Page 125 of The Right Sign

“I’m clarifying.”

He bunches his mouth into a teasing wad. “Tell me what it is you’ve been dying to say since we left the principal’s office.”

I wrap my fingers around the cup in front of me and glance around the café. It’s empty. Like… totally. And I have a feeling it’s not because a café in the heart of the city suddenly has zero customers.

The shop is a wide, open space. Zero noise. Nothing seeping into my hearing aids and mucking up the clarity.

We’re sitting next to the window, drowning in sunlight.

It’s the perfect environment for me. Did he choose it intentionally?

My gaze flickers over him, this mysterious enigma that I can’t figure out.

“You love your niece. You didn’t want the school to make a big deal over it. I understand.”

“But you don’t agree.” He tilts his head, watching me. Always watching me.

“I worry about the child who got embarrassed.”

“I instructed Mosely to send the family a check. That child’s education will be paid through to college.”

“I worry that you actually think that’s a solution.”

“You had a better proposal?”

“An actual apology.”

“Can’t pay bills with that.”

“That’s obnoxious.”

“You don’t like money?”

“I don’t like when people think money can solve everything.” I gesture to the space between us. “Or that people can be bought.”

“I didn’t buy you. I bought your time.”

“You bought a service. And this isn’t about me.”

“It’s aboutme.” He leans back in his chair. Even while lounging, there’s a charisma about him. Some unspoken authority.

I’ve long observed that the most powerful people in the room are never the loudest, never the ones with all the attention. They’re the ones in the corner, watching, taking notes, making moves where there are no eyes.

“There’s some misunderstanding here about who I am,” he adds.

I shake my head. “Not a misunderstanding.”

His eyes meet mine and a little zip goes down my spine. I wish I could explain where it came from or why it happened.

So I could stop it.

He signs, “Who do you think I am?”

I glance up at the ceiling. There are exposed beams crisscrossing each other. That, along with the exposed walls, gives the cafe a modern, hipster vibe.

“You are…” I sign, “a stereotypical, rich playboy.”

“I understood ‘rich’.”

---