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Uh, okay. “Are we talking in code?”

“I’m happy you’re home.” With that Celia stood up.

I couldn’t exactly admit that I was in town for a business deal. One that, without her knowledge or permission, involved her. But I couldn’t forget her not-so-subtle hint that I hadn’t found mythingin life yet, probably because her sweet tea admission threw me off.

It was interesting how Celia and Gram hid bad news but didn’t shy away from offering their advice. They came right out with it whether, in the case of a safe sex talk at thirteen, it made me squirm, or it was a general life lesson. They believed in preparing me for the real world.

I’d listened to about a billion speeches about bad men over the years. Never accept a drink from someone you don’t know. Walk home in pairs. Never let him get you alone in a car. Pay for the ride share. The list went on and on. Yet here, when I needed details and direction, Celia clammed up.

First job: tackle the business issue.

Second: figure out what I was supposed to be when I grew up.

Chapter Eleven

Jackson picked a brasserie in a downtown hotel for dinner. The building wasn’t far from his office, which explained his choice. Knowing Jackson, he intended to return to his desk after we finished.

The clubby restaurant with its paneled walls harkened back to an old-fashioned private men’s club. The only thing missing was the thick layer of cigarette smoke I assumed lingered in places with this vibe. Winston-Salem, the home of tobacco, would have been ground zero for that sort of thing. Not anymore, thanks to the modern-day inside smoking ban. Very grateful for that.

We’d been sitting at the table for six minutes when I whipped out my notebook with all the information from my recent research. Time to impress lawyer boy. “I have proof.”

Jackson finished drinking his water. The look on his face didn’t give anything away. Unreadable. Annoyingly blank.

When he didn’t say anything, I tried again. “About the poison.”

“Yes, I know what you’re referring to.” He set his glass down with precision, as if it might shatter if he hit it too hard against the table.

He wore his usual dark suit, this time with a green tie that made his eyes sparkle... or would have if I noticed that sort of thing, which I no longer did.

He didn’t smile or frown, but his voice sounded tight. We were coming at this dinner from two different directions. While I was enjoying a work break, he’d sat at a desk and argued all day. It was only fair I gave him an opportunity to vent if he needed one.

“Bad day?”

“Not particularly.”

Huh. I sat back in my chair, resigned to a fight. “I give up. What’s wrong with you?”

“Maybe we could order before you start lobbying me with your theories.”

My menu sat in front of me. I hadn’t opened it. Hadn’t really thought about food, which was not how I normally prioritized things. I’d been so excited to hit him with my findings that I’d missed something. Not sure what. “Are you angry?”

“Should I be?”

Not a fan of answering a question with a question. It reminded me of the office and Micah andugh. Also, if I knew what was happening with Jackson I wouldn’t be squirming in my chair, searching for a comfortable position. “You seem... distant.”

He shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

That sounded simple. Too simple?

I leaned in again, thinking to keep our conversation as private as possible. “Did something happen? It feels like something happened.”

“Look around you.”

Fine. I’d play along. For the first time I heard the faint background music. Saw the crowd. Tables filled with couples and groups. A few people milling about, waiting to be seated. Lotsof laughter and chatting. Servers talking about specials. The clink of silverware and water glasses. Basically, a pleasant crush of after-work activity.

Okay. Done. “What am I supposed to see?”

He rested his elbows on the table. “We’re having dinner.”