Page 76 of The Relationship Clause

“Why wouldn’t you be allowed to tell anyone where your daughter works?”

“Because it’s all a big secret,” she whispers. She sighs and starts backing out of the bathroom, stumbling a couple more times on her way out. “Don’t tell anyone I told you,” she says, smiling through her extremely white teeth. “I’ve gotta get back to my dinner party. Have a nice night!”

“You too.” And then she’s gone, leaving a knot of dread lodged in my gut.

I have to tell Owen.

This is my one and only thought as I drift out of the bathroom and through the restaurant until I recognize the back of his head. He’s sitting at a large, round table decorated with a fine linen tablecloth, tiny tea lights, and sprigs of greenery.

“Here she is, at last,” Fred announces. He’s sitting opposite Owen with Carlotta at his side and almost a dozen other faces I’ve never seen before around him. Except one. One face, I recognize immediately.

Sitting right beside my empty seat is the tipsy woman from the bathroom. She turns to look up at me and glitches. It’s as if she is a robot and someone jammed their finger on her power off button. She goes still, eyes wide, smile frozen on her face, one hand halfway through adjusting her thick, dark hair. Then, just as suddenly, she comes back to life. Her smile changes into something big, fake, and almost scary. Then she turns away, reaches for her water glass, and practically chugs the entire thing.

And oh. My. Gosh. If that isn’t a confirmation to my queasy gut that something is very wrong with this situation, I don’t know what is.

For half a second, I consider confronting her, speaking directly to her, and demanding why, exactly, her daughter does not plan on working at Em3rge much longer. But cowardice wins out. I can’t say anything like that to her. Not here. Not now. Certainly not without having anything concrete to go off of. I need more information. And I need to let Owen know my suspicions.

“Sorry I’m late.” I try to force a natural smile, but my insides are churning.

Owen stands, pulls my chair out for me, then leans in, giving me a kiss on my cheek that I wish I could focus on.

“Is everything okay?” he murmurs against my ear. “You look troubled.”

I hate and love that he notices this. “Yeah, I’m—”

“So, you must be the famous girlfriend we’ve heard so much about,” says a balding man sitting next to Fred.

Famous? My cheeks warm as I realize everyone’s attention is on me. This is the worst. I was only fifty-percent looking forward to this dinner because, hello, Owen in a suit at a fancy restaurant? That alone is worth the price of admission. But now all this? It’s too much.

“Yes,” says another woman. “Fred talks highly of you. He says he couldn’t ask for a better daughter-in-law if he’d picked one out himself.”

“Daughter-in-law?” My gaze darts to Owen, whose cheeks are flushed, a glass of water perched on the edge of his bottom lip like he forgot what he was doing. “We’re not—”

“Oh, we know that,” the balding man says, waving. “Fred’s excited, that’s all. According to him, Owen hasn’t dated in years. Almost lost hope.”

I add my nervous chuckle to the chorus of laughs that go up around me. Owen’s warm hand finds my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. I can read the subtext behind that squeeze without needing to look at him: I’m sooo sorry about this.

I take his hand and squeeze it back.

“Anthony,” Owen says when the laughter dies, “you can’t leave us hanging. Come on, what happened with the ski instructor?”

An overweight man launches into what must be the middle of a story he’d been telling before I got there, and I seize the chance to grab my menu and hide myself behind it.

“Owen,” I whisper, leaning closer to him, “who is this woman sitting beside me?”

His gaze flicks to her. “If I remember right, her name is Linda. The blond, Adam Sandler-look-alike she’s sitting next to is Craig, one of my dad’s work friends. I think she’s his third wife. They got married last year. Why?”

I don’t answer, worrying my lip instead until Owen’s arm goes around my shoulders and his fingers graze my cheek, pulling my gaze to his.

“Juniper,” he says, eyes dark and intense, “what’s wrong?”

“Well, um, nothing’s wrong per se, and it might be nothing or maybe a weird coincidence, but I kind of met Linda in the women’s bathroom just now.”

Owen nods, his thumb moving in slow, calming circles against my shoulder.

“She was kind of drunk, and we started chatting. Long story short, she told me she has a daughter who works at Em3rge. She said her daughter doesn’t plan on working there much longer, and then she shushed me and told me not to tell because it was supposed to be a secret. Then, when we saw each other just now, she totally freaked out. Do you think—I mean, is it crazy to think her daughter might be the one leaking information?”

“I don’t know…” Owen’s jaw is clenched and his thumb stops moving on my shoulder. “Hold on, let me see if I can figure out her daughter’s name.”

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