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Claire passed her phone over without meeting my eyes. I dialed.
The clock ticked down. Minute by minute. With ten minutes left on the deadline, Chloe couldn't sit still any longer.
She shot to her feet.
"I'm an idiot for buying it. Her imaginary friend is bringing cash? Please."
"She's stalling. Obviously stalling."
"Manager. Do us a favor and break her fingers already. Nobody in this city is stupid enough to cross the Harringtons for her. Stop letting her waste our time."
The manager and two guards started across the floor toward me, and they weren't smiling anymore. I raised a hand.
"I still have ten minutes. Respect the clock. At the ten-minute mark, someone will walk through that door with the money."
"Bring your mother the money," Chloe sneered. "Ten more minutes, and if no one's here, I'll eat a piece of raw steak and crawl out of here on all fours myself. That's how sure I am."
My eyes sharpened. "That's what you said. Remember that."
"I said it. And I meant it. Everyone heard me. You're all my witnesses."
The room erupted again.
"This is the best dinner I've had all year. I'm not going home."
"Imagine coming out for the tasting menu and catching this show."
The last ten minutes bled away. One of the older men at the back table couldn't wait any longer and reached over to put his hand on my hip.
"Don't touch me." I slapped his hand off hard.
"Mm. Good body under there. I don't even have to feel it to know. Not bad."
"Julian, be a friend. Give her to me."
Julian tipped back his wine and rolled a lighter between his fingers.
"Why not? If she can't pay, she's fair game. Have fun, gentlemen."
"I'm first."
The old predators at the back stood up all at once.
My voice went cold enough to kill a man. None of them flinched.
Chloe gestured lazily at Julian's security.
"You. Pin her down. Make sure these gentlemen get what they came for."
"Yes, ma'am." Black suits flooded around me and boxed me in.
I looked at Julian one last time. Something inside me died quietly.
We were still legally married at that moment. He was letting other men tear my clothes off. Whatever face he thought he was saving, he was destroying his own.
He didn't even blink.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm not helping you. I just want Chloe to feel better."
That was permission. The old men swarmed.
"Come on, sweetheart. Walk out with me."
"No, me. I've got deeper pockets than he does and I'm half his weight."
Hands closed on my arms. Fingers hooked into the neckline of my gown and pulled. Fabric gave.
I fought. I scratched. I kicked. The whole room laughed.
I memorized every face.
"Keep laughing," I said. "Every one of you is about to become the joke."
Chloe spit on the floor at my feet. "Rip the dress off her already. Time's up. No more stall—"
The front doors blew open.
A column of men in tactical black suits poured in, moving with military precision, and inside three seconds they'd peeled Julian's security off me and put half of them on the floor.
Behind them, a woman in a charcoal pantsuit strode in carrying a steel briefcase. Every paper in the financial district had run her face this year. Nadia Pemberton. President of Pemberton Trust. Old-money queen of Wall Street.
Her expression was carved stone.
"Ms. Ashford. Forgive the delay. I brought the cash personally. I'm glad I wasn't late."