"Please, Young Master Harrison." Grayson gestured with an open hand, his tone carrying none of the stiffness it held for other men.
Stan settled into his chair with a small, puzzled smile. He had turned the invitation over in his mind a dozen times on the way here, and still couldn't make sense of it. Grayson wasn't a man who wasted extravagance on idle pleasantries, yet here they sat, and not a word of business had crossed his lips.
The silence, however, did nothing to dull Stan's appetite. Whatever Grayson's intentions, the food in front of him was extraordinary.
He reached for his chopsticks, set aside his questions, and ate with the unguarded ease of a man who had decided the explanation could wait until after dessert.
Outside the Wan Hai Hotel, the evening air carried the distant hum of the city.
