A Host Who Refused to Bleed in Public
Rebecca gestured toward the staff.
“Bring Mr. Hart’s favorite Bordeaux.”
Her tone remained steady, almost gentle.
“We can begin.”
As conversation slowly resumed, Mark watched her closely, as though searching for some hidden mechanism behind her composure.
This wasn’t what he had planned.
She was supposed to fall apart.
And he was supposed to appear gracious.
Vanessa, to her credit, spoke confidently and demonstrated a strong grasp of her work.
She explained developments in Asian luxury markets with a calm professionalism that compelled even uncomfortable executives to pay attention.
Gerald Whitman shifted in his chair before admitting reluctantly, “That’s… stronger than our previous projections.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
The evening was slipping out of his control, piece by piece.
And Rebecca continued directing it like a conductor guiding music.
