Page 6 of Breadwinner
Rowan didn’t comment. They both knew that “time” had been bought with Hamilton tickets for the senator’s chief of staff, who Rowan happened to know firsthand was a big fan.
“Oh, and dinner’s confirmed, the private room is set, and transportation has been arranged to pick up Ms. Gallagher.”
Dinner. The thing she had been looking forward to the most today. In her time between meetings, she had read up on the information Rowan was able to find on Sarah at such short notice. On paper, Sarah Gallagher was flawless—intelligent, driven, and successful, yet also grounded in a way that no one in Nell’s world quite was. She was intriguing, and Nell was having a hard time articulating that, even to herself. She needed to know more. That’s what dinner tonight was about.
The two women stepped into the expansive penthouse, the city sprawling beneath them through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every inch of the space was meticulously designed, with neutral tones and clean lines creating a quiet, understated luxury.
A dark blur came sprinting down the hall as Nell set down the tablet, unbuttoning her tailored Tom Ford blazer. She crouched to greet the small, black sphynx cat winding its way between her legs. She scooped up the cat, who immediately lunged for her wrists, latching on to her delicate gold Cartier watch—the only piece of jewelry she ever wore, and a trophy from the first time she had bet on herself.
“Mortimer, no,” she hissed, half reprimanding the cat in her arms, half coddling him by still giving the ear scritches he had been seeking. His soft, raspy purr was like sandpaper against silk. “You are so naughty,” she cooed, adjusting his matching custom Cartier collar before returning her attention to Rowan. “Status with the Women in Business fund?”
Rowan, already tapping on her tablet, nodded. “We’re set to launch next quarter. Ten million in seed money, with priority given to first-time female founders.”
Nell poured herself a splash of bourbon, sinking into the leather chair by the window, with Mortimer in her lap. “Anything else?”
“Just Nate. He’ll arrive at 7:35. You’ll be seated by 7:58, and Ms. Gallagher arrives at eight.”
Nell set her glass down. “Thank you. Take the night. I’ll see you on the jet tomorrow.”
Rowan nodded once and slipped out.
Finally alone, Nell exhaled. She let herself breathe for the first time all day as she absentmindedly rubbed Mortimer behind the ears while he attempted to bury his face farther into her hand.
Her meeting with VYSE had gone better than expected, leaving her optimistic. Inspired, even. It was not an outcome she’d counted on, and she made a mental note to adjust her expectations for the future.
The meeting itself had been a favor to Shannon York, a former player of hers and now cofounder of Empwr Ventures. Nell had backed the initiative with a sizable investment and, more importantly, her time, offering to advise on a pro-bono basis select startups Empwr was helping get off the ground.
She checked the time. 6:00 p.m. Perfect. Five more minutes to finish her drink, an hour to get ready, and a buffer to tie off the day—efficient, controlled, just how she liked it.
She brought the glass to her lips and let her thoughts drift to Sarah Gallagher.
To most, the dinner invite might’ve seemed impulsive, a moment of curiosity. But to her, this was a move in a game she’d started playing a year ago, when she hadn’t quite caught Sarah’s name during their first encounter at the Empwr launch party but remembered the way her body had keyed into attention the moment she was near Sarah. She’d had Rowan look her up that same night. Six weeks later, their paths crossed again. And that feeling? Still there.
That feeling was still there at the holiday benefit concert she had been surprised to see Sarah at in December, and, sureenough, it was there last night when she finally executed her opening strategy—a Queen’s Gambit. Sarah had stepped right up, matching her offering with an acceptance.
Nell showered and dressed with her usual efficiency, her mind churning and strategizing exactly how she wanted to play dinner tonight to ensure her desired outcome. She had barely finished applying the last of her mascara when she heard the door to the penthouse open and close quietly before familiar footsteps made their way down the hall.
“You’re early, golden boy,” she called, as a tall, gruff-looking man quietly appeared in the doorway.
“Couldn’t help myself, Nelly Bean. I knew it would annoy you.” Nate grinned at her as he folded his arms across his broad chest.
She studied him briefly, slightly arching her precise brow before smiling. Only he could get away with calling her that nickname.
“I know, I know.” Nate raised his hands, stepping backward out of the doorway. “I used up my allotted nickname usage for the quarter. It was worth it.”
“I’m glad you feel it was,” she said simply, but they both knew she liked this little game they played. It was one that they had played since they were children.
Nate Grant was the only person in her life from the “before times,” as she had named it so many years ago. He was the only person who truly understood the world she had grown up in and all the strings that had come with the privilege of the Stanhope name. All the strings that had been so quickly cut the moment her family had deemed her unworthy.
“What’s got you in such a good mood tonight? Business or pleasure?” His question floated down the small hallway to the walk-in closet where she was currently debating her shoe choice for the evening. She picked out a pair of black Dior heels andwalked into the room, took a seat on the edge of the bed, and slid them on.
“Both. This morning’s meeting went better than I hoped, and I’m excited for dinner.” Her answer was truthful, straightforward, and matter-of-fact. Perfectly her. “Were you able to look into things at the restaurant?” she asked, as she stood, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles on her trousers.
“Yup. I went over this afternoon and did a walk-through of the place. Background checks have all come back clear, including the one on Ms. Gallagher. I’ll be in the restaurant at my own table, per usual—you’re buying me a delicious salmon dinner tonight, by the way. I won’t be too far away if you need me.”
Nell straightened her shoulders, looking at herself in the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room. She looked exactly how she intended to look: powerful. Her long, dark hair was styled in pristine rolling waves, pulled elegantly over her shoulder. For the evening, she had chosen a simple black sweater with a scoop neck that had a high success rate for drawing eyes, paired with neutral taupe wool pencil-leg trousers.
“I take it this isn’t just a business dinner,” Nate said, looking at her reflection over her shoulder in the mirror and eyeing her outfit.