"You'd better have a great reason for calling me out this late," Vito drawled. The colorful flashing lights of the club did nothing to hide the bags under his eyes; he looked ready to fall asleep.
Sullivan frowned at his friend. "My, you look dreadful."
"Perhaps if you hired an assistant, I would be able to sleep more than two hours a day."
Sullivan shrugged, sliding into the booth. "Oh, that's your call to make. You have poor taste in assistants, though."
Two of the last three assistants Vito had hired had been corporate spies. The third one was a terrible flirt who bothered the secretaries all day and ended up getting sued.
Vito yawned and looked away. "Why are we here?"
Sullivan shrugged again. "Nothing much, just wanted to talk."
Vito glared at him.
"What? Can't I?"
Vito stood up, swaying like a zombie. "Have fun."
"Wait," Sullivan called out. "I do have something bothering me."
Vito released a long-suffering sigh and returned to his seat. "What is it?"
