her more than anger would have.
Because people like Lauren understood hatred.
Indifference was much harder.
I started to walk away.
She called after me.
“Maya.”
I turned.
“You think money made you different?”
“No.”
I looked around the room.
“It made it harder for people like you to decide I'm invisible.”
Then I left her there.
Ethan found me ten minutes later.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“She say something?”
“Yes.”
His expression cooled.
“What?”
“She told people you funded my company.”
He stared.
Then he actually looked offended.
“That's insulting.”
“To me?”
“To me. Do you know how expensive your restaurants are?”
I laughed despite myself.
He leaned closer.
“I couldn't afford your expansion plan.”
“You absolutely could.”
“Not emotionally.”
I smiled.
That moment should have ended the night.
Instead, Lauren made the decision that ultimately cost her the promotion.
The next morning, she asked Ethan for a private meeting.
And she tried to convince my husband to go around me.
Ethan told me about the meeting over dinner.
Not at one of my restaurants.
At home.
I was barefoot at the kitchen island, eating noodles out of a takeout carton because apparently owning restaurants made cooking at ten-thirty at night feel even less reasonable.
Ethan set his fork down.
“Lauren gave me a revised proposal today.”
I looked up.
“How revised?”
“Very.”
“Better fees?”
“Much.”
“That sounds good.”
“It would.”
His expression told me there was more.
I waited.
“She also suggested we move the conversation forward without you.”
I stopped chewing.
“What?”
“She thinks you're allowing personal history to distort your judgment.”
I stared at him.
He rubbed one hand over his jaw.
“She was careful about how she said it.”
“I bet.”
“She framed it as protecting the economic opportunity.”
I put the carton down.
“And you said?”
“I asked her, ‘Did you just ask me to go around my wife on an account she partially owns?’”
I closed my eyes.
“Oh, Lauren.”
“She realized the mistake about halfway through my sentence.”
“Did she answer?”
“Not effectively.”
For several seconds, I said nothing.
Then I started laughing.
I couldn't help it.
The entire thing was absurd.
Lauren had spent our teenage years assuming I was stupid.
Now, as an adult, she had apparently concluded that the sophisticated path to winning business was convincing my husband I was too emotional to make decisions about my own money.
Ethan watched me.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Do you want Hawthorne removed?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No.”
“Even after that?”
“Lauren is not Hawthorne.”
That was the moment the idea occurred to me.
Not revenge.
Opportunity.
There was something my company needed anyway.
We were preparing to appoint an outside advisory group for part of the expansion capital and treasury portfolio.
Multiple firms were already being considered.
Hawthorne was qualified.
So I invited them.
When Ryan received the request for proposal, he called me personally.
“We'd be very interested.”
“I assumed.”
“Is Lauren involved?”
“That is your decision.”
Silence.
Then, cautiously, “She has the relationship.”
I smiled to myself.
“If that's what you call it.”
Ryan laughed despite himself.
Two days later, Lauren emailed me.
Professional.