Page 10 of Emil

“Oh, he finally arrived,” John sneered, looking past my shoulder.

I turned, and approaching the table, nervous and fidgety, was Anders. He wore a business suit that didn’t quite fit his shoulders, but it was clear he had tried hard to dress appropriately for the venue. His hair was neatly braided and pulled back in a bun. His eyes, though, were clouded over, and sadness seemed to drip from him.

“Anders, have a seat. It is great to see you,” I said and offered my hand. He gave me a tentative smile and took it. His hand was warm and firm with the faintest hint of sweat. His aftershave wafted across the table. Musky with a hint of flowers, it was lighter than my own, but I liked the scent.

“Thank you,” he said quietly and slipped into the empty chair.

“It would have been nice if you’d shown up on time,” John said with an ugly grimace. Anders glanced down at his watch. Confusion spread across his face. “You said seven-thirty, and it’s seven twenty-five.”

“Incompetence is a theme for you, Anders. I said seven. You’re twenty-five minutes late.”

Anders recoiled like he had been slapped. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the twisted amusement on John’s face. I’d bet money that fucker told Anders the wrong time so he’d have something to bitch about. Christ, I’d be glad to be rid of him and his family.

“Your menu, sir,” the server murmured.

Anders visibly paled when he opened it. Quill was nice, and definitely had pricy options on the menu, but I’d have thought John had brought Anders here before. Anders’s eyes darted across the menu at a rapid pace. It was impossible not to notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest. If it got any worse, he’d start hyperventilating on the spot. Every part of me wanted to reach across the table and reassure him, and every fiber also knew how inappropriate that would be.

Rather than dwell more on Anders in ways that needed to be avoided, I studied John and his parents. They were cut from the same grubby cloth, and their expensive clothes and cloying colognes couldn’t hide the grift. Their answers were polished, but their accounting practices were in shambles. Every day, it became clearer that the documents they presented in the original loan had been doctored. As far as I could tell, they were blissfully unaware that we were researching every thread we unraveled.

“Are you ready to order?” the freshly materialized server asked.

John and his parents ordered the most expensive things on the menu because, of course, they did. Clearly, they thought I was picking up the tab because there was no damn way they’d pay for tomahawk steaks and Alaskan king crab if they thought it was coming from their pocket.

“And for you, sir?”

John loudly cleared his throat before Anders could answer. I caught the glower John shot at Anders along with a subtle shake of his head.

“No, thank you. I’ll stick with water.”

“Are you sure? The special tonight is chicken marsala with foraged mushrooms, and I know that’s your favorite. I can ask the chef to do extra sauce. I know you like it.”

Anders looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, and John was marooned with barely contained rage. It was beyond me how Anders could be so well known here that the waiter knew his preferences, but he clearly blanched at the prices. If Anders managed to create a life away from his shitty boyfriend, I was fucking here for it.

“Anders said he’s not eating,” John interjected through clenched teeth. “He’s here to work. Let’s finish ordering so he can do his job and leave. I’m sure he has things to do this evening.” The glee John took in his pronouncement made my skin crawl.

“John, that’s a wonderful suggestion,” his mother simpered. She cast a smirk at Anders and his father gave one in return. These power-play idiots were out of their goddamn minds.

“Anders, I can’t let a guest not eat at a dinner I’m hosting. What would you like?” I kept my voice as neutral and, quite frankly, as unintimidating as possible.

“He’s working, not a guest,” John said through gritted teeth. It was an interesting combination of whining and pure pissed-off rage. “And now he’s creating a delay.”

“Anders, order your dinner, please. John, keep your mouth shut unless I speak to you.” I sat back and let the chips fall where they may. The dinner meeting was a courtesy at their request, which had been mainly granted to minimize the later whining about terms I knew I’d ignore.

“Anders has done nothing but drag my son down. I’m so glad he’s no longer in our lives,” John’s mother added to twist the knife.

Anders bowed his head and hunched his shoulders at her cruel announcement.

Done. I was fucking done.

“Luckily, you won’t have to tolerate it much longer.”

“Wonderful.” Her mouth twisted into some facsimile of a smile.

I turned to the server, who was doing a remarkable job of pretending he wasn’t listening to the entire conversation while also scowling in the family’s direction. “Please escort them to their coats. These three are leaving,” I said with a careless wave across the table. I almost wished I could hear how he’d relay it to the kitchen staff. “When they’re gone, please come back so we can order properly.”

“Yes, immediately.” The server marched around to pull out John’s mother’s chair. He waited expectantly behind her.

“Are you fucking kidding?” John asked with disbelief.