The maître d’ placed my napkin in my lap. “Your server will be right with you.”

“Thank you, Hans,” Roy said.

“Seriously,” I said again, when Hans had left. “Nice suit.”

He smiled, one eyebrow rising just a touch.

“You did this on purpose,” I said.

“Couldn’t help myself.”

“I didn’t know you even owned a tie.”

“I own a few, actually.”

“Why are you making fun of me?”

“Making fun of you? What are you talking about?”

“Did you really have to wear the exact same color I’m wearing?”

“I’m an artist,” he said. “Did you ever stop to think this might be my only suit?”

I hedged a moment. Then, “That’s bullshit. You’re a Wolfe. You could have gone out and bought a suit for tonight if you wanted.”

He smiled. “Actually, I own about ten. I hate them all.”

“Why the navy blue? Why tonight?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I was feeling feisty, I guess.”

“Feisty? I’d say you were feeling like you wanted to mock me. Mock me for wearing professional attire to work. For staying at work late so I could do a good job.”

“I admire your work ethic, Charlie. I share it, in fact.”

“When it comes to your art.”

“Well…yes. My art is my work.”

“That’s the difference between us, Roy. I appreciate your work. I fully support what you do. You, however, don’t afford me the same courtesy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true! You hate the clothes I wear to work. You set me up with watercolors and asked me to paint you. Yes, I love art. I might even have a little talent. But it’s not my life’s work like it is yours.”

“Being someone’s assistant is your life’s work? You’re better than that, Charlie.”

“Being Lacey’s assistant is extremely rewarding.”

“Having someone bark orders at you?”

“Have you met Lacey? She doesn’t bark orders at anyone. Why are you being such an asshole?”

He didn’t reply, just looked down at his menu.

And it struck me. He didn’t know why he was being an asshole.

But I did.

Something was consuming him. Eating at him. Eating him alive. “What is it, Roy? What did Rock tell you in that meeting? About your sister?”

He didn’t reply.

“All right. We don’t have to talk about it. But something is bothering you. I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t see it.”

He twisted his lips, still staring at his menu. “The foie gras is excellent here.”

“I don’t eat liver.”

“This isn’t liver. It’s foie gras.”

“Potato, po-tah-toe.”

That got a smile out of him.

He didn’t want to tell me? Fine. Two could play this game. I opened my menu. “I think I’ll start with the calamari.”