Skin in the Game
Copyright© 2025 by Danielle Stories
Chapter 6: The First Test
The restaurant was the kind of place where the lights were low and the prices weren’t listed on the menu. It smelled of old money and seared steak. The other diners were all older, dressed in quiet, expensive clothes that whispered instead of shouted.
When we walked in, I followed two steps behind Angelica, and the conversation didn’t die. It just ... hushed. A low, curious hum replaced the normal chatter. I felt the weight of their stares, but they were different from the press. These were calculating, assessing. They were measuring my worth as an accessory, like one would judge the cut of a suit or the sparkle of a diamond.
The maître d’ led us to a private room in the back. A long, polished table was set for ten. Seven men and two women were already seated, their glasses half-full of amber liquid. They all stood as we entered.
“Angelica! So good to see you,” said a silver-haired man at the head of the table. His eyes swept over me without a flicker of surprise. He was one of them. The kind of person who was never shocked by power, only interested in its application.
“Charles,” Angelica said smoothly, taking the empty seat he gestured to. I moved to stand against the wall behind her, assuming my position. The stool was here, too, placed in the corner. A silent acknowledgment of my role.
The dinner began. Talk of markets, of mergers, of global trends. I was a statue, my gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the wallpaper across the room. I was part of the scenery.
Then, the silver-haired man, Charles, leaned forward. “So, Angelica. Your new ... paradigm. It’s certainly causing a stir. But is it scalable? Or is it a unique ... indulgence?” He took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes glinting. The question wasn’t about business. It was about me.
All eyes at the table turned to me, then back to Angelica, waiting.
Angelica didn’t even glance in my direction. She cut a small piece of her steak. “It’s the ultimate statement of brand integrity, Charles. No filters. No false presentation. It demonstrates a level of control and commitment that our competitors cannot fathom. It’s not an indulgence. It’s a strategic advantage.” She ate a piece of steak. “It is, by its very nature, exclusive. It cannot be scaled. That is its value.”
A woman with severe blonde hair chuckled. “It certainly commands a room.” Her gaze was on me, sharp and intrusive. “Does it ever ... speak?”
The air in the room tightened. This was the test. Not from the press, but from the people who held real power.
Angelica set her fork down. It made a soft, precise click on China.
“She speaks when I require it,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Would you like me to require it?”
The woman’s smile vanished. She looked down at her plate. “That won’t be necessary.”
The conversation moved on, but the tone had changed. A boundary had been set, and Angelica had defended it without raising her voice.
I stood against the wall, my skin cool in the air-conditioned room. I hadn’t moved a muscle. But inside, I was smiling. I was more than a statement. I was a weapon, and she had just shown them how sharp I was.
The dinner ended with handshakes and hollow pleasantries. The investors filed out, casting final, curious glances my way. The woman who had asked if I spoke didn’t look at me at all.
When the room was empty, Angelica remained seated, swirling the last of the water in her glass. I stayed at my post, waiting.
“Come here,” she said.
I walked to the side of her chair.
“Your composure was acceptable,” she stated. “They were testing my control, and by extension, yours. You did not flinch.”
“Thank you, Angelica.”
She looked up at me, her eyes sharp in the dim light. “But composure is passive. It is a defense. Now, you must learn to be an active tool. Tomorrow, we are visiting a manufacturing plant. You will be with me on the factory floor. The workers will not be like the investors. They will not hide their reactions. They will stare. They will whisper. Some may even shout. You will not react. You will be a living example of the discipline I demand, even in an environment of chaos. Do you understand the difference?”
I thought about it. The investors were a mental game, a test of wills. The factory would be a physical one, a test of raw nerve. “Yes,” I said. “I am to be a lesson. Not just a statement.”
A slow, genuine smile touched her lips. It was the first real one I had ever seen from her, and it was more powerful than any glare. “Exactly. You are learning faster than I anticipated.”
The praise was like a drug, warm and potent. I wanted more of it.
We returned to the hotel suite. The night city glittered below, a universe of lights. I went to my room and stood by the window, replaying the dinner in my head. The tension at the table. The way Angelica had shut down the blonde woman with just a few words. The way she was now trusting me with a more complex role.
I wasn’t just an accessory to be seen. I was becoming a tool to be used. An instrument of her influence.
The thought should have been frightening. But it wasn’t. It was exhilarating. I had value. I had a purpose. I was being sharpened for a reason.
I looked at my reflection in the dark glass. The naked girl was gone. In her place was an operative, being prepared for her next mission, and I couldn’t wait.
The manufacturing plant was a cathedral of noise and industry. The air smelled of hot metal, oil, and sweat. The roar of machinery was a constant, physical presence, vibrating up through the concrete floor into the soles of my bare feet.
As Angelica, the plant manager, and I walked along a gated walkway overlooking the factory floor, the change was instant. The investors had been snakes, subtle and sly. These workers were an open wave of shock.
Heads turned. Wrenches stilled in mid-turn. The relentless rhythm of the assembly line faltered. Whistles cut through the mechanical din, sharp and crude. Shouts of “Hey, baby!” and disbelieving laughter echoed off the high ceilings.
The plant manager, a nervous man named Bill, flushed red. “My apologies, Ms. Howell, the men don’t.”
“Quiet,” Angelica said, her voice cutting through the noise without raising it. She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were fixed ahead, but I knew she was watching everything, feeling the atmosphere of the room.
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