If he’s determined to leave, he could challenge them, especially with Ellington’s resources behind him. Richard nodded grimly. That’s what I was afraid of.
Legal enforcement would take time we don’t have. We need to convince him to stay willingly. What’s Ellington offering him? According to my source, double his current salary, creative control, and a 5% equity stake in the new venture.
I whistled softly. Aggressive? They really want him. Or, they really want to hurt us.
Richard countered. This feels personal, Alexandra. I glanced at him sharply.
Personal how? He hesitated, then said carefully, There have been rumors that Harold Ellington has been interested in acquiring our group for years. When the news of our divorce went public, he might have seen it as an opportunity to destabilize us before making an offer. The possibility made strategic sense, though it left a sour taste in my mouth.
So our personal failings become business vulnerabilities. Our personal situation, Richard corrected, his eyes meeting mine. Not necessarily a failing.
The comment surprised me, as did the lack of bitterness in his tone. Before I could respond, the flight attendant approached with pre-takeoff drinks, creating a natural break in the conversation. We spent the remainder of the flight discussing potential incentives to keep Marcus, carefully avoiding any further personal observations.
By the time we landed in Chicago, we had outlined a comprehensive counteroffer that would match Ellington’s financial terms while providing Marcus with unique opportunities our competitor couldn’t offer. The four seasons Chicago concierge greeted us as Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery. When we checked in, a mistake I had encountered several times since the divorce.
Usually, I corrected it immediately, but this time, Richard spoke first. Two separate rooms, please. Ms. Montgomery and Mr. Montgomery.
His tone was polite, but firm, and I felt oddly grateful for his quick clarification. Of course, sir. My apologies.
The concierge responded smoothly. We have your reservations right here. Adjoining suites on the executive floor, as requested.
I raised an eyebrow at Richard as we walked toward the elevators. Adjoining suites? He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Diane made the arrangements before I could review them.
I can request a change if you’d prefer. It’s fine, I said, surprised to find that it actually was. We’re here for business, and it will be convenient for reviewing materials.
Our meeting with Marcus was scheduled for seven that evening at the restaurant’s Chicago location, an elegant space overlooking the river that we had acquired three years earlier. As we entered through the back entrance, the familiar sounds and smells of a high-end kitchen in full service brought back memories of countless restaurant openings I had attended at Richard’s side during our marriage. Richard placed his hand lightly on my lower back as we navigated through the busy kitchen.
An unconscious gesture from our years together, I stiffened slightly, and he immediately removed it, murmuring an apology. The moment was brief, but served as a pointed reminder of the complex history between us. Marcus greeted us in his office, his usual exuberant personality subdued.
At forty, with a reputation as one of the most innovative chefs in the Midwest, he had been a significant coup for our restaurant group when Richard had recruited him two years earlier. I assume you know why we’re here, Richard began without preamble once we were seated. Marcus nodded, his expression guarded.
Harold Ellington called me personally, made quite an offer. We’ve heard the details, I said, keeping my tone conversational rather than accusatory. It’s certainly generous, though I’m curious how Ellington knew so much about our expansion plans for this location.
A flicker of discomfort crossed Marcus’ face. I didn’t breach any confidentiality, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Not at all, I assured him, but someone did.
The timing and specificity of their offer suggest they had inside information, which concerns us on multiple levels. Richard leaned forward. Marcus, we’re not here to guilt you into staying.
You’re an exceptional chef, and if Ellington’s offer represents the opportunity you want, we’ll respect that, even as we deal with the contractual implications. Marcus looked surprised at this approach. He had clearly expected a hard sell or legal threats.
But, I continued, before you make your decision, we’d like to share our vision for your role in the group’s future, a vision that includes opportunities we believe Ellington can’t match. Over the next hour, Richard and I laid out our counteroffer, a matching salary increase, a larger equity stake in the Chicago location specifically. And, this was Richard’s masterstroke, the opportunity to develop a chef’s training program bearing Marcus’ name, with locations in Chicago, New York, and eventually, Los Angeles.
Your own legacy, Richard explained passionately. Not just restaurants that might change concepts with market trends, but an institution that develops the next generation of culinary talent. I watched Marcus’ expression shift as he considered the proposal.
The training program was actually Alexandra’s idea, Richard added, surprising me with the acknowledgement. She pointed out that your mentorship of younger chefs has always been one of your greatest strengths. Marcus turned to me, curiosity evident in his expression.
You noticed that? During my last visit, I confirmed. I saw how you worked with your sous chefs, teaching, not just directing. It’s a rare quality in kitchens at this level.
A small smile tugged at his lips. My first chef was a tyrant. I swore I’d never create that kind of toxic environment in my own kitchen.
He leaned back, considering us both. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this approach. Given everything that’s happened between you two, I thought the company might be vulnerable.
Richard and I exchanged a quick glance. Our personal situation has changed, I acknowledged, but our commitment to the business and to the people who make it successful hasn’t. If anything, Richard added, the restructuring has strengthened our strategic capabilities.
Alexandra’s more direct involvement has brought perspectives I was missing. The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. It was perhaps the first time since our divorce that Richard had openly acknowledged the value of my contributions without any hint of resentment.
