Sorry My Step-Uncle, I'm Not Your Backup Plan novel Chapter 40

The Bristol Room at Le Maison, one of London's most exclusive French restaurants, was filled with Sinclair & Klein staff members, occupying every private dining room except the premium suite.

"Quite generous of you, choosing The Imperial," a young associate remarked to Gabriella. "Last time I was here was for the firm's holiday party."

Sarah Thompson added with a calculated smile, "You must have done well in New York. With over fifty people here tonight, this will be quite the bill."

"Indeed," Daniel Parker chimed in pleasantly.

"Oh my," Rachel Wilson's voice dripped with false concern. "Are you sure about this, darling? Le Maison runs about £150 per head. With wine, we're looking at three months of a junior associate's salary. We could always find somewhere more... suitable to your means."

Since their first encounter that morning, Gabriella had sensed Rachel's underlying hostility. This confirmed her instincts.

"I can manage," Gabriella replied with practiced ease.

"Well, well," Rachel pressed. "You must have some profitable secrets from your Wall Street days. Do enlighten us."

Gabriella's response was perfectly measured. "No secrets—we're all lawyers here. Major cases pay well, smaller ones less so. Though I'm hardly as established as you, Rachel. Three years in and I still can't afford a car, while I hear you've just bought that lovely townhouse in Mayfair."

Technically true—her salary alone wouldn't cover a luxury vehicle. She simply omitted mentioning the Porsche 911 and Rolls-Royce Phantom sitting idle in her family's garage, not to mention Alexander's Maserati or Asher's ice blue Bentley.

Rachel, oblivious to Gabriella's background, took smug satisfaction in the perceived admission of financial inferiority.

As the ordering began, Sarah deliberately selected the most lavish items—fresh oysters, wagyu beef, vintage wines. Her choices alone approached £800.

Lucy Jenkins, the trainee solicitor beside Gabriella, anxiously whispered, "I... I can't possibly contribute to this."

"Don't worry," Gabriella squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's my treat."

The final bill neared £7,000 with wines and cocktails. Gabriella's slight smile seeing the total went unnoticed. They were obviously trying to take advantage, but with her restored access to the Rodriguez accounts, it was hardly worth noting. Consider it a professional investment.

Technically true—her salary alone wouldn't cover a luxury vehicle. She simply omitted mentioning the Porsche 911 and Rolls-Royce Phantom sitting idle in her family's garage, not to mention Alexander's Maserati or Asher's ice blue Bentley.

Rachel, oblivious to Gabriella's background, took smug satisfaction in the perceived admission of financial inferiority.

As the ordering began, Sarah deliberately selected the most lavish items—fresh oysters, wagyu beef, vintage wines. Her choices alone approached £800.

Lucy Jenkins, the trainee solicitor beside Gabriella, anxiously whispered, "I... I can't possibly contribute to this."

"Don't worry," Gabriella squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's my treat."

"Be careful then. Have you arranged for a car?"

"I'm staying at my flat nearby."

"Alright. Text me when you're home."

Later, when Gabriella went to settle the massive bill, she learned Asher had already paid. She texted him a quick thanks.

[I'm waiting in the parking lot,] he replied. [Let me drive you home.]

The warmth of his concern spread through her chest.

After helping her drunk colleagues into cabs, Gabriella watched Rachel drive off in her Honda Civic with a smug expression. Lucy insisted she could walk to her nearby apartment safely.

When Gabriella's phone buzzed later that evening, the message made her pause:

[In London. Drinks? We need to talk. - Drake]