My sister and I own a small business together. It’s so small we have one employee and she’s not an employee but a subcontractor. We’re that small.

But we want to act like a routine business, so we take our subcontractor out to lunch once in a while. Makes us feel like employers.

We met at a small Italian restaurant with an atmosphere. Brown pottery. Checked tablecloth and sparkling goblets.  Earthy colors on the walls. Paintings of ships and canals. A large wine rack of reds and whites.

Soft jazz floated through the room. What a great place for lunch.

We settled around a square table, leaving an empty chair to my left.

Between bites of bruschetta and baked ziti, we exchanged stories about our families and the latest news—maybe gossip—of our town.

Finally, the lunch ended. We were stuffed as stuffed as the ravioli and even resisted tiramisu.

We kept chatting, waiting for the waiter to bring our bill. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the padded check sleeve lying on the table beside me. A soft brown binder to conceal the bill. Classy.

How did I miss the waiter? Obviously, the conversation had been too rich to see the bill arrive.

So I picked up the folder. “Here. You’ll probably need this.” I handed the sleeve to my sister because she always pays these bills.

This is what regular businesses do, right? Delegate to the appropriate branch. She was the credit card bearer.

She didn’t take the folder. Instead, she stared at me with a look that I interpreted to mean, “Oh, no, I forgot the credit card in the car.”

I figured I’d be gracious, so I smiled, giving her time to get up and get that credit card. I’m pretty patient that way. We’d met to act like a big-time business, so a little professional courtesy was in order. Even to my sister.

Well, professional courtesy had nothing to do with the bill. Her look had nothing to do with a forgotten credit card, either.

She said, “Why are you handing me the wine list?”

It wasn’t her who had forgotten how to handle a business lunch. It was me.