“I guess being away from your parents was a plus too.”

The boss frowns. “Not really. Okay, being away from home was an adventure at thirteen, but I missed the old folks.”

“I would’ve given everything to leave home at thirteen instead of having to wait five extra years.”

“Why?”

I hesitate. “Well, my parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly a happy one…”

“They argued a lot?”

“No, more… politely ignored each other. And they were so strict with me. Don’t do this, don’t do that…”

Richard smiles. “Now I’m beginning to understand that list of yours.”

I drop my fork and cover my face with both hands. “I still can’t believe you read the list. I try to forget about it.”

“Besides getting drunk and arrested, how’s the conquering going?”

Liquid courage, help me. In one gulp, I finish the wine in my glass and Richard pours me another one. “I bet I could still win at Never Have I Ever.”

He throws me an interrogative stare.

“The drinking game?”

The boss shakes his head. “How does it work?”

“All participants take turns in saying something embarrassing or daring they’ve never done. All others who’ve done that particular deed have to drink a shot. I never took a shot.”

“So your new life’s goal is to get wasted at a drinking game?”

No, apparently it’s digging my own conversational grave. “Of course not. I’m just saying that if I were to play, I’d still end up sober because I’ve done nothing that interesting.”

“Besides getting arrested.”

“I wouldn’t call that interesting.” I need to change the subject, fast. “But enough about me, tell me more about England.”

That gets him started on boarding school, his college years, and eventually the move to the big city. Richard is in the middle of telling me how much he loves London when I ask the wrong question.

“So why base Inceptor in New York?”

The boss shakes his head and looks far away into another life, mouth tense, lips pressed in a sad line. The easy-going atmosphere drains away from the table, only to be replaced by a thick emotional wall between us.

Richard stares at his plate and takes a sip of wine. “Something happened, and I needed a change of scenery.”

He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, and I don’t know what to do. I’d like to ask more, but I sense it’d be an awful idea. Especially with him sending me mind-your-own-business vibes so strong I’m tempted to run to the restroom and hide there. Hello, brain? Please provide something to say. But I was never good at improvising.

Richard proves better. “How was your pasta?” he asks.

“The fettuccini were delicious,” I say, glad he came up with a conversational decoy.

“Good.”