Worst first, because looking at them out of order somehow made everything feel more chaotic than it already was. He had a job interview Monday morning that he'd spent 3 days preparing for, and he needed to get home and go over his notes, and he did not have the time or the energy or the emotional bandwidth to get involved in whatever this was. He pulled his sleeve free, not rough, but clear. The woman's face crumpled just for a second, just that flicker before she caught herself and straightened up and tried to look like it was fine, like she was fine, like none of this was happening. She was good at that.
Marcus could tell, the kind of good that comes from years of practice. She started to turn away and Marcus heard himself say, "Sit down. " She froze. I was already pushing the chair out the other chair, the one across from him with his foot. Sit down, he said again. You're safe.
She sat. Her hands went flat on the table, pressing down like she needed to feel something solid. Marcus sat back down, too. He pulled his coffee mug toward him, still half full, still warm, and wrapped both hands around it the way he did when he needed something to hold. "Don't look at them," he said.
"What? The people at the table? Don't look at them right now. It makes you look scared. She blinked.
I am scared. I know, but they don't need to know that. Something shifted in her face. A slight adjustment like she was recalibrating. Okay, she said.
Good. Marcus looked at her steadily. Now, what's your name? Clare. Clare what?
A pause. Bennett. He nodded once slow. Marcus Reed. He didn't extend his hand.
This wasn't a handshake situation. You've got five minutes to tell me what's actually going on. And I'd start talking fast if I were you because the woman in the blue dress at that corner table has already stood up twice and sat back down. And the third time she stands up. She's coming over here.
Claire's breath caught. She glanced toward the corner table despite herself. I said, "Don't look. Sorry. " She forced her eyes back to him. Okay.
Okay. She pressed her palms harder against the table. The woman is my grandmother, Vivien Bennett. Marcus waited. The man next to her is Thomas Whitmore.
He's He runs a real estate development company. Half the new construction on the north side of Atlanta is his. His son, the younger one, the one in the gray suit, is Andrew. And Clare's jaw worked for a moment. They want me to marry him.