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“Please,” I say.
He pours it. Black, no question asked. Correct assumption, which is irritating.
We eat in silence for two minutes. It’s not uncomfortable silence, which is another part that bothers me.
“So,” he says, without looking up. “What do you think of the house?”
“The east wing camera has a twelve-second gap between rotation cycles,” I say. “The kitchen window has a blind spot roughly four feet wide. Your overnight security runs three men, possibly four, one of whom has a problem with his right knee.”
He looks up. “Which one?”
“He favors it on the stairs. Compensates by leading with the left and gripping the rail.”
He picks up his coffee. “I’ll have Marka look at that.”
“You should,” I say. “The camera gap is more pressing.”
“I know about the gap,” he says. “It’s there on purpose.”
He looks up. Something moves across his face that might be amusement if it weren’t so well buried. I go back to my eggs.
“You were up all night,” he says.
“I slept.”
“No.” He taps the outer corner of his own eye. “Your eyes go tight here when you haven’t slept. I’ve fucked enough women to know what tired looks like.”
I don’t touch my face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that.” He refills his coffee. “You went through my shit.”
“I familiarized myself with the space I’m living in,” I say. “That’s not the same thing.”
“You went through my nightstand.”
“Your nightstand was in the space I was familiarizing myself with.”
“Find anything good?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect.”
“The condoms?” he asks.
I pick up my coffee. “I didn’t go through your nightstand.”
“You just said you did.”
“I said I familiarized myself with the space.”
“So you saw them.” He leans back. “What did you think? Big enough for you?”
“I think this conversation has run its course,” I say. I also think I have absolutely no frame of reference for that question, and I’m not telling him that.
“That’s a yes.” He grins. “There’s a gun in there too. Didn’t find that one, did you?”
I set my coffee down. “Where?”
He chuckles. “Now you’re paying attention.”
