“No idea about what, Graham?” I asked.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, a sudden look of panic crossing his features.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his voice rising.

“It’s just business, Jocelyn. You wouldn’t understand.”

He folded the document back up and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

“I have to go back to the office,” he said, standing up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“It’s eight o’clock, Graham,” I said.

“I have work to do,” he snapped, pushing past me into the hallway.

His cell phone began to ring in his hand, the screen lighting up with a number I recognized immediately.

It was his commercial leasing agent.

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the decline button, his face turning a sickly shade of grey.

He let the phone ring until it went to voicemail.

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the air conditioner.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I asked.

“I’ll call him back from the car,” Graham said, his voice tight.