The invitation had arrived on heavy cardstock: *Lunch. Le Bernardin. 1:00 PM. – J. Vane.*
Victoria sat across from Julianna Vane in the private dining alcove. The tablecloth was blindingly white; the crystal sparkled under the recessed lighting. It was a power scene, designed to intimidate.
“I’m glad you came,” Julianna smiled, slicing into her Dover sole. “I know how… exhausting the transition can be. The first year in the chair is always the hardest. Especially for a woman.”
“I find the work energizing,” Victoria lied smoothly, taking a sip of sparkling water. She had ordered fish but hadn’t touched it, wary of her nausea. “And Croft Enterprises had its best quarter in five years.”
“On paper,” Julianna conceded. “But leadership isn’t just about spreadsheets, is it? It’s about stamina. Stability.”
She leaned forward, her predator’s gaze locking onto Victoria. “I’ve been watching you, Victoria. You’re visibly tired. You’re canceling meetings. You’re erratic.”
“Is there a point to this performance, Julianna?” Victoria asked, setting down her fork. “Or did you just want to critique my schedule?”
“I don’t want to critique you,” Julianna purred. “I want to save you.”