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embroidered on the pocket.
    My new perspective became a distant memory. When I smelled my own cologne—very expensive cologne—my inner J-News boiled over. The young man in the robe stuck out his hand for me to shake and tried to introduce himself.
    Bad move.
    “JP, this is my friend Daman. They lost hot water in his dorm, so I let him borrow the shower. He was just…”
    “Leaving,” I finished her sentence.
    Before Daman could even stutter his way through an apology, Carter’s large arm reached out and wrapped around his neck. He then escorted—dragged—Daman down the stairs like a rag doll.
    I turned my attention back to Christina. “I thought we had one rule—nobody over. There are people who would pay big bucks to get their hands on some of the information I have in here.”
    “What’s your problem?” she lashed back.
    “My problem is I let you live free in an apartment that you couldn’t afford in three lifetimes. All I had was one rule, and you couldn’t follow it!”
    Christina wasn’t one to back down. “I’m the one doing you a favor, JP, so spare me the guilt trip. Do you know how much it would cost you to have someone look out for this place full time? Not to mention keeping that luna-chick you call your girlfriend out of here. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave!”
    The front door slammed, briefly stealing my attention—Daman had left the building.
    Carter returned, momentarily halting our spat. “I let the kid go,” he said as if it truly pained him. He had my bathrobe in his hands, which sparked an unfortunate visual of Daman scampering all the way back to Fordham’s Bronx campus in the buff.
    “You are the most charitable man I know,” I told him.
    “I think I’m getting soft.”
    “Just in your midsection.”
    “It’s warm moments like that I’ve missed the most since your lobotomy.”
    I ignored Carter, which he interpreted as a sign to raid my refrigerator. He took out a bottle of Stella, but didn’t open it with his teeth, which made me think that maybe he truly was mellowing.
    Christina and I resumed our sparring match. But she was a smart kid who knew exactly how far she could push me without getting sent back to Taco Night in the dorm cafeteria, and eventually backed down, “Listen, JP, I messed up. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
    “You’re damn right it won’t.”
    “So where are you guys headed this time?” she attempted to change the subject.
    “I can’t tell you,” I blurted, still in a frenzy, but then something hit me. “How’d you know we’re leaving?”
    “It’s kinda what you do.”
    “What I’m going to kinda do, is kick you out on the street if you don’t give me a straight answer.”
    “Byron called. Said he’ll meet you at your stopover in Germany. How long are you going to be gone?”
    “Why, planning a party?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, JP. I’m taking twelve hours in summer school and have two internships. And whatever social life I did have likely just ended when your henchman assaulted my only friend.”
    Carter let out his booming laugh, before announcing, “You’ll have to excuse JP, he’s experiencing a midlife crisis. Being rich and famous is too rough for him. And he’s never gotten over some girl from high school, so he’s thinking about leaving the business.”
    “I thought that was between us?” I snapped at him.
    “Hey, I was a professional wrestler—you’re lucky I didn’t scream it into a microphone and then threaten to beat you to a pulp.”
    Christina joined in his laughter—I think in wrestling they would call this a tag team. She then returned to the computer and said, “Like I tried to tell you before your ‘old guy meltdown,’ GNZ has an updated website. Do you want to know what they said about you?”
    “No,” I said and trudged toward my bedroom.
    She read it anyway, “JP Warner is GNZ’s Senior International Correspondent. Over the last two decades he has covered some of