“The Whitcombe group walked out of that room nine minutes ago,” he said.

“Do you know what forty percent of my fourth quarter just did?”

“Forty-one,” I said.

“If you count the retainer.”

His phone tapped against his leg.

“Don’t do that.”

I rubbed my thumb across the crystal on my watch.

Four years of that habit, and it had never once moved a number in my favor.