I spot Kieran's Lamborghini parked in the valet lot when we walk around to the front of the restaurant, but he doesn’t walk toward it. Instead, he walks toward a Range Rover that’s idling right out front.
“Two cars?” I ask him with an arched eyebrow.
“This one’s Oded,” he explains, nodding to the Range Rover. “Follows me everywhere.”
I wonder what, exactly, that means. Is Oded his security? His driver? His butler? All of the above?
Oded emerges from the driver’s seat as soon as he sees us coming. Bodyguard, I decide when I see him. He’s as buff as Kieran, though probably about a decade older. Bald, with a shiny, slick scalp. Vaguely ethnic, though I’m not sure what nationality. He opens the back passenger door for us with a short bow.
Kieran gestures for me to slide in first, so I do.