By the time we concluded the meeting two hours later, Marcus had verbally committed to staying, contingent only on reviewing the formal contract revision I promised to have drafted by Monday. We had not only averted the immediate crisis, but potentially strengthened our relationship with a key team member. That went better than I expected, Richard admitted, as we walked back to the hotel through the cool Chicago evening.
The city lights reflected off the river beside us, creating a peaceful backdrop to what had been an intense day. The training program was inspired, I said. You knew exactly what would appeal to his desire for legacy beyond just cooking.
We make a good team, Richard observed quietly. Professionally speaking, the comment hung between us, loaded with unspoken history. After a moment, I responded with equal care.
We always did work well together. That wasn’t our problem. No, he agreed, his pace slowing slightly.
Our problem was that I forgot to see you, really see you, as you grew into the remarkable woman you’ve become. I got comfortable with the idea of the young wife I could impress, mentor, show off. When you became my equal, my superior in many ways, I didn’t know how to adjust.
The unexpected candor left me momentarily speechless. We had never discussed the real reasons behind our marriage’s collapse, not even during the divorce proceedings. That’s surprisingly insightful, I finally managed.
Richard smiled ruefully. Fifteen months of weekly therapy will do that. Another suggestion from Marcus, actually, after he noticed I was micromanaging out of insecurity, as he put it.
You’ve been in therapy? I couldn’t hide my surprise. Richard had always dismissed psychological support as unnecessary for people with self-discipline, since about two months after the divorce was finalized. He confirmed, it seemed prudent, given how spectacularly I’d managed to sabotage both my marriage and nearly my business.
We had reached the hotel entrance. As the doorman welcomed us, I found myself studying Richard with new eyes, seeing not just the ex-husband who had betrayed me, but a more complex figure attempting his own form of reconstruction. Would you like to get a drink? He asked suddenly.
In the hotel bar? Just to continue our discussion about next steps with the Chicago situation. I hesitated, various caution flags rising in my mind. A drink with Richard? In a dimly lit hotel bar? After a day of surprisingly effective collaboration? It felt like dangerous territory.
I should review those contract clauses we discussed, I said, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears. Richard nodded, accepting the deflection gracefully. Of course, it’s been a long day.
As we rode the elevator in silence, I found myself wondering if I was being unnecessarily cautious or sensibly prudent. The Richard beside me seemed genuinely changed from the man who had coldly ended our marriage over the phone. But trust, once broken, wasn’t easily reconstructed, especially not when the stakes included my carefully rebuilt emotional independence.
When the elevator reached our floor, Richard stepped out first, then turned to face me. Thank you for coming to Chicago, Alexandra. We wouldn’t have kept Marcus without you.
It was the right business decision, I said simply. Yes, he agreed. But still, thank you.
He hesitated, then added quietly, Good night, Alexandra. Good night, Richard, I replied, watching as he walked down the corridor to his suite. Alone in my room, I kicked off my heels and poured myself a mineral water from the minibar.
Settling onto the window seat with its panoramic view of the Chicago skyline, my phone buzzed with a text from James Harrington. Looking forward to that dance next Friday, just brushing up on my vertical integration arguments. Seats, I smiled at the message, appreciating its light tone and the uncomplicated interest it represented.
Typing a brief, friendly response, I found myself reflecting on the contrast between the straightforward potential of something new and the weighted complexity of my history with Richard. Outside my window, Chicago glittered with possibility. Much like my life fifteen months after divorce, full of unexpected directions, new challenges, and the hard-won freedom to choose my own path forward.
Whatever that path might include, I was finally confident in my ability to navigate it on my terms with clear eyes and an open heart. The following Friday evening found me standing before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, assessing my appearance with a critical eye. The emerald silk gown I’d chosen for the firm’s anniversary gala highlighted my eyes and fell in elegant lines to the floor.
My hair was swept up in a sophisticated twist, a few carefully arranged tendrils framing my face. The overall effect was polished, confident, and, I had to admit, quite beautiful. As I fastened my grandmother’s diamond earrings, I reflected on how much had changed since the last time I’d attended a formal event.
Then, I had been Richard Montgomery’s wife, part of a power couple known throughout New York’s business and social circles. Tonight, I would attend as Alexandra Montgomery, named partner at Jenkins & Montgomery, respected attorney and woman in her own right. The thought brought not sadness, but a quiet satisfaction.
The journey from devastation to independence had been challenging, but standing here now, I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t trade my hard-won freedom for the security of my former life. My phone chimed with a text from the car service announcing their arrival. With one final glance in the mirror, I gathered my clutch and wrap, ready to embrace whatever the evening might bring.
The gala was being held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of New York’s most prestigious venues and a favorite of Thomas’s. As I ascended the grand staircase, the sounds of a string quartet and the gentle hum of conversation drifted out to greet me. Inside, the great hall had been transformed into an elegant reception space, with soft lighting highlighting the historic architecture and floral arrangements in the firm’s colors adorning the tables.
