“Then it’s a good thing you have me and Danny to watch your back.”
Ian stared down at Kiki’s clothes, now spread over one of the room’s two double beds. The Canali tux came with two identical pairs of pants. And three formal shirts. Ian had tried on the jacket. It fit perfectly. “And?”
“Danny wants to go formal. He thinks it will contrast well with the restaurant’s casual air when we cut and paste for the documentary.”
“Connor agrees?”
A pause. Then, “Lad, you’ve got to stop worrying so over Connor.”
“Arthur . . .”
“I know, I know. He’s the bandleader. He’s the lead vocals, yada yada. You’re sounding like a broken record.”
“That’s no answer.”
“It’s all the answer you’re going to get. Now, be a good lad and go do whatever it is stars do in Miami.”
“Pace the floor,” Ian replied. “Worry about not getting answers to questions that really matter.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Arthur said. And he did.
