“Not much work at all, really.”

Instead of surrendering and going more unsettled as he should have done, Jonathan kept moving the mood around like stage scenery. He breathed in a satisfied sigh, as if they were finally maneuvered to where he’d been steering all along. “Just to be clear, you didn’t need to pull that stunt. It didn’t do you any good. The painting isn’t in my house anymore. It’s not in my office either. It’s safe. And it’s hard to find. Carly and Donna don’t know where it is either. So all that was for nothing. Sorry about that. You could have just asked me.”

Owen let the little speech hang in the air with only his own wry smile for company. If a guy puts his dick on the table for measuring, there was always the option to go for his own zipper to do dueling inches, but he was more inclined to let a little time pass. It doesn’t take long for most people to realize that pulling their dick out without a good reason is actually pretty embarrassing.

Owen matched Jonathan’s posture. The seat really was nice. The restaurant was growing on him. He wondered if Courtney would cry if he beckoned her back for a reconsidered refill of just-about-perfect coffee. He turned his saucer clockwise in the crook of his thumb and forefinger and listened to the hollow rub of porcelain on varnish.

Jonathan looked comfortable with the standoff for longer than most people would have, but the cracks came. A twitch in the cheek. It looked as if his nose itched. Owen could tell Jonathan was feeling every second of it now, fighting the fidgets, timing his blinks. Not too rapid, but not spread out enough to let his eyes water.

“I think you misunderstand me,” Owen said finally. “I didn’t go there looking for the painting. If it were leaning against your knee right now, I wouldn’t take it from you. I can promise you this: if I ever so much as set a finger on it, it’ll be because the Anningers paid for it, and in an amount you agreed to. I don’t care about the painting.”

Now that made Jonathan uncomfortable. Owen only tried a little not to smile.

“Okay. Great,” Jonathan said. “So can we get on with that, then? Do they still want to buy it?”

“Hang on. I didn’t say there was nothing I wanted in this.”

Jonathan sighed as if his patience were any sort of lever in this exchange. “Then maybe we can get to that. Something. Anything.”

“How much was it they were going to pay before? Six?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Seven and a half. Hmmm. And you and Marcelline were going to split it straight even?”