Page 21 of A Quick Buck

“You’re not wearing red.” Alistair frowned.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I came down at all,” Noah countered. “What is this shit?”

There were candles flickering away on the table, a wine bottle that definitely came from Patrick’s private cellar, and two glasses waiting to be filled.

“It’s dinner.” Alistair stood and pulled out the chair next to him. “Please. Have a seat.”

“We’ll be right outside, Mr. Star,” Crybaby said, giving a little salute.

“Thank you, Crybaby. Thank you, Junior.”

Junior gave Noah a nasty glare before he followed Crybaby out into the hall.

Begrudgingly, Noah sat and allowed Alistair to help him scoot up. It was a little demeaning, but he realized no one had ever done something so simple for him since he was a little kid.

“Wine?” Alistair asked.

“Sure.” Noah watched him open the bottle and pour. “So, you wanted us to fuckin’ match?”

“Yes.” Alistair sat down and sniffed the wine before taking a small sip. “Mm, I thought it would be nice.”

“Uh-huh.” Noah took a big swig. “Well. Whatever. What are we having?”

“Frida is preparing filet mignon with a cauliflower purée and a truffle dressing.”

“Wow. I thought our cook was some guy named Gerald. I didn’t know Frida could cook like that.”

“Probably because Frida was one of the maids. Gerald never let her into the kitchen because he considered her to be beneath him.” Alistair smirked. “It’s amazing what you can learn about someone if you take the time to speak with them.”

“Is that what we’re doing now? This is you learning about me?”

“I suppose it is.” Alistair looked thoughtful. “I believe you were being honest when we spoke earlier today about your brief affair with Mr. Medina. I appreciate that.”

“He works for you?” Noah tipped his glass back.

“We have conducted business before, yes.”

“Are you like a gangster or something?”

“I am a businessman.” Alistair smiled. “I’ve been doing business for a very long time, and I am very good at it.”

“Says the guy who’s keeping a potential witness alive after pretty much tellin’ him that he’s about to commit a fuckin’ murder.” Noah grinned and boldly reached for the wine bottle to refill his glass.

Alistair’s smile didn’t waver for a moment. “You do think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“I think you’re a shitty gangster.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider insulting me.”

“Perhaps you should suck my dick.” Noah slurped back his wine. “I mean, let’s be honest. You’re probably gonna kill me anyway, right? What’s going to stop me from blabbing to the cops about all this shit?”

“I imagine the fifteen hundred ecstasy pills I’ve placed in your car might be persuasive,” Alistair drawled.

“What?” Noah nearly choked.

“That’s nearly fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of MDMA, more than enough to earn yourself charges for possession and trafficking with intent to distribute.”

“Bullshit.” Noah glared, and he slammed his glass down on the table. “You can’t just plant fuckin’ drugs on me—”