“I’m opening a supper club with Preston, for one.”

“What is that, like a restaurant?”

“Sort of.”

A dismissive grunt emerged from Forrest’s throat. “You don’t have a head for business. You would have failed economics in school if you hadn’t fucked the professor’s wife.”

Kit hadn’t fucked Mrs. Boswell. He might have flirted with her, but he generally didn’t sleep with married women. However, that wasn’t the part of Forrest’s reaction that bothered Kit the most. “I might not have a head for business, but Preston does. I’m handling everything else.”

“And how long’s that going to last before you get bored and move on? You’ve never stayed with anything for longer than a month or two.”

The barb struck home, especially when Kit recalled how he’d panicked on Preston earlier today, insisting they sell the supper club or give it away. The shame of that, combined with frustration toward the man lying on the bed, transformed into white-hot anger. “Fuck you, Forrest. Thanks for having confidence in me.”

“Like you’ve always had in me? You’re the one here telling me I cannot look after myself. So fuck you, Kit.”

“If you could see yourself at the moment, you’d be worried, too. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Today? Yesterday? And don’t act like you care. I’ve hardly seen you this year. You and Preston both think you’re too good for me.”

Where was this coming from? They had seen each other at least once a month until Forrest disappeared. “Forrest, that isn’t true. I apologize if I haven’t been a good friend to you lately, but I’ll do better. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and I’ll take you out to dinner?”

“Sounds like a fine idea. I’m too tired today. How about tomorrow?”

“All right. I’ll come by around seven o’clock. We’ll go to Sherry’s. You always liked their steak.”

Forrest smiled as he rolled onto his side, his eyes still closed. “Thanks, Kit. You’re a gem.”

Kit sighed and took another glance around. He’d have some food delivered in the meantime, and perhaps some clothing. This situation was beyond grim. In fact, Kit was reluctant to leave.

He looked down at his friend, who appeared to be sleeping. Kit stroked his jaw and decided he and Preston would have a very serious conversation with Forrest tomorrow. Something had to be done.

The club’s kitchen was already bursting with activity by the time Alice arrived. As promised, Kit had found assistants for the preparatory work they’d discussed last night before she left. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found, so she wrapped an apron around herself and went to check on everyone’s work.

“Hello,” she said to an older woman dicing onions. “I’m Alice Lusk.”