"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."
He accepted the answer with an uncomfortable movement of his jaw.
"I owe you an apology."
Maya looked at him.
It was not the response she had expected.
Adrian seemed to recognize her surprise.
"I should not have spoken to you that way. The challenge was inappropriate."
"Yes, it was."
He had apparently expected her to soften the answer.
She did not.
For several seconds, he appeared uncertain how to proceed.
"I also want to discuss the Japanese document."
"Then you should speak with a professional translator."
"I am speaking with one."
"I'm a restaurant employee who happens to speak Japanese. You don't know the scope of my experience, and I haven't reviewed the complete file."
"Your answer was accurate enough to identify a serious problem."
"That doesn't mean I should be responsible for resolving it."
"No," he said. "But it means I should listen to you."
The admission sounded difficult for him.
Maya folded her hands in her lap.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything you remember about your father's involvement with Kenji Sato."
She looked toward the window.
For a moment, she saw the small kitchen in Queens, the old wooden table, and her father sitting beneath the yellow light with documents spread before him.
"I was young," she began. "I knew that my father worked with Japanese companies, and I knew he was proud of his reputation. He believed translation was more than substituting words. He said that when people negotiated across cultures, a translator had to preserve the meaning, including the obligations that one side might be tempted to ignore."