“I love watching the cling-and-release value of a good red.” He glanced at the Monet-like paintings that decorated the restaurant’s brick-walled alcove. “A charming place, Murray old boy. You were right. The gnocchi was excellent.” Logan sipped his iced tea, knowing full well that Knute felt duty-bound to test his sobriety every chance he got. “Can’t be too careful,” he’d said, time and again, “with a client like you.” In other words, a former boozehound whose drunken exploits had made the news...and cost him his last agent. Knute had met every attempt to get on with things with an assortment of excuses. Turbulence had been terrible, and the airline had lost his luggage. Though why the man had needed to check bags for a simple overnight trip, Logan couldn’t say. “So how’s the Hotel Monaco?” “Everything the website promised and more.” Knute snickered.
