Renee adjusted the strap once, then left her hand near her shoulder as if she had forgotten it there. She was thirty-seven, old enough to know when a mistake had turned useful.
The hotel bar was almost empty after the conference dinner. Men had loosened their ties and started talking too loudly about deals they had not closed. Walter sat two stools away, sixty-six, silver hair, quiet suit, the kind of man who looked more dangerous because he was not trying to be.
He noticed the strap. Renee saw the notice and also saw him fight it. That mattered. A younger man might have stared and ruined the game before it started.
She turned toward him and asked if the seat beside him was taken. Walter said it was waiting for better company. Corny, but he knew it, and the little crease at the corner of his mouth saved him.
Renee sat. The strap slipped again, barely. She fixed it faster this time, giving him permission to understand that the first pause had been no accident.
Walter kept his eyes on her face. Good, she thought. He was still in control of himself.
They talked about nothing for five minutes, which is how careful people talk about everything. Flights. Rain. Bad hotel coffee. The space between them grew warmer with each harmless sentence.
Finally Walter said he was trying very hard to be a gentleman. Renee looked at his hands folded around the glass.
Then say something honest instead, she told him.
He breathed out once, almost a laugh, almost surrender. He said she had made the room feel smaller since she walked in. Renee smiled because that was exactly the kind of trouble she had waited for.
