Chapter 48

The Bristol Room at Le Maison, one of London’s most exclusive French restaurants, was filled with Sinclair & Klein staff members, occupying every private dining room except the premium suite.

“Quite generous of you, choosing The Imperial,” a young associate remarked to Kimberly. “Last time I was here was for the firm’s holiday party.”

Sarah Thompson added, with a calculated smile, “You must have done well in New York. With over fifty people here tonight, this will be quite the bill.”

“Indeed,” Daniel Parker chimed in pleasantly.

“Oh my,” Rachel Wilson’s voice dripped with false concern. “Are you sure about this, darling? Le Maison runs about £150 per head. With wine, we’re looking at three months of a junior associate’s salary. We could always find somewhere more… suitable to your means.”

Since their first encounter that morning, Kimberly had sensed Rachel’s underlying hostility. This confirmed her instincts.

“I can manage,” Kimberly replied with practiced ease.

“Well, well,” Rachel pressed, “You must have some profitable secrets from your Wall Street days. Do enlighten us.”

Kimberly’s response was perfectly measured. “No secrets—we’re all lawyers here. Major cases pay well, smaller ones less so. Though I’m hardly as established as you, Rachel. Three years in and I still can’t afford a car, while I hear you’ve just bought that lovely townhouse in Mayfair.”

Technically true—her salary alone wouldn’t cover a luxury vehicle. She simply omitted mentioning the Porsche 911 and Rolls-Royce Phantom sitting idle in her family’s garage, not to mention Alexander’s Maserati or Asher’s ice-blue Bentley.

Rachel, oblivious to Kimberly’s background, took smug satisfaction in the perceived admission of financial inferiority.

As the ordering began, Sarah deliberately selected the most lavish items—fresh oysters, wagyu beef, vintage wines. Her choices alone approached £800.

Lucy Jenkins, the trainee solicitor beside Kimberly, anxiously whispered, “I… I can’t possibly contribute to this.”

“Don’t worry,” Kimberly squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It’s my treat.”

The final bill neared £7,000 with wines and cocktails. Kimberly’s slight smile seeing the total went unnoticed. They were obviously trying to take advantage, but with her restored access to the Jordan accounts, it was hardly worth noting. Consider it a professional investment.

Midway through dinner, Kimberly excused herself to the restroom.

“Running away already?” Rachel called after her. “Don’t tell me you can’t pay!”

“Would you like to escort me to the ladies’ room?” Kimberly replied coolly.

Near the elevators, she unexpectedly encountered Asher.

“Kimberly?” He looked surprised, surrounded by several executives in bespoke suits. “What brings you here?”

“Dinner with colleagues,” she smiled. “What a coincidence.”

His expression softened. “How was your first day?”

“Fine,” she said, not mentioning her coworkers’ behavior.

“Let me drive you home?”

“Still early. Don’t wait for me.”

“Be careful then. Have you arranged for a car?”

“I’m staying at my flat nearby.”

“Alright. Text me when you’re home.”

Later, when Kimberly went to settle the massive bill, she learned Asher had already paid. She texted him a quick thanks.

“[I’m waiting in the parking lot,]” he replied. “[Let me drive you han…”

The warmth of his concern spread through her chest.

After helping her drunk colleagues into cabs, Kimberly watched Rachel drive off in her Honda Civic with a smug expression. Lucy insisted she could walk to her nearby apartment safely.

When Kimberly’s phone buzzed later that evening, the message made her pause:

“[In London, Drinks? We need to talk. Drake]”