Page 48 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Thorough research."

"Most people would call that stalking."

"Most people don't have enigmatic corporate culture consultants who throw champagne at them."

She laughs, and something in my chest tightens. "That was one time. And technically, I didn't throw it."

"No, you just created a very expensive wet t-shirt contest in front of Seattle's tech elite."

"Your suit could handle it.”

"It was Armani."

"It was boring." She takes another bite, then adds quietly, "You dress better now."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Professional necessity."

"Really? The limited edition Omega is professional necessity?"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "You know watches?"

"I know men who use them as armor." She meets my gaze steadily. "Just like I know CEOs who argue about wine to maintain an image."

Something shifts in the air between us. The polished restaurant, the expensive wine, the whole carefully orchestrated display of power – suddenly it all feels like exactly what it is: a shield.

"Your father's company," she says softly. "The one that failed after your mother left. What did they do wrong?"

The question makes my stomach tighten. "That's not?—"

"Relevant? It's completely relevant. You built Drake Enterprises from nothing, made yourself into this..." she gestures at the private dining room, the wine, me, "this wholepersona. But that's not why you're actually changing things now, is it?"

"You think you have me figured out, Ms. Gallo?"

"I think," she says carefully, "that man who answered questions about wage equity today wasn't just playing to the press. I think he actually wants to fix things."

"And that surprises you?"

"It makes me curious." She leans forward slightly. "What changed?"

You, I think but don't say.You and your impossible questions and your way of seeing through every defense I've built.

Instead, I signal for the main course. Another power play. Another retreat.

But Mac just smiles like she knows exactly what I'm doing.

"You know what the difference is between you and Roberto?" she asks suddenly.

The non sequitur startles me. "Your ex-husband?"

"He put on a show of caring about change, about progress. But when it actually came time to support my career..." She shrugs, but I catch the hint of old pain. "Let's just say his ‘traditional values’ weren't just an act."

"And me?"

"You put on a show of not caring. All this..." she gestures at our surroundings again, "it's armor. But underneath..."

The main courses arrive, saving me from having to respond. But her words echo in my head, mixing uncomfortably with memories of my father's failed company, of watching my mother choose a new life over our family legacy.

"Tell me about Drake Enterprises' early days," she says after a few bites. "The real story, not the PR version."

---