Private Room

Per Se did not feel like a restaurant to Ethan. It felt like a jurisdiction. The elevator doors opened onto controlled silence, soft lighting, flowers that looked selected by committee, and windows framing Columbus Circle as if Manhattan were a possession laid out for inspection. Ethan wore the best suit he could buy with emergency restraint: navy, tailored fast, still cheaper than Marcus Vale's shoes. Priya arrived two minutes after him in a black suit with no blouse, no necklace, no softness offered for free. She looked at Ethan once, head to toe. "You clean up aggressively average." "You negotiate compliments like term sheets." "That was not a compliment." "I know. I am reframing."