Penelope's POV
I stepped into Small Bernardin at seven twenty-five sharp.
Five minutes before the scheduled time. In the corporate world, punctuality wasn't just polite—it was essential. This wasn't some romantic rendezvous. This was strictly business. A professional consultation regarding market expansion strategies with potential Gallian investors.
My outfit had been chosen with surgical precision. A conservative navy dress that revealed nothing inappropriate. Modest heels that conveyed seriousness without suggesting I was trying to catch anyone's attention. A structured blazer that practically shouted corporate competence. Hair pulled into an unforgiving bun. Makeup so subtle it barely existed. Posture that could have been measured with a ruler.
I was here as a market development consultant. A business professional. Nothing beyond that role mattered.
