It took Wren all of ten minutes to forget the balding, bespectacled man sitting in a shadowy corner of his bedroom, chain-smoking Pall Malls. Except for the acrid smell of his cigarettes, he was easy to forget. After greeting them at the door, making sure they had bottled water, and leading them into the bedroom, he had not uttered another word. He had not taken off the khakis and button-down shirt he wore, and Wren hadn’t been interested enough to glance over to see if he had at least unzipped his fly.
Soft music played from an iPod dock on the dresser, muted woodwinds. Candles flickered on almost every available surface, helping to mask the smell of the Pall Malls but also aiding in setting the mood—and making it easy for Wren to imagine he was not here on business, providing carnal eye
