I was sitting right across from Arthur, and he didn't seem all that pleased to look at me. 

"That cost me more money than I was willing to spend." He started, and I felt like throwing up. I wasn't sure what he had done, but it wasn't right. Not even decent. "And I told you, Tristan, I'm a pacifist. Most of the time."

"I'm sorry," I said, and he shook his head.

"I think it's my fault for putting so much on your shoulders so quickly. I got the egg, didn't I?" He looked at the golden Faberge in front of him. The gems glimmered. "It's the best thing, isn't it, Elsie?"

"Yes, it's going to be a hit at my party. Thank you, darling."

"Oh, you know I would do anything for you."

The plane was quiet for a second. Arthur drank something from a blue mug and wrinkled his nose in disgust. He placed the cup on the table between us and leaned back on his chair.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Drank milk?" he said, not moving a muscle to look at me.

"In Japan." I clarified.

"Saved you after being so stupidly kidnapped," he said.

"What did you do? To save us, I mean."

"None of your business," he said and, as if he realized what he had just said, smiled. "I'm sorry. It's been a hell of a couple of days for me too. All I did was pull some strings here and there. I'm sorry you got hurt, Tristan, I am truly, truly sorry."

"By how Yundai reacted, I don't believe there were just a couple of strings."

"Depends on what you understand when I say that." Arthur leaned back and, for a couple of seconds, his head just dangled. His Adam's apple was visibly contoured on his neck. "I am so sorry."

"You should," I said. "It was horrible, and they could've done far worse."

"I know, sugar," he said. "I'm sorry. A part of this is my fault; I should've told you who you're trying to rob. Next time – it's not going to be soon – I'll be sure to give you more info. And I promise I don't usually deal with stuff like this."

"It looked like you were oddly comfortable there."

"I grew up in the mob, Tristan," he said, slightly exasperated. "Surely, you didn't forget that."

I didn't, but somehow, I had managed to push that fact into the back of my mind.

"No, no, I' know." I looked at him. "I know. I don't care."

He smiled a little. "I won't make you come back to work, at least for a couple of weeks. Feel free to sleep off the trauma, if you want to call it that."

I nodded.

Arthur insisted on having both of us medically checked. Tony had two bruised ribs. I had a mild concussion, but nothing severe. Arthur looked like he had been hurt himself.

I returned to work three weeks later when my face wasn't swollen, and the ringing in my ear stopped. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't paranoid now.

I was afraid a random car would stop next to me; a couple of men would get out and beat me to a pulp.

Tony said he's not coming to the club anymore; he was going to deal with other errands. 

The guy who couldn't stand my guts was there. I found out – not from him – that his name is Brie. I made the mistake of jokingly telling him that he was named after a type of cheese. He glared and made sure to nudge me when passing by. I wanted to pick him up and throw him over the bar. I never gave him any reason to hate me so blatantly.

I told myself it was better just to ignore him.

It seemed surreal that I was there again, surrounded by music and alcohol and people. And no, Arthur. 

A week later, just after I fished making a martini, I saw him at the bar. He was him again, with his glasses and a fancy suit.

"What can I get you?" I asked.

He smiled – a row of perfectly white teeth – "How about one of those outrageously expensive Sidecars you have?" He asked, and I couldn't help but laugh. I already knew he was willing to pay more than 400 dollars on a glass of cognac. Why lie, he would probably pay that much for a glass of water.

I made him the drink. It was the same one he ordered the first time we met. 

"Thank you. I already know you don't drink," he said and lifted his glass a little, before taking a sip. He tipped me two hundred dollars and disappeared in the crowd.

I called him right after my shift ended and asked if I could "visit". He said yes, and I thanked God for Uber.

Arthur was wearing sweats and an old t-shirt, and I was living for it. I ran my fingers through his hair, and it felt slightly weird. It was shorter than I knew it. He smiled.

"You're cold as hell."

"I thought hell is hot," I said and walked inside.

"It depends on who you ask." He locked the door and sat on the couch.

I looked at his laptop, opened on the coffee table, and his stack of papers. "Are you working?"

"I'm taking a break," he said, putting his feet up. "Come here. I hope you don't mind, but I ordered food. I'm diabetic."

"I know." I sat down next to him. "I didn't even have the time to tell you that I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he said, leaning on me. "It was boring around here."

"Is that so?"

"Mhm." He yawned. "Yeah. I've been killing it, though. Sam's close to his promotion. I'm expanding."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"The business, if you want to call it that. Not the club."

"Arthur King is elusive, wow. I was not expecting this."

He chuckled. "Surely. But I don't want to jinx it." He kissed me, and I was sure it was to shut me up. It kind of worked. I wasn't so much interested in what he had to say anymore. Stupid, of course, but I wasn't the brightest guy in the world when I wanted to get laid.

Half an hour later, I realized that Arthur ordered a hefty amount of Chinese food and some coffee. He grabbed one of the boxes and read the label. "Duck," he said and smiled, pleased.

It was contagious; I felt a smile on my face too.

"Are you going to tell me what's the deal with Sam?" I asked, and he looked at me for a long moment, chewing his food slowly.

"Yes, he said. "You got a gun pointed to your head, and you still came back. I'll bring you with me tomorrow; we're meeting Sam. And I'll take you to a party after."

"Elsie's party? The party she keeps talking about ever since I met her?"

"That party, yes."

"Alright," I said. I was far more curious about his business with the Sam-the -cop than with the party.