“No, I don’t.” Donatti looked annoyed and then preceded to ignore her the entire ride home, listening intently as Gabe spoke about his lessons, his music, his composing, what he was studying, what he was learning from Nicholas Mark, and finally about upcoming competitions. Donatti smoked cigarettes and drank coffee, his eyes focused on Gabe’s face the entire time, his gaze never wavering. Before Gabe could even catch his breath, the limo was outside the Decker house.

Never had time raced so fast.

Gabe said, “Well, I guess this is my stop.”

“Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” He turned to Talia. “Nice to meet you. Take care of him for me.”

“Blah, blah.” Donatti handed him his empty coffee cup filled with cigarette butts. “You know how I hate crap in my face. Dump this out for me.”

“Sure, Chris.” He got out and the car took off before Gabe reached the front door.

Chris giving him shit. How metaphoric.

He stared at the garbage in his hands.

Huh.

He unlocked the door and headed for his quarters—not really his room, but after seven months he was more than a sojourner. Once inside his space, he sat on the bed and turned on his computer.

THE KNOCK PISSED him off. Donatti hated doing taxes and he hated being interrupted. “What?”

“Can I come in?”

Talia’s voice. “Being as you fucked up my concentration, you might as well.”

She opened the door. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. What do you want?”

A small smile grew on her lips. “I brought you some coffee.” She placed it on his rosewood desk. Chris’s office was walnut paneled with a stone fireplace. It was filled with good art and the smell of leather and tobacco. He had shelves of the finest Scotch and cut crystal tumblers. The place looked like something that belonged in an English castle, not the office of a man who owned whorehouses. In the corner was a huge Christmas tree that she had decorated. Underneath it were piles of presents sent to him by happy clients. Talia never adorned a Christmas tree before she had met Chris. It was an assignment she always enjoyed.

Donatti looked her up and down. She was holding a wrapped package. “Just put it under the tree.”

“It’s from Gabe.”

“Oh shit! I’ve got to get him something. What’s the date?”

“The nineteenth.”

“Okay. We got time. Go out and buy him a motorcycle.”

Talia stared at him.

“What?” Donatti said.

“Chris, he doesn’t drive. He’s only fifteen.”

“He’s fifteen already? Shit, I missed his birthday.”

“Don’t worry. I sent him a card and a shirt.”

Donatti stared at her. “You sent Gabe a shirt for his birthday?”

“You were out of town. And what’s wrong with a shirt? He wrote me a thank-you card, so I guess he liked it.”