The clothes looked simple enough, no designer logos anywhere.
But every piece had been handcrafted by Italian artisans, each one starting at seven figures.
Not that I owed Toby Weiss an explanation.
I ignored him and picked up the menu from the table.
My indifference only made him angrier.
He snatched the menu right out of my hand, his voice jumping an octave:
"What's the matter? Two years working the sewing machines in lockup and you went deaf? I'm talking to you. Did you not hear me?"
The words hadn't even settled before the whole restaurant erupted in murmurs.
"An ex-convict?"
"He looks respectable enough. Never would've guessed he'd done time."
"God, how did someone like that even get in here?"
I tuned out the whispers and the pointed stares.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze and looked at Toby, my expression blank:
"Do I know you?"
Toby blinked, then his face twisted with rage:
"Duke Gilbert, who the hell are you pretending for? You actually think you're still that hotshot CEO from back in the day?"
"Prison must've fried whatever brains you had left."