Martin remained beside the service station, watching Table Twelve.
He had known Eleanor Grant for fourteen years.
He had also known enough about her to understand that when she arrived without announcing herself, dressed in a coat that looked older than some of the restaurant's junior employees, she was rarely there for an ordinary reason.
At Richard's table, Michael Avery finally put down his fork.
"Richard, are you listening?"
"Of course."
"I asked whether your company would accept a lower management fee during the first two years."
Richard turned back to him.
"We can discuss the fee structure after we finalize the capital contribution."
Michael frowned.
"That isn't what I asked."
"Then ask it again."
Gregory looked at Richard sharply.
"That's enough."
Richard's jaw tightened.
Michael leaned back.
"Perhaps we should take a break."
"No need," Richard said quickly. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."
Michael glanced toward Table Twelve.
"Is this about the woman?"
Richard's expression hardened.
"What woman?"
"The woman you were talking to earlier."
Richard reached for his glass.
"She isn't relevant to our discussion."
"Then why have you looked at her six times since the appetizers arrived?"
Gregory almost smiled.
Richard noticed.
"Something amusing?"
"No," Gregory replied. "I'm simply wondering when you plan to stop pretending this has nothing to do with you."
Richard ignored him.
Michael followed his gaze toward Eleanor.
"Do you know her?"
"No."
"Then why does it matter where she sits?"
"Because there are standards in places like this."
Michael looked around the restaurant.
"What standards?"
"Presentation. Reputation. Expectations."
"Those are words. What did she actually do wrong?"
Richard set down his glass.
"She took a table that isn't appropriate for her."
"According to whom?"
"According to common sense."
Michael shook his head.
"I've invested in companies where the founders wore work boots to board meetings. One of the best engineers I've ever known used to arrive in a twenty-year-old pickup truck. If I'd judged them by their clothes, I would have lost millions."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Business is business."
Michael gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
"And a restaurant isn't a place where people are allowed to eat unless they look wealthy enough?"
Richard's face darkened.
"You're deliberately misunderstanding me."
"No. I'm trying to understand you."
The conversation stalled.
One of the other investors reached for his water, evidently wishing the subject would disappear.
Richard glanced toward Table Twelve again.
Eleanor had taken a small envelope from her handbag. She did not open it. She simply placed it beside her plate, then rested her hand on top of it.
Something about the gesture struck him as peculiar.
It was not the behavior of someone who had wandered into the wrong restaurant.
But Richard was not prepared to reconsider his judgment.
Instead, he decided he needed information.
He raised one hand to summon the nearest waiter.
Daniel approached.
"Yes, Mr. Halston?"
"Bring me the manager."
"Certainly, sir."
"And Daniel?"
"Yes?"
Richard lowered his voice.
"I'd appreciate a little discretion regarding the situation at Table Twelve."
Daniel met his eyes.
"What situation, sir?"
Richard stared at him.
For a moment, the waiter looked younger than he was. Then the expression settled into a quiet professionalism that Richard found strangely irritating.
"The woman at Table Twelve," Richard said. "I want to know why she's been given that reservation."
"I'm afraid I can't discuss another guest's private information."
"I'm not asking for her credit card number. I'm asking why the restaurant has seated her there."
"She has a confirmed reservation, sir."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's the answer I'm able to provide."
Richard leaned back.
"Do you understand who you're speaking to?"
Daniel's expression remained calm.
"Yes, sir. You're Mr. Halston."
"Good. Then you understand that I am a regular customer here."
"Yes."
"A very good customer."
"I understand."
"And you understand that I have certain expectations."
Daniel paused.
"I understand that you expect excellent service, sir."
Richard's mouth tightened.
"Exactly."
Daniel waited.
Richard had expected the young man to offer additional information, perhaps to apologize for the earlier disagreement or to suggest that the restaurant would look into the reservation.
Instead, Daniel stood quietly, leaving Richard with nothing to respond to.
"That will be all," Richard said.
"Of course, sir."
Daniel returned to the service station.
Richard watched him go.
He had just been denied information by a waiter, in a restaurant where he spent a considerable amount of money.
It was an absurd situation.
At least, that was what he told himself.
At Table Twelve, Eleanor had finished half her soup when Martin Shaw approached.
"Mrs. Grant."
She looked up.
"Martin."
He pulled out the chair opposite her, waiting until she nodded before sitting.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Eleanor studied his face.
"For what?"
"For what happened earlier."
"Did you say something unkind to me?"
"No."
"Did you assign me the wrong table?"
"No."
"Then why are you apologizing?"
Martin exhaled slowly.
"Because a guest was made uncomfortable, and I was not there to prevent it."