Page 21 of Danny

"You're sitting like a person. You usually sit like a piece of furniture that's been told it's allowed to have opinions."

Caleb makes a sound that sounds very much like a laugh. He covers his mouth with his glass whilst I scowl at him across the table.

"I don't sit like furniture."

"You sit like furniture, Danny. Expensive furniture. The kind people are afraid to use." Jagger turns to Elliot. "Elliot. Does Danny sit like furniture?"

Elliot looks up from his tablet. Looks at me. Looks at the booth. "His posture is typically fourteen to sixteen degrees more rigid than the average seated adult. Tonight he's at approximately eight degrees. So yes, something has changed." He goes back to his tablet.

"Thank you, Elliot."

"You're welcome. The Gala catering bids are eleven percent over budget."

"We'll revisit that."

"We should revisit it now."

"We'll revisit it later."

"That's what you said last Sunday and the bids have increased by three percent in the interval, which suggests—"

"Elliot."

"Revisiting later. Noted."

Jagger hasn't stopped watching me. He has this thing he does — the lazy smile, the easy posture, the drink in his hand like a prop — where everything about him says casual and his eyes say I'm going to find the thing you're hiding and I'm going to enjoy doing it. I've known him fifteen years. I should be immune by now.

I'm not immune.

"She's reading Austen," he says.

I don't react. Years of practice. My face does nothing. My hands do nothing. My body sits in this booth like the furniture he's accused me of being and gives him absolutely zero.

"Matteo mentioned it," he adds. "The pretty waitress. Anna. She reads on her breaks. Carries a paperback everywhere. And you—" He points at me with his glass. "—bought a copy of the same book. Which Matteo also mentioned, because Matteo is physically incapable of not mentioning things."

"Matteo is fired."

"Matteo is unfireable and you know it. The man knows where every body is buried. Figuratively." He glances at Caleb. "Probably literally."

"I don't bury bodies," Caleb says. "I have subcontractors for that."

"Was that a joke?"

"You'll never know." He grins. I love Caleb, but he’s a bit scary.

"The point is—" Jagger turns back to me. "You bought a book. A novel. A romance novel, from what Matteo tells me.”

"It's not a romance novel. It's Austen."

"It's a romance novel that's old enough to be respectable. Don't split hairs." He leans forward. "Danny. You bought a book because a woman told you to. You're reading it. You have opinions about the characters. Matteo says you called the Elliot family insufferable, which — fair — but the fact that you have a position on fictional characters in a two-hundred-year-old novel about feelings is so far outside your normal behavior that I need you to understand what I'm seeing right now."

"What are you seeing?"

"A man who's falling for someone and is handling it so badly and hoping nobody notices." He sits back. "Everyone notices, Danny. This building has a faster gossip network than most newsrooms. Evie's running a betting pool."

"On what?"

"On when you'll admit it. Current odds favor next Thursday. I've got money on tonight, so if you could cooperate, I'd appreciate it."