“Sir,” said Noelia, “he’s only—”
“Go to the kitchen.”
“Hunter—”
“Go.”
She did not go.
He turned to me, and he lifted his left wrist, and the Rolex Submariner glinted in the window light.
“You see this?” he said.
“This watch cost fourteen thousand six hundred dollars.”
“It cost more than you will see in the next ten years.”
“I walk on this floor, and you crawl in off the street, and you stink up my dining room, and you think you can sit down and eat?”
“I told you what this place is.”
“We’re running a restaurant, not a charity!”
He picked up my coffee from the table.
It was a heavy white cup with the green stripe, and it was full.
For a second, I thought he was going to hand it to me.
Then he turned his wrist and poured it, slowly, over my head.
