Joanne would not outright ask. Not a particularly healthy habit, but that was the way it was between the two when it came to personal matters. It was best to ask roundabout questions — questions that had a deeper meaning; like how asking ‘how things were’ was a way to ask about his upcoming wedding and his fiance, who, if she remembered correctly, was in her second trimester.

He was staring at her across the table, between them, chipped Formica and two cups, their content cooling. Like he always did (as stated earlier), he looked casual and immaculate at the same time — but his face looked ragged and tired. The things he was dealing with must not have been easy.

She sighed. Five minutes or less at the table and part of her already wanted to comfort him, grab his hands, anything.

But no. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

She closed her eyes and he was gone; opened them and he was there again, still looking at her with that hesitant smile she knew far too well.

“Ann,” he said, leaning back and stretching his arms across the back of his worn leather, an air of relaxation about him. It was so obviously forced she almost felt insulted. “Things have—”

“Not being good. Clearly.” She punctuated the last word sharply, with a defiant look at him, before sighing once more, softening her tone and features. “What is wrong, Nathan? Tell me.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Do not lie.” Her gaze was locked with his as she told him, throwing his poor attempt at a smile back to him. “Please.”

“I'm not lying.” There was a note of hurt in his voice. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“But you are troubled by something.” Not wanting to show how much his state had affected her, she settled for taking a sip of her tea. The sweetness ironically kept her grounded, but still, it was not enough to stop her hands from shaking as she gazed at his. She wanted to touch it. Hold it.

“Yeah,” he said after a while. “The preparations are going great, the baby and Cece are okay, but I can’t help feeling…worried.”

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She squinted her eyes, her lips raised slightly. “Worried? But I thought you said there's nothing wrong.”

“I know it's stupid, but…I don't know. I have this feeling that something bad will happen, and I’m at a loss for what to do to stop it. I've tried everything, Ann; from paying for the service of an accredited and renowned security institution to ensuring that all international standard security checks, measures, and procedures would be adhered to, yet…as much as I try, I can't shake this feeling.” He stared with that flat honesty that attracted her to him, his expression naked, vulnerable.

The look in his eyes placed a knife in her throat and the deep sense of uneasiness from the paranoia in his words made her body rigid. She was no professional, but there was no doubt it was no mere pre-wedding jitters. This was something more serious.

“I do not want anything bad to happen, Ann,” he softly added before going silent, covering his face with both hands.

The air left her lungs all at once in an involuntary high-pitched, nervous titter — an action she immediately realized had given the wrong impression, judging by his slacked jaw and drawn eyebrows. She quickly tried to backtrack.

“Sorry, I know it's not funny—”

The catchy melody of Burna Boy’s Last Last blasted out from her phone, announcing she had a call. Jarring and noisy, it interrupted her explanation and piqued her curiosity in one fell swoop. She issued a quick apology, opened her bag, and reached for her phone in her purse, unsure if the call was a welcome or unwelcome intrusion.

The screen showed a contact she was familiar with, and just like the previous day, she hesitated. However, common sense prevailed — along with the horror at her past actions — and, sliding her fingers across, she accepted the call.

“Mia,” she gasped out in a rush. “About before, I would like to apologize for my—”

“Mrs. Johnson would like to see you today.” The agent’s tone was professional, soft-spoken yet firm with little inflection. It sent her pulse racing.

“Mrs. Johnson?” Her words came out in a strangled whisper. Why would the publishing manager want to see her on such short notice?

“Yes, Joanne, Mrs. Joanne,” came the curt reply. “She’s a busy woman. Do not take long to get here.”

The call ended without prompt — which at any other time would have been rude and ruffled her feathers — but she had not even noticed; her mind was occupied with echoing her earlier thoughts.

Why was she being summoned?

She could think of nothing that could warrant—

Her internal monologue was cut off as the previous night’s events sluiced into her thoughts… And she could not stop the curse that escaped her lips. The situation was a mess, but there was a silver lining, she supposed; there were still some hours left until Wolffe needed to eat.

Sending a small smile Nathan’s way to alleviate his concern, she downed the rest of her tea and stood. Hopefully, the impending conversation would not take long and go as she feared.