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“West,” he says jovially, his gray eyes taking me in. “What a pleasure.”

The guard withdraws to the doorway, murmuring into his earpiece, then closes the door, standing in front of it like I’m some kind of threat.

“Nice place,” I tell him. “So kind of you to invite me.”

“So glad you could make it,” he replies, like I had a choice. He glances at my coffee cup. “Can I get you something stronger?”

“I’m fine with caffeine.”

He lifts a brow. “Shame. I was hoping we could savor this moment together. Raise a toast.”

“To the end of our partnership?” I ask him.

For a second he says nothing. Just rakes his eyes over me like he really is trying to savor something.

Then he swallows a mouthful of whiskey. “You know, growing up, my mom used to have a saying.” He waves his hand. “Of course, we didn’t live like this. Shitty little apartment. Two bedrooms, four adults, three kids. And never enough food.” He gives a little chuckle. “Anyway, when we got dinner,ifwe got dinner, she’d tell us ‘If you eat too fast, you won’t taste the love I put in it.’ Funny huh? I think she actually thought she could make sure we survived on pure love, no food.” He swills his whiskey. “What did your mom used to say?”

“What?”

“At dinner. What did she say?” he repeats, his eyes slightly narrower.

“Look, I’m all for small talk but I’m a busy man.” I start to stand up.

“Sit down,” Vin tells me, his voice way too loud.

The guard shifts, the faint click of a gun being cocked reminding me exactly where I am.

I sit.

“I don’t think we’ve ever talked about our families, have we?” Vin asks.

“There’s not much to say about mine.” I don’t tell him we so rarely ate dinner together that I can’t remember any kind of table conversation. My parents preferred to eat out. Away from me.

He tips his head to the side. “Oh, I think there’s a lot to say. You grew up rich, right? Old money. Wealthy daddy, connected mommy, poor little rich boy.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket but I ignore it.

“The only person you ever loved was your nanny. I’ve got that right, huh?” he murmurs.

I lift a brow. “Is there a point to this? I’m sorry I grew up rich. I’m sorry you grew up poor. But I feel like you’re making up for it now.”

“You see, that’s it!” He points at me. “That lack of empathy. It’s a rich thing. You couldn’t give a shit that I used to go to bed starving. Or that my sisters were teased for wearing old curtains my mom made into dresses. Or that people like you, likeyourfamily, got richer from charging extortionate rent for the shithole we called home.”

“My family wasn’t in the property game,” I tell him, but we both get the point. “I thought we were having a business meeting, not group therapy.”

“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? All smiles and money and smoothing things out. Everybody fucking likes you. Everybody thinks you’re a god. But you know what?” He leans forward, his jaw rigid. “I don’t. I think you’re a piece of shit.”

The air in the room shifts. I actually feel it. I might not be empathetic, but I’ve spent enough years cleaning up messes. And this is starting to feel… very messy.

My phone buzzes again. “My assistant is calling,” I tell him. “I need to take it.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls. “I’m talking here.”

I let out a breath. “Okay.” At least he knows people know I’m here.

“You know the worst thing?” Vin says. “You don’t even realize it. You don’t know how you break people. You just walk all over them like they’re ants and you’re too busy having a good time to see what you’ve crushed.”

He stands suddenly, walks over to the coffee table, and picks up a photograph. “Thisis what you crushed,” he says, pushing the silver frame in front of me.