He nears quickly, his shoulder brushing mine at the same height, and he says hushed but fast, “You have to win him.” I shelter the urge to ask why. “I don’t have thirty grand—” “I’ll wire you the money,” Charlie cuts me off, not removing his intense yellow-green eyes from my face. “Farrow.” Urgency is on my name, but I can’t tell if fear, worry, or something else accompanies it.
