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Pulling back, I smooth my suit and hit my cousin with a hard glare.

“Do not call me that.”

“But it’s what I’ve always called you.”

“I know.”

I stay standing until he sighs and puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“Fine, Alden…I appreciate you meeting me.”

“I’m sure you do.”

My words are flat, announcing loudly how I feel about this meeting, but Malcolm doesn’t acknowledge the slight. Like water off a duck’s back, it just rolls off. It always does.

The waitress hands us our menus as we take our seats.

“What can I get you gentlemen to drink this evening?”

“The house pinot noir, and please bring the bottle,” I say.

I’ll need it, and maybe another, to get through this meal.

Malcolm gives her a charming smile, and she blushes.

“I’ll start with your number,” he says, glancing around conspiratorially.

I roll my eyes.

“I’m deeply flattered, but I have a boyfriend, and it’s against company policy,” she says smoothly. “But I’m happy to get you something to drink or a starter, perhaps?”

“Too bad. I was hoping to make you my starter, but I understand…”

Malcolm sighs loudly as if it’s the worst thing to ever happen to him. She is probably the twentieth woman today to tell him to pound sand while another five have bent over for him. He always says that everything in life is a numbers game. For every three women who say no, one will say yes.

“I’ll have your finest whiskey on the rocks,” he says.

“Very well, I’ll be back with your drinks.”

Malcolm watches her walk away, and I know he’s envisioning fucking her in a back room or maybe over one of the tables. He slowly turns his attention to me and relaxes into his chair, looking perfectly at home.

This is his gift. That thing that makes him special. Not success, but the performance. Everything from his father’s family ring on his finger to the charcoal Brioni suit he either rented or found in a bargain bin, there isn’t a single authentic thing about him. He is a charlatan, exceptional with sleight of hand.

He chats while I watch his lips move and zone out. I really don’t care about the Tribeca hedge fund or the Biotech founder. The waitress returns with our drinks, and Malcolm drops numbers like one billion in revenue, all for the potential of getting his dick wet.

Five years of practicing family law in Manhattan have taught me one very useful skill above all others. If you simply listen, people eventually reveal why they want to speak to you. So, I say nothing and let him ramble.

He drops the bomb after we order our entrees.

Malcolm smooths his napkin on the table. He’s nervous. Fidgeting is a classic sign of anxiety. Some will tap their foot, bounce their knee, play with their hair, or rummage around in their purse. But Malcolm…he runs his hand over the napkin like his fingers are a steam iron, and he’s searching for any little crease he can find. I’m tempted to yell, ‘Spit it out already,’ but I don’t. I wait.

“So, Alden, I must confess, this meal is not just a social call…I need a favor.”

There it is.

“I assumed as much.”

“It’s business-related.”