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I glance into the ballroom. Flora is watching us over her glasses. Brenda has turned in her chair, and several other women are pretending to study their cards while listening as hard as they can.

“If you weren’t building next door, I’d consider it. But you are, so I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to stop fighting my hotel.” His voice softens. “You can hate the project and still have dinner with me.”

“That sounds very convenient for you.”

“It’s also true. The hotel will be built whether we have dinner or never speak again. Going out with me won’t stop you from opposing it—or challenging me to that public wrestling match.”

“I haven’t ruled that out.”

“Good. I’ll have Voss sponsor it. You already have my best photo for the posters.”

I laugh before I can stop myself. This keeps happening. Eric says something ridiculous, I forget why I need to keep my distance, and being with him feels far too easy.

His expression turns serious. “Tell me you don’t want to have dinner with me.”

I open my mouth, but the lie won’t come.

“One dinner,” he says. “That’s all I’m asking. If you want me to leave you alone afterward, I will.”

“You’ll stop calling?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Over his shoulder, Flora watches us and Brenda leans toward her and whispers something. They can’t hear us, but Eric is standing too close, and I’ve been away from the stage too long.

He’s right about one thing. Refusing dinner won’t stop his hotel or protect mine.

“Tomorrow night. Now leave.”

He grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He finally leaves, and I head to Flora’s table. All four women look up at me with raised eyebrows.

Brenda speaks first. “Was that Eric Voss?”

“He came to discuss the development.”

“On a Sunday night?”

“He has no respect for business hours.”

Flora glances toward the doors. “He looked pleased with himself.”

“Eric is always pleased with himself.” I lower my voice. “Grandma doesn’t need to know he was here. She’ll worry about what Voss wants, and I don’t want this spoiling her trip.”

All four women promise not to say a word.

At seven twelve the next morning, my phone starts vibrating on my desk. Grandma’s name fills the screen. I answer, and her face appears so close to the camera that I can see only her eyes, her nose, and part of one cheek.

“Why was Eric Voss at bingo?”

No hello. Straight to the interrogation.

“Good morning, Grandma.”

“It’s after four here. Why was he there?”