Derek looked up, his eyes widening slightly as I walked toward his table.

“Can I sit down?” I asked.

He shrugged, looking back down at his cup. “Suit yourself.”

I slid into the vinyl booth across from him.

The table was sticky with spilled sugar, and the scent of roasted espresso beans was thick.

“I talked to Dad,” I said.

Derek froze, his hand stopping mid-peel on the cardboard sleeve.

“He called you?” Derek asked, his voice low.

“He told me about the San Francisco offer,” I said.

Derek let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Of course he did,” he said. “The one time he speaks up, it’s to whisper behind her back.”

“He was trying to help you, Derek,” I said.

“He can’t help me,” Derek said. “Nobody can. If I don’t take the corporate consulting job she lined up, she will withdraw her backing.”

“Is her backing worth your career?” I asked.

“It’s not just money, Sarah,” he said, looking at me with sudden intensity. “She has connections. She can blackball me before I even start.”