He tapped his finger against the edge of the mahogany table, a gesture that always preceded his more aggressive proposals. I picked up the check, letting the ink dry in the still air of the room, while the grandfather clock continued its slow, mechanical beat.
“I will consider the Lamar figures,” I said, blotting the check with a small square of gray felt. “They seem somewhat inflated for a simple neighborhood renovation.”
“It’s about scale, Arthur,” Derek replied, leaning forward so his shadow fell across my blotter. “We aren’t just selling milk and bread anymore. We are selling a lifestyle experience to the modern Austin demographic.”
His phone began to vibrate against the wood, a harsh, metallic rattle that broke the rhythm of the room. Derek glanced down at the screen, his fingers twitching near his tie once more.
“Take that in the hall, Derek,” I said, gesturing toward the double doors. “I prefer to read these clauses without the sound of a modern office.”
“It’s the regional logistics lead,” Derek said, already rising from his leather chair. “I’ll make it quick.”
He stepped out, closing the heavy oak door behind him, but the latch did not click fully into place. The old brass hardware in the mansion had grown loose over the decades, leaving a gap of half an inch between the frame and the door.
I remained at the desk for a moment, my hand resting on the cool gold of Anna’s ring. The house felt incredibly large today, its high ceilings holding onto the chill of the autumn morning.
I stood up, using the edge of the desk to support my weight, and walked toward the doorway with quiet, deliberate steps. I had no desire to spy on my manager, but the tone of his voice through the opening made me pause before I reached the handle.
