Comms sound in my ear. “Take the wine from Charlie,” Oscar instructs. “He’ll appreciate it.” Copy that. I listen to Charlie’s bodyguard and extend my hand towards the Merlot. Charlie scrutinizes me for a long oxygen-caging second. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a finger, his intrusive eyes crawling down me. And then he passes me the wine. “You have to drink it,” Oscar says.
