“Micah, this is Jonah Sullivan and his wife. Mr. Sullivan is the founder and CEO of Sullivan and Sons.”

The name sounded familiar, but Micah couldn’t place it until Mr. Sullivan added, “We’re one of the top-earning weapons manufacturers on the east coast. We’re especially known for our semi-automatic handguns.”

Micah perked up. “Oh, yeah! The NYPD uses Glocks made by your company.” That’s where he’d heard of them before.

Damon shot Micah a look that was half-baffled/half-concerned – actually, probably mostly concerned – like he was wondering how he could have possibly known that. (Which, in hindsight, it’d been a spectacularly stupid thing to say.)

So preoccupied with Micah, Damon totally missed the nervous glance Mr. Sullivan cast his way. “Yes, well, a customer is a customer, of course. Though, it’s your date here that owns the patent on our newest batch of hammerless revolvers, so I highly doubt any of those will wind up in police hands.”

Micah stiffened. “Oh.”

Sure, he’d known Damon was at least vaguely involved in the drug trade, but he hadn’t realized he also dealt in weapons.

Damon frowned. “Are you alright?”

The unpleasantness of the realization sat heavy in his stomach. “Fine. I… I just didn’t realize you were invested in anything other than real estate.”

“A smart man like Mr. Romano?” Mr. Sullivan interjected. “He knows there’s money to be made in just about any industry – and the gun industry is one of the largest.”

Micah pressed his lips together. “Maybe. But don’t you think we have enough guns in this country?”

He dealt enough with the result of gun violence at his job to know.

If Micah thought Mr. Sullivan would take offense to the question, he was wrong. The man merely laughed, his robust stomach shaking so hard Micah was surprised it didn’t jostle the table. “That’s not for me to decide, sweetheart; that’s up to the people. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand, something I know might be hard to wrap your pretty head around.”

The condescending asswipe.

“But don’t you think there’s a certain moral responsibility for weapons manufacturers to limit the supply?” he demanded. “I mean, there’s more guns than people-”

Damon’s hand was suddenly on Micah’s thigh, squeezing warningly.

It distracted him enough for Mr. Sullivan to interject. “That’s what makes this country so great! And we’re all patriots here, aren’t we?”

“We most certainly are,” Damon assured. “And I appreciate your business, Mr. Sullivan, but I’d really appreciate if you showed a little more respect towards my date.”