Then, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know what I mean. Don't charge ahead and then crawl back later. Margaux already doesn't respect you. Don't give her another reason to look down on you."
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes.
"I've eaten at the Davidson family table for twelve years. I helped them claw their way from second-rate nouveau riche into high society. Built their reputation from nothing. Secured connections in every direction. I think I've done enough."
Outside the window, thunder rolled through the sky. A flash of lightning lit up the street, followed by a sudden downpour.
A couple burst through the doors, laughing as they shook off the rain. The woman clung to the man's arm, fussing as she wiped down his jacket. He looked down at her and smiled, flicking the water from his hair.
Then our eyes met.
I went still.
So did he.
Archie adjusted his sleeves, called a server over, grabbed a glass of wine, and strolled to our table.
"Troy," he said with that easy, practiced smile.