Think of the Devil

Eleven

A yellow taxicab pulled up to a flashy looking building in Upper Manhattan. Jane thanked the driver and quickly paid as she listened to the honks already coming from the cars behind them. She glanced up at the high rise as she entered, wondering about which man had decided to build towers tall enough to reach the sky.

She felt pretty out of place as business professionals surrounded her in the elevator. Crammed together in such tight quarters, she could hear them assessing her. She'd aimed for business casual, seeing as she was just attending a lunch, but she clearly hadn't done enough to blend into this crowd. Wearing a brown and black sweater with black work pants seemed rather informal to the executives wearing thousand dollar suits. It appeared California and New York had two very different definitions of business casual.

Escaping on the thirty-fourth floor, she turned to the left towards the restaurant she was meeting her client at. They'd never met here before, so she hoped she wasn't underdressed. The host gave her an up-and-down too, but he was generally less interested in her attire. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting someone here at twelve thirty. I know I'm a bit early, but the reservation would be under Hogarth," she answered.

Being ahead of schedule wouldn't mean anything today. She heard the reveal before he was able to open his mouth. "Ah, yes. Your company arrived early as well. This way."

The host led her inside. It was relatively dark with sparse lighting over the linen-covered tables to give a semblance of privacy, or maybe intimacy. It was definitely higher end than the restaurant they used to meet at. Jane's client was sitting near the back, reviewing the menu. She looked up and slid out of the booth as they made their way over.

"Jane, you're early," she noted. (And underdressed. I guess I should've told her.)

She offered a smile despite feeling uneasy. Their relationship was a strange one; they were still on a counselor-client basis, but the woman in front of her knew much more about Jane than she'd prefer. "So are you," she commented.

The attorney gave her a similarly small grin before they sat down. Her manners were immaculate, her style sleek and confident. It was a little intimidating in this type of setting. The host placed another menu on the table before leaving them.

"I have to say, Jeri, you picked quite the place," Jane remarked.

"I was getting tired of Italian food," she replied. "One of my former firm partners liked taking clients here, so I figured we could give it a shot."

A sommelier approached with a bottle of wine. He stared discussing the year and the palate notes as he poured a rich maroon sample into each goblet on the table. Jane watched as Jeri listened intently, her interest actually piqued.

She was looking better than usual, brighter even. Her dark cropped hair seemed impeccably coiffed, her dress pleated to perfection. There was even a crinkle around her eye when she smiled, showing its authenticity. It was rare to see her in such form.

When he finished speaking, Jeri lifted the glass to sniff its contents. "Oh, I guess I should've asked," she said. "Do you like reds or whites?"

Jane couldn't stop her brow from raising. "Reds," she answered. (A woman of taste,) Jeri thought. "But don't worry about me," she continued. "I shouldn't be drinking anyway."

"Don't be silly. It's just a glass over lunch." Jeri took a sip, savoring the flavor before swallowing. "This one will be fine," she told him. The sommelier poured her a proper helping this time. When he was done, he turned to Jane with an inquiring look.

She considered it. While it wouldn't be entirely professional of her, this whole meeting was already skirting past the boundaries of what was considered appropriate. This wasn't the type of client who cared about etiquette in this situation either. Besides, it took two or three doubles of vodka to get her anywhere near tipsy. One glass of wine couldn't hurt, right?