Alan makes, in rapid succession, several small, fine-tuned concessions to his curiosity: cants his head just so, blinks once, smiles a self-contained smile, nothing to spare.

“Why don't you tell me about it anyway,” he says, a treacherous undertow of invitation in the suggestion. Fastidiously, he unbuttons his suit jacket and settles in behind the desk. “Go wild. String more than two sentences together.” That smile of his hasn't faltered; if he is goading, it's in a fundamentally agreeable fashion.