“Hardly! This is Bob’s table. He enjoys entertaining here when he’s home on business.”
Tim shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that Jack Hennison and Bob Brenley were nearly lifelong friends. The two had met at Yale as undergraduates and hit it off immediately, despite the fact that their personalities seemed almost incompatible: the former, a calm, quiet, and wise businessman—the latter, a bombastic political schmoozer who got the job done with flair, particularly when it put him prominently in the public eye.
“He sends his apologies for being unable to join us, especially since lunch is on him.”
Tim cocked his eyebrow.
“How do you figure?”
Jack grinned, instantly looking thirty or forty years younger.
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