“Don’t be sorry,” Jake said. “You’re free to speak if you don’t like the things I tell you to do. You’re not my slave.” Jake cringed at the word. “And we’re not going to use that word again, okay? Remind me if I forget.” Jake noticed how Luke wrung his hands.
“Where did you meet my father?” asked Jake softly.
Luke gazed up. His fright and reservation seemed to dissolve somewhat.
“At…no. Outside a café. I—I was very sick.”
* * * *
The day had turned into night more than six hours before. Craig Welther Sr. thought it was time to return home. Deals had been closed, hands shaken, everyone smiling. He always knew things were better settled over wine and laissez-faire conversation instead of strained nerves and frowning brows. Everyone happy, that was the place he always wanted to reach. It mattered little to him if he didn’t get as much as he expected, so long as he still got something.
Smiling widely, Craig Sr. led his guests out of the café.