“You want me to what?” Joshua shook his head. “No way.”
“C’mon man,” Angelo leaned forward over the plate of Baci—hazelnut and chocolate “kisses” Maria had made this morning—that they’d been pillaging since lunch. “I’ll even… I’ll even—”
“He’ll even pay you,” Russell nursed an ice tea, looking a little less gray and bleary-eyed than he had this morning.
Now it was Angelo’s turn to turn a bit gray, but he nodded.
“No,” Joshua shook his head. “First, you can’t go on feeding me gratis no matter how damn much I’m enjoying it. Second, I don’t want to write any more food articles.”
Russell slapped the table, and then winced showing his hangover was not wholly cleared.
“That’s it,” he continued in a softer voice. “You don’t do this and Angelo cuts you off. You write for him, he goes on fee
