"Fine," she said. "But if that man makes you cry, I will personally pour his cognac into his lap."
"You will do no such thing."
"I'll consider it."
"Thank you for your restraint."
"You're welcome."
Maya returned to the dining room before Jasmine could ask another question.
For the next forty minutes, she concentrated on the practical demands of the evening. She delivered an order of sea bass to a couple at table eight, replaced a broken water glass, and helped a new server remember the difference between two similar sauces.
She did not look toward the private dining room.
She did not check whether Adrian had left.
And she certainly did not allow herself to imagine what might happen if he discovered that her father had kept a copy of the original correspondence.
At nine forty-seven, the private dining room door opened.
Adrian emerged first, followed by Richard Coleman, Eleanor Price, and Miles Harrington.
Their dinner had apparently ended without dessert.
Adrian's face was composed, but his body language had changed. He was no longer performing the relaxed confidence of a man who expected every person in the building to accommodate him. His shoulders were stiff, and he was speaking to Eleanor in a low voice.
Richard held the Japanese document inside a leather folder.
Maya was collecting plates from table fourteen when Adrian stopped beside her.
"Miss Bennett."
She turned.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood?"
"Can we speak privately?"
Maya glanced at the plates in her hands.
"I'm still serving."
"Then finish this table."
She looked at him.
"I'll finish my assigned duties. After that, if my manager approves, I can speak with you briefly."
Adrian's mouth tightened.
For years, people had rearranged their schedules at the smallest indication that he wanted their attention. He was not accustomed to hearing that a conversation with him had to fit around someone else's responsibilities.
But he had already learned that insisting on obedience from Maya tended to produce the opposite of what he wanted.
"Fine," he said. "I'll wait."
He walked toward the reception area.
Jasmine appeared beside Maya almost immediately.
"He's waiting for you."
"I noticed."
"Should I tell him you're fully booked until the next century?"
"No."
"You're no fun."
Maya placed the plates on her tray.
"Please ask Mr. Laurent whether I can take ten minutes after my section is closed."
Jasmine looked toward the reception area again.
"Ten minutes?"
"At most."
"What if he offers you another million dollars?"
"Then I'll ask him to put the terms in writing."
Jasmine grinned despite herself.
"That's my girl."
Maya finished the table, checked the remaining orders, and helped the other servers prepare for the final wave of guests. Only after the last dessert had been delivered did she approach the floor manager.
Mr. Laurent was a narrow-faced man in his early fifties who had spent twenty years managing restaurants and had developed the patience of someone who knew that almost every disaster could be reduced to a scheduling problem, a billing problem, or an argument over wine.
He listened to Maya's request without interrupting.
"Mr. Blackwood wants to speak with you?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
"Business documents."
Mr. Laurent studied her.
"Did something happen in the private room?"
"He made a challenge involving my Japanese language skills. The conversation moved beyond that."
The manager closed his eyes briefly.
"Of course it did."
Maya waited.
Mr. Laurent had never been unkind to her. He valued her reliability and had defended her when a guest complained that she had refused to recommend a wine she had never tasted. He was also careful about wealthy patrons, particularly those whose influence could affect the restaurant's reputation.
"Ten minutes," he said at last. "You are not to perform unpaid work for him, and you are not to discuss any confidential information from this restaurant."
"Understood."
"If he becomes abusive, you leave."
"Thank you."
"And Maya?"
She turned back.
"Whatever he offers you, remember that you work here. He does not own your time."
Maya felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest.
"I will."
Adrian was waiting in the lobby beside a tall arrangement of white flowers. He had dismissed his driver and was speaking to someone on his phone when she approached.
"No," he said into the device. "Don't send the preliminary statement. I want the original file first."
He listened.
"Because I said so. Call Eleanor if you need legal authorization."
He ended the call and put the phone away.
"Thank you for coming."
"You have ten minutes."
He looked faintly irritated by the reminder, but nodded.
"Fair enough."
They moved to a small seating area near the entrance, where the noise from the dining room was muted by a partition. The restaurant's brass-framed mirrors reflected the golden lights overhead, and beyond the windows, Manhattan glittered beneath a cold October sky.
Adrian remained standing.
Maya sat in the chair nearest the aisle, leaving the other chair between them.
He noticed the distance.
"Are you always this cautious?"
"When a stranger asks to speak privately after insulting me, yes."