Anger for Evelyn. Anger for how they treated her. He extended a hand to Arthur, not waiting for permission. Bruno Black. He lied smoothly.
I've heard a lot about you, Arthur. Though I must say, the architecture of this estate is a bit dated, isn't it? Neocclassical is so loud. The crowd gasped. Evelyn went rigid beside him.
Arthur stared at Bruno's hand. Then slowly, a smile spread across his face. A shark's smile. Dated? Arthur chuckled.
He took Bruno's hand. His grip was crushing. I like a man with opinions. Let's see if you survive lunch. The dining hall of the St. James estate was designed to intimidate.
The table was a 30-foot slab of marble, and the walls were lined with portraits of ancestors who all looked like they disapproved of your credit score. Bruno sat to Evelyn's right. To his right was Sebastian Thorne, a rival architect known for stealing clients and wearing too much cologne. [clears throat] Across from them sat Preston and Clara, looking like the wedding cake toppers of a capitalist dystopia. At the head of the table, Arthur St. James held court. "So, Mr. Black," Arthur began, dissecting his lobster with surgical precision.
"Zurich, I assume you're familiar with the Weber project. St. James and associates bid on that." We lost. The table went silent. This was the test. The Weber project was infamous in the industry.
A massive complex sustainable housing grid in Switzerland. Under the table, Evelyn's hand clamped onto Bruno's knee, her nails digging in. She knew Bruno was a draftsman. He knew CAD files and city codes, not high-level Swiss corporate maneuvering. Bruno took a slow sip of his wine.
He didn't panic. He had spent three nights last month fixing the red lines on the Weber bid because the senior architect had messed up the load-bearing calculations. He knew exactly why they lost. "You didn't lose because of the design, Arthur," Bruno said, his voice calm and bored. "The design was brilliant.
You lost because your firm insisted on using imported steel rather than local timber composites. The Swiss Council prioritizes carbon neutrality over aesthetics. You tried to sell them a Ferrari when they wanted a Tesla. Arthur's knife stopped moving. He looked at Evelyn, then back at Bruno.
Is that so? Arthur murmured. That and your lead architect on the project ignored the geothermal variances, Bruno added, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. Rookie mistake. Preston Hayes, sensing the shift in power, chimed in, "Well, sustainability is cute, but in the real world, margins matter.
Evelyn certainly understands that. It's why our merger is so essential. She needs my capital." He smiled at Evelyn. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. Evelyn has always been good at spending money, not generating it.
That's why she needs a partner who understands the bottom line. [clears throat] Evelyn stiffened. Bruno felt the tremor in her leg. Preston was doing exactly what Evelyn feared, painting her as the incompetent daughter who needed a man to save her company. Bruno turned his body, blocking Preston's view of Evelyn. Funny you say that, Preston, because looking at Hayes Tech's last quarterly report, your R&D spending is up 40% with no viable product launch.
Sounds like you're the one bleeding cash. Maybe you're marrying into the St. James family to save your bottom line. The silence that followed was absolute. Clara dropped her fork. Preston, is that true?
Preston's face turned a violent shade of red. I that's privileged information. How would you I read? Bruno shrugged. It's a hobby.
Evelyn squeezed his knee again, but this time it wasn't a warning. It was gratitude. She looked at Bruno with a mixture of shock and awe. She had hired a body shield, but she had gotten a gladiator. Bruno has a keen eye, Evelyn said, her voice regaining its strength.
That's why I trust him with everything. You trust him? Sebastian Thorne leaned in, swirling his brandy. Evelyn St. James doesn't trust anyone. You must be quite special, Mr. Black.
Tell me, where do you stay in Zurich? I have a flat near the Bahnhofstrasse. The trap was sprung. Bruno had never been to Zurich. He had never been east of Idaho.
The Dolder Grand usually, Bruno said, naming the only famous hotel he knew from movies. Ah, touristy, Sebastian sneered. I prefer the quiet of the old town. [clears throat] Sprechen Sie Deutsch. Do you speak German? Sebastian smirked, waiting for the blank stare.
Bruno stared at him. He didn't speak German. He barely remembered high school Spanish. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back under the bespoke suit. If he faltered now, the whole charade would collapse.
Arthur was watching. Bruno picked up his glass, looked Sebastian dead in the eye, and smiled. "Sebastian," Bruno said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I'm here to enjoy my girlfriend's family, not to give you a language lesson. Besides talking business in German at a lunch table.
It's a bit go, isn't it? He turned to Clara. Clara, ignore these boring men. Tell me about the wedding venue. I hope you aren't letting Preston pick the flowers.
If his taste in ties is any indication, you'll end up with weeds. Clara giggled. It was a nervous sound, but it broke the tension. Oh my god. Right.
He wanted carnations. The table laughed. The tension dissolved. Bruno had pivoted, insulted the aggressor, and charmed the bride in 10 seconds flat. Arthur St. James leaned back in his chair, watching Bruno.
He didn't look angry anymore. He looked intrigued. "You're an arrogant son of a [ __ ], Black," Arthur said, raising his glass. I'm honest, Arthur, Bruno counted, raising his own. In this room, that's [clears throat] probably the same thing.
As the lunch wound down, Evelyn leaned close to Bruno's ear. Her breath was warm against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the role he was playing. "You are incredible," she whispered. "But we're not done. The toast is coming." And then the dance.