Not hard. Not playful.
A shove.
I keep my face neutral and don’t look at her, because if I do, she’ll know. She already knows something is off. She’s been watching me since we walked in. Since I didn’t crack a joke. Since I didn’t fill the air with charm and chatter the way I usually do.
Her pen taps once against her tablet—another silent instruction.
Do your thing.
Charm her.
Feel her out.
Get her on our side.
Because whatever Roberto and Caterina are pretending right now, I can taste their uncertainty. They didn’t love Elsa’s lack of reaction. They didn’t love the way she stayed locked down. They didn’t love the fact that they couldn’t read her.
So they’re handing her to me like a problem I can solve.
The irony almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
I didn’t plan to speak to Elsa here. Not like this. Not with an audience. Not with my family maneuvering pieces around us. I planned—God, I don’t even know what I planned. I just knew I couldn’t let the silence keep on.
But not an ambush.
Not the second the meeting ends.
And not with Caterina practically pushing me toward her with her eyes.
Roberto stands first. “The main restaurant in The Regent Club is family-owned,” he says smoothly. “They did the catering at the party the other night. I’d like to offer you a complimentary meal. No business talk.”
Malcolm’s expression stays pleasant. “Sure,” he says, already rising.
David closes his portfolio with a crisp snap and stands. “That sounds great.”
Eleanor’s smile is faint. “Lead the way.”
Roberto doesn’t look at me, but I feel the intention in the movement. He’s steering them out. Creating a gap for me to slide into.
Elsa moves to follow them as well, but Caterina steps smoothly in.
“Ms. Nilsson,” she says, tone bright. “You weren’t here the night of the gala, when the rest of the Northstar team got a tour. Would you like one? Just a quick one. We won’t hold youfrom lunch too long. It might help contextualize some of the operational pieces.”
Elsa stops and looks at Caterina politely.
“Yes,” she says evenly. “That would be helpful.”
Caterina’s smile brightens. “Perfect.”
She turns her head just enough to effortlessly include me.
“Antonio would be happy to take you,” she adds, light as air. “He’s our best tour guide.”
Elsa’s professional smile holds—barely. The corners stay in place, but I see the strain in it like a hairline crack in glass. And I see the moment she realizes what this is.
A setup. A funnel.