Well, wasn’t that the answer.

“It’s none of my business,” Jim murmured. “But she really sees you. You’re a lucky man.”

Vin’s brows drew together, and as the silence expanded, Jim knew he was running out of time for tonight. Chances were good he was going to be shown the door in another fifteen or twenty minutes, and although he had a feeling he’d ID’d Vin’s problem, he wasn’t even close to the goal line, so to speak.

He thought of the little television hanging from the ceiling in that hospital room and of the two chefs who had gotten him into this dinner-from-Hell situation.

“So…you got a TV around here?” he asked.

Vin blinked and seemed to come back into focus. “Yeah, check this out.”

Getting to his feet, he picked up a remote and came around the desk while punching buttons. All at once, the shelving split across the way and a flat-screen the size of a twin bed came forward.

“Man, you love your toys, huh,” Jim said with a laugh.

“I so do—I’m not going to lie.”

The two of them parked it in the chairs in front of the desk as Vin played with more buttons. While the channels switched, Jim felt like a schizoid as he prayed for a clue from what was shown—looking for guidance from the television? Next thing he knew he was going to think satellites were tracking his every move.

Oh, wait…been there, done that.

As the screen flashed, he took note of the various shows: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Vin had and he now was. Lost? Well, duh, that made two of them—though Jim was the only one who knew it. Home Improvement? Plenty of that to go around on both sides—but it was hardly a newsflash.

The channel changing stopped on Leonardo DiCaprio in some kind of movie.

“There’s actually a better model coming out this year,” Vin said, putting the remote to the side. “It’s going in the new house.”

Jim tried to read into what was going on in the movie, but it was just Leo dressed like something out of a renaissance fair emoting to a chick in a similar wardrobe.

Shit, no help.

“Jim, I got to be honest.” Vin’s cool gray eyes were clear. “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at here, but I like you, for some reason.”

“Ditto.”

“So where does this leave us?”

Just what Jim was wondering.

Up on the screen, things were abruptly not going well for Leo. Medieval-esque “bad guys” were doing a snatch-and-drag of the poor bastard. “What the hell movie is this?”

Vin fired up the remote and an info strip popped up at the bottom of the screen:

The Man in the Iron Mask. Leonardo DiCaprio, Jeremy Irons (1998).

Only got two stars, evidently—