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it in stride, too much, as far as I’m concerned, letting the insults roll off his shoulders and trying politely to change the subject to something else. I find myself growing more and more irritated, more irritated than Cash is, even. It’s unsettling to realize that I’m actually starting to like this man standing next to me, and it’s more unsettling to hear him insulted.
    “You haven’t done well since you came out from behind your mommy’s skirts, have you Cash?” Torenze teases, smiling viciously. It brings a scowl to my master’s face.
    The other people standing around laugh; although, some seem to find it more entertaining than others. I don’t really understand it—my master has nothing to do with his family. Perhaps it’s just a joke, poking at his age?
    “Some of us have a need to protect our interests with subtlety,” my master replies, his jaw set.
    I can’t understand it. Why isn’t he shooting this man down, putting him in his place? He’s nothing more than an investment partner for his job, this wouldn’t be any big deal.
    Torenze almost roars with laughter. “Subtlety?” he repeats. “Cash, you wouldn’t know subtlety if it subtly bit you in the ass. Admit it, boy, you like the dramatics! Daring revelations, a pretty slave boy all dressed up in glitter—you want the attention. You forget you’re a businessman, not some sort of celebrity.”
    I make my first slip-up, letting out a snort of disapproval, like one might give to a joke made in poor taste. Cashiel doesn’t acknowledge it much, he just pinches my arm, cueing me to shut up. I glance up at him, nervous, but he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he’s tolerating me, just like he’s tolerating Torenze.
    A few of the other free people standing around snicker, and I hear one whisper to another “looks like the slave has the most sense out of all of them.”
    The other just shakes his head. “Sounds like they have some history,” he whispers back. “And a distinct lack of social etiquette.”
    I feel almost vindicated, despite knowing better than to challenge a free man. Torenze is out of line, and everyone knows it. I should take my master’s advice and shut the hell up, but it grates on me to hear this smug little man spout a line of bullshit.
    I’m smarter than him and so is my master, but he’s acting like he’s so far above both of us. He may be the host, but my master is in some ways his benefactor; from what I understand, Torenze’s most recent business undertaking would never have been possible without the agreement that Cash and his company made. Yes, Cash was thrilled to have him as a business ally, but Torenze needed him just as much. I can’t understand why he would be so eager to harass and demean my master.
    Torenze makes his attacks more personal, criticizing my master for his youth, his inexperience, his newness into the business field. It’s never so direct as that, but it’s the comments, the assumptions, the dismissals of my master as “probably not skilled enough in that area” to understand what he freely discusses with others. It’s said with a smile and a wink, as though it should be playful. It’s not playful, though, it’s malicious, and the rest of the people in the conversation seem to notice it as well, their laughs turning uncomfortable as the conversation grows less pleasant. A few of the people turn and leave, but those who are left are somewhat trapped, not wanting to offend the host, who’s launching a cringe-inducing attack on my master.
    I manage to stay quiet for the better part of ten minutes, just long enough for the attention that I drew to myself to fade. Then Torenze makes another asinine statement.
    “Cashiel, I don’t know if you have the business sense to keep going in the direction you’re headed,” he taunts, giving him a knowing look. “Perhaps you overestimate your connections. Or underestimate your threats.”
    “Oliver, we don’t need to discuss this,