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I’m Paul Benton.

He would hate me.

He should.

“I should tell him,” I say.

Barret tilts his head.

I should tell him who I am, tell Reggie to prepare an offer, and tell Jessica and Don I have done something spectacularly stupid.

I lean forward and cover my face with both hands.

The doorbell rings, and both dogs explode.

I lift my head.

“Coming,” I call, though no one can hear me over the dogs.

I close the laptop.

The dogs race ahead of me, barking with dramatic conviction. I turn on the entry light and open the door.

Don. His hair is now long enough for a sad, middle-aged ponytail. He is holding a paper fan that reads: BINGO MADE ME DO IT.

“No,” I say.

“You don’t know what I’m asking.”

“Your fan told me.”

He looks past me at the dogs. “Hello, children. Your father looks haunted and boring.”

Baxter barks and crawls up his leg.

“Get your wallet.” Don snaps the fan open. “It’s Drag Bingo. We used to go every week, and we shall start doing so again.”

“I’m not going.”

“You own the bar.”

“And I can come and go as I please.”

“Let’s do this without violence, shall we?”

I grip the edge of the door.

Don’s expression shifts from performance to assessment. “Were you doing something?”

“Yes.”

“Something important?”

He has no idea how important, and I’m not about to tell him.

“Bills.”

“Riveting.”