Page 66 of One Wrong Move

“No. It’s just very you,” he says.

“Very me?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s also flattering. How do you know I’m not arrogant, belittling, and entitled when you’re not watching?”

I tilt my head. Examine him. “I suppose you might be. Yes, it’s possible, especially at work. I have a very small sample size to work with. But I think that if you’re arrogant, it’s in a joking way. That if you’re belittling, it’s unintended. And if you’re entitled, it’s… well. An accident of your birth.”

“You’re giving me a lot of grace right now.”

“And you’re avoiding answering my question,” I say. “I only know what I’ve… what I’ve heard about your family. Is it true that you used to go on family holidays on a private jet?”

He runs a hand over his face. “That little tidbit made its way to your ears, huh?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“It happened a few times, yeah. But we didn’t go on family trips very often.” He takes a sip of his drink, and when he sees me still watching, he blows out a breath. “You really want an answer.”

“I want to know more about you.”

“Demanding,” he chides. But he leans back in his chair like he’s settling in. “We were raised in comfort, my siblings and I. I’ll be the first to admit that. We were given every opportunity. Summer camps, tutors, internships… It was a paved road. But my mother didn’t come from the same world as Dad. She was very insistent on us learning good manners, empathy, and how to have fun.”

My voice comes out hesitant. “I heard about her. I’m really sorry, Nate.”

His lips tilt up in a half smile that’s not all too amused. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

“Still. Time doesn’t really matter when it comes to that sort of thing.”

His eyes sharpen. “Of course. You lost your father.”

“Yes, when I was three. I don’t have any memories of him. My stepdad, Greg, is the only dad I’ve ever known.” I shake my head. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, because it couldn’t be that easy.” He looks down at his glass again. “Dad raised us alone after she died, and the lessons changed. He’s always been more achievement focused. It’s hard to feel entitled when you have to work for everything. Not the material things or opportunities, perhaps, but all the other things that matter to a kid. Attention. Affection. Approval.”

“All the A’s,” I murmur.

He huffs out a laugh. “Yes. All the A’s.”

“You have a big brother, too,” I say. “Competitive?”

“Terribly,” he says easily, the word falling from half-smiling lips. “Until I decided to give up the fight. I’d rather lose on walkover than on merit.”

“Clever.”

“Well, that’s the one thing I have going for me. Or at least I did.” He lifts his drink and drains it entirely. “I usually make good decisions.”

I smile at him. “Usually? What have you— oh!”

The food arrives. Two large plates, two sides, and a small bowl of bread. It’s a veritable spread, and I know the bill will be just as large, but this is an adventure. The scent of waffles, truffle fries, and beef sliders wafts in the air between us.

“This is the way life should be lived.” I reach for a few fries, and they taste like magic. We both dig in, and for a few minutes there’s no conversation at all.

“Tell me about your parents,” he says. “Your mom and stepdad.”

I shake my head again. “This is supposed to be my time to ask you invasive questions that you won’t remember later.”

That makes him laugh. “I’m not that drunk, and neither are you, not anymore. Come on. Tell me.”

“My mom is a professor of English literature. Greg works as an accountant. They’re very ordinary, boring people, and they gave me a very stable upbringing.”

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