He literally bit his tongue. The sharp pain cleared his head. What the actual hell was wrong with him? Why was he so off his game?
Something about his question must have sounded more like a tease than blatant insecurity, however, because John laughed and replied, “I was away on business, and I wanted to give you a chance to miss me. Always leave them wanting more, right?”
Zack was tempted to tell John just how much he’d been left wanting, but he decided against it. He needed to play it cool.
Instead, he asked, “What sort of business are you in?” For once, he was genuinely curious and not just trying to rack up extra minutes.
“I work for my father. We run a company that’s been in our family for three generations.”
“Oh? What sort of company?”
“If you have an interest in commercial superstructure, I’ll gladly talk shop with you. However, I think there are more pleasant things we could be discussing.”
“I can’t argue with that. And as it just so happens, I don’t know jack about business.”
“I’m surprised to hear that, considering your profession. I was under the impression there was quite a bit of marketing involved.”
Zack made a noncommittal noise. “That’s not really my style.”
“Well, I’m sure a man of your talents can get by on word of mouth alone. I wouldn’t mind discovering a few of them for myself.” There was a shifting sound, like John was changing positions. “So, you come here often?”
Zack laughed. He was used to hearing that line in seedy bars, not from clients. “To work? Yeah, I’d say I do.” Zack wound the phone cord around his finger. “Got bills to pay and mouths to feed.”
John paused. “Mouths to feed?”
“One of them is mine and the other is canine.”
“Ah, I see.” John sounded relieved. “What’s your dog’s name?”
Zack started to answer and then stopped. The first rule of being a PSO was to never, under any circumstances, reveal personal information to callers. Even if it seemed trivial. Ziggy wasn’t that common a name. If John knew someone who knew someone who mentioned that their neighbor had a dog named Ziggy, that could be enough for an obsessed client to track him down.
“Uh,” Zack faltered, “his name’s Spot.”
John was deafeningly silent.
Zack flinched and added, “I know that’s the most cliché dog name ever, but it was the name he had when I got him. He won’t answer to anything else.”
By some miracle, John accepted his story. “A rescue dog, huh? That’s noble of you. Do you feel strongly about rescues, or was a purebred too expensive?”
Zack wasn’t sure how to answer that, but luckily John continued, “Not that I know anything about your finances. I’m assuming you weren’t exactly a trust-fund baby.”
“Uh, you’re not wrong, I suppose. I certainly don’t have a trust fund.”
“Well, I do.” John’s tone had a note of darkness to it that made Zack’s skin tingle. “So just relax, Wesley, and let me take care of things. I’ve paid for the night, after all, and I intend to get my money’s worth.”