Two Empty Chairs
By 7:15, fourteen guests had taken their seats: the CTO and his spouse, the head of legal, the director of international expansion, the CFO, and the board chair—Gerald Whitman, an older man known for always carrying a red handkerchief.
The room carried the kind of expensive stillness that only money can buy.
Two chairs remained unoccupied: the central seat reserved for Mark, and the chair beside it intended for a “special guest” no one mentioned aloud.
At 7:20, Rebecca raised her hand slightly.
“Let’s begin with cocktails.”
Eleanor’s lips tightened.
“He likes dramatic entrances,” she said.
Rebecca simply smiled.
Not because she found it amusing.
Because she knew precisely how long a man could keep a room waiting before the room began turning against him.
