“Yes.”

“You were going to feed.”

A graceful nod in acknowledgment. “I’ll call her tomorrow and explain.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

“Weighing a new acquaintance against the needs of an old friend was no choice at all, Tony.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

One red-gold eyebrow rose. “I know.”

“I feel bad about you not feeding.”

“I can wait until tomorrow night.”

You don’t have to. He could feel the words waiting to be said and was fairly certain Henry could as well. And if not, he knew Henry could hear his pulse pounding. Trouble was, he couldn’t think of a way to say them that wouldn’t make him sound like a desperate heroine in a bad romance novel. Not that he read bad romance novels or anything. It was just something that he thought a desperate heroine would say because it had been eighteen months, for fuck’s sake, and Henry saw him now as a person, an individual, and surely that meant they could—all right, he could—act like an adult and not fall back into need at the feel of teeth through skin.

The moment lengthened, stretched, and passed.

Henry smiled. “Good night, Tony.”

“Yeah . . .”

“It’s a great piece of music, Zev, pretty damned near perfect, but you know CB won’t pay much for it.”

“Not a problem. It’s a local band; they’re desperate for publicity, and I can get the rights for little more than a screen credit.” The music director glanced up and smiled as Tony came across the office. By the time he reached Amy’s desk, Zev’s smile had slipped slightly. “Are you all right? You look . . . tired.”

“Just didn’t get much sleep last night. All I have to do is hang on until lunch, then I can catch some zees on the couch in Raymond Dark’s office.”

“Catch some zees?” Amy snorted. She slid the headphones off and passed them back to Zev. “Do people actually say that?”

He shrugged. “Apparently.”

Before Tony could get up enough energy to wave a finger at the two of them, the door to CB’s office opened and Barb emerged looking pale.

“Your turn, babe,” the company’s financial officer muttered to Zev as she passed the desk. “Word of warning, if you want him to spend money, he’s in a mood. Play this wrong and you’ll end up humming the score yourself.”

Amy raised a hand as Barb disappeared into her office. “I can help. I used to play the kazoo!”

“Everyone used to play the kazoo.”

“In a marching band?”

“Okay, that’s different.”

“Sero!”

The three of them winced in unison.

“Our master’s voice,” Amy whispered dramatically. “Good luck. Vaya con dios.”

“Tracht gut vet zain gut.”

“What does that mean?”

“What does that mean?”

“Think good and it will be good.”

“SERO!”

“Yeah, you just keep thinkin’, Butch. In this particular situation, I’d push the free in free band.” Amy watched Zev until the door closed behind him then turned her attention to Tony. “He’s right. You look like crap. Hot date?”