Page 37 of One Month's Notice

“Thanks, I’d love to.” A warmth bloomed in Nat’s chest despite Clara’s attempt to unsettle her. She fell into step with the group as they headed out into the evening, the city lights beginning to twinkle awake.

Chapter seventeen

Monday 16th May, evening

The lacquered door of the Golden Phoenix swung open and a wave of savoury aromas greeted them as they stepped into the impressive space. Nat’s eyes traced the intricate patterns of jade dragons coiling around golden pillars, each scale carved with painstaking detail. The plush crimson carpets muffled their footsteps, and the soft tinkle of traditional music floated out of hidden speakers.

“I’ve arranged the best table for us.” Clara’s voice sliced through the ambiance with a tone that grated against Nat’s ears. “Not an easy feat, but when you are friends with the owner…” She let the sentence hang, smirking at the investors who murmured their impressed acknowledgments.

Nat swallowed the tightness in her throat, feeling out of place amid the restaurant’s grandeur. Her high street blazer and loose trousers were a stark contrast to Clara’s fitted designer dress and perfectly matched high heels. To Nat’s annoyance, Michael nodded appreciatively at Clara’s efforts.

A hostess, adorned in a silk cheongsam that shimmered like molten gold, led them through the maze of tables. Nat’s gaze lingered on the delicate porcelain dishes and crystal glasses that caught the light, casting rainbow prisms onto the linen tablecloths. No matter where she went, she was always on the lookout for design ideas, and this restaurant was a treasure trove of inspiration.

“Your private booth.” The hostess gestured towards an intimate alcove shielded by a lattice screen interwoven with lush greenery.

“Perfect.” Clara steered the group toward the secluded spot and slid into the curved seating, patting the cushion beside her. “Michael, here.”

Michael complied without hesitation, taking the space next to Clara. She angled herself towards him, cutting off the flow of conversation to the rest of the table. Nat paused for a moment, then settled into a seat across from Michael, the distance between them amplified by Clara’s strategic intervention.

As she tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to settle the fluttering in her stomach, Nat finally caught Michael’s attention. His eyes offered a brief respite, a silent acknowledgment before Clara’s laughter drew him back into her orbit. Nat directed her focus onto the grain of the wood on her chair, tracing the lines with her fingertips to settle the irritation.

She shifted in her seat, feeling the plush cushion shift beneath her as she tried to ease into the evening. Nat did her best to make conversation with the rest of the group—Steve with his salt-and-pepper hair, Karen’s sharp eyes behind rimless glasses, Malik’s booming laugh, and Poppy, her enthusiasm barely contained—were animatedly discussing the virtues of various cocktails.

“Nothing beats a classic Old Fashioned.” Steve poured water from a jug over the ice in his empty glass.

“Perhaps.” Poppy tilted her head. “But have you tried a Lychee Martini? Made just right, they are so refreshing and not too sweet.”

As the debate continued, Michael joined in with talk of single malts, his voice confident and smooth. Nat snuck a glance across the table, catching his gaze for an instant before it was pulled away by Clara’s insistent chatter about her fondness for expensive champagne cocktails.

“Excuse me.” The hostess arrived at their table. “Are we ready to order drinks?”

“Could you recommend something?” Nat welcomed the distraction.

“Of course.” A smile lit up the hostess’ face. “Don’t be put off by the name, but our Dragon’s Breath is quite popular. It has a hint of spice balanced by the sweetness of passion fruit.”

“Sounds delicious,” Nat said, closing the menu. “I’ll have one of those.” The hostess smiled again and turned to the others to take their orders.

The conversation naturally flowed into the territory of business as the clink of glasses signalled the arrival of their drinks. Nat sipped her cocktail, the sweet burn invigorating her senses. As soon as the moment arose, she seized the opportunity to delve deeper into the workings of the gambling organisation.

“Malik, how does the risk assessment work for your high-stakes players?” Nat was genuinely curious, but also keen to uncover whatever she could that might help build her understanding of the extent of their malpractice. “Is there any protection in place to ensure they don’t end up in serious financial difficulties?”

“Ah, Natalie, how sweet that you want to understand the technical stuff,” Clara cut in, her tone laced with disdain. “This is a bit more complex than typing up minutes for meetings, though.” She tipped back her head and laughed, then looked directly at Nat.

A flush of embarrassment crept up Nat’s neck, but she avoided Clara’s gaze, unwilling to show weakness.

“I’m sure Malik could explain it in simple terms for someone like me.” She looked expectantly at Malik, before casting a quick glance at Michael, who merely adjusted his cufflinks, a silent spectator to the exchange. Yet again, his lack of defence stung more than Clara’s taunts.

Nat nodded along as the table erupted into a lively discussion about probability algorithms and client vetting processes. But she could not ignore the weight of Michael’s indifference pressing down on her as she watched the discussion play out.

The group was soon distracted by the scent of garlic and ginger filling the air as dishes emerged from the kitchen’s swinging doors, carried by a steady parade of waiters. Steamed baskets of pork dumplings arrived, their pleated skins glistening under the soft light, accompanied by crisp Peking duck that was carved table side, its skin audibly cracking. A large steaming clay pot revealed tender beef stewed with daikon, while plump shrimp lay in a vibrant bed of stir-fried snow peas.

“Can we get some forks and spoons over here?” Clara waved down a passing waiter with an insincere smile. “I’m not sure everyone is adept with chopsticks.” Her eyes flickered to Nat, whose hands were hovering nervously over the bamboo utensils.

Suppressing a frown, Nat picked up the chopsticks with more confidence than she felt and skilfully plucked a dumpling from the basket, imagining where she would really like to jab the utensils. She held Clara’s attention as she popped the dumpling into her mouth, unable to suppress a satisfied smile as she felt the burst of savoury juices on her tongue.

“Michael.” Nat shifted her gaze, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Have you tried the Kung Po chicken? It’s supposed to be exceptional.” She actually had no idea if it was any good, but it seemed like a good opportunity to play Clara at her own game.

“Oh no, I—” Michael began, but Clara leaned across him, her arm brushing his chest.

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