Alexandra! Thomas’s voice carried across the entrance. He approached with his wife Eleanor beside him, both beaming with pride at the success of the event. You look absolutely stunning.
Thank you, I smiled, accepting Eleanor’s warm hug. The venue is spectacular, Thomas. You’ve outdone yourself this year.
Thirty years deserves something special, he replied, glancing around with satisfaction, though I suspect most of these younger associates are more excited about the open bar than the architectural significance. Eleanor laughed, linking her arm through her husband’s. Let them enjoy it.
Some of them might be celebrating a milestone anniversary of their own someday. She gave me a meaningful look. Speaking of celebrations, I believe someone has been watching the entrance rather attentively since we arrived.
Following her gaze, I spotted James Harrington across the room, engaged in conversation with a senior partner from his firm, but glancing periodically toward the entrance. As if sensing my attention, he looked up, our eyes meeting across the crowded space. He smiled, a warm, genuine expression that created an unexpected flutter in my chest.
Go on, Eleanor encouraged with a gentle nudge. That man has been asking Thomas about you for months. He deserves at least one dance for his persistence.
As I made my way across the room, greeting colleagues and clients, I was acutely aware of James tracking my progress. Unlike Richard, who had always commanded attention when we entered a room together, James waited patiently, allowing me to navigate the social currents at my own pace. Alexandra Montgomery, he said when I finally reached him, his voice carrying a note of appreciation that went beyond mere politeness.
You look absolutely breathtaking. James, I acknowledged with a smile, thank you for the compliment and for your patience. Some things are worth waiting for, he replied simply.
Up close, he was even more attractive than I remembered, tall and distinguished with intelligent gray eyes and smile lines that suggested a man who laughed often. Would you care for a drink? Or perhaps that dance we discussed? A dance first, I think, I decided, surprising myself with the directness. Before the floor gets too crowded, he offered his arm, leading me toward the area where other couples had begun moving to the quartet’s rendition of a classic jazz standard As we took our position, his hand settling respectfully at my waist, I found myself appreciating the comfortable distance he maintained, close enough for the dance, but careful not to presume.
So, he began as we moved in perfect rhythm, vertical integration in sustainable supply chains, as promised. I laughed, relaxing into the easy grace of our movement together. I’m impressed you remembered the exact topic.
I remember everything about our conversation at the conference, he admitted, including your compelling argument against monopolistic supplier contracts in the restaurant industry. Hardly typical cocktail party conversation, I noted, which is precisely why it was memorable. His eyes held mine as we turned.
That, and the fact that you demolished Raymond Porter’s counter-argument so thoroughly, he actually apologized for wasting your time. The memory made me smile. Porter was a notoriously difficult opposing counsel who rarely conceded any point.
He deserved it. His position was legally indefensible and ethically questionable, and yet, you managed to correct him without humiliating him, a skill many litigators never master. James guided me smoothly through a turn.
It’s one of the things I’ve admired about your approach since I first observed your work three years ago. You’ve been following my cases, I asked surprised, the Andrews merger, the Westbrook intellectual property dispute, and most recently, your rather impressive restructuring of the Montgomery Restaurant Group. He named three of my most significant professional achievements with casual accuracy.
I make it a point to study excellence when I encounter it. The, the compliment, delivered without flattery but as simple fact, warmed me more than any elaborate praise might have. And, what have you concluded from this study? I asked, curious about his assessment, that you’re not only brilliant but principled in an industry where that’s increasingly rare.
His hand tightened slightly at my waist as he guided me away from another couple, and that whoever let you go made the greatest mistake of his life. The statement hung between us for a moment, more intimate than our physical proximity. That’s quite a definitive judgment from someone who doesn’t know the full story.
I said carefully, perhaps, James acknowledged, but I’m an excellent judge of character. It’s what makes me good at what I do. Before I could respond, the music transitioned to a new piece, and a familiar voice spoke from beside us.
May I cut in? Richard stood there, impeccably dressed in a tuxedo, his expression unreadable as he looked between James and me. The unexpectedness of his presence left me momentarily speechless. James recovered first, his hand dropping politely from my waist.
Of course, though the lady may have other ideas, both men turned to me, waiting for my decision. A dozen questions raced through my mind. What was Richard doing here? How had he known about the gala? Why would he appear now, just as I was beginning to explore something new? One dance, I said finally, more to Richard than to James, for business courtesy.
James nodded, lifting my hand briefly to his lips in a gesture that managed to be both old-fashioned and genuinely charming. I’ll get us those drinks. Find me when you’re ready.
As he walked away, Richard took his place, keeping a more formal distance between us than James had. I’m sorry for the interruption, he said, as we began to move to the music. That wasn’t my intention.
What was your intention, Richard? I asked directly. This is my firm’s anniversary gala. You weren’t invited.
Actually, I was. He nodded toward the far side of the room, where the chairman of our biggest corporate client stood chatting with Thomas. Robert Chandler asked me to accompany him.
I didn’t realize you would be here until we arrived. The explanation was plausible. Chandler Global was both a major client of our firm and a significant investor in the restaurant group, but something in Richard’s expression suggested there was more to the story.
