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    Summary

    The two men held each other's gaze for a moment.  Finally, Rosanov nodded as if he had come to a decision about something.  He drained the rest of his drink, then scribbled a number on a cocktail napkin before sliding it to Scott.

    Scott took the napkin and studied it.

    "What's this?"

    "My room number," said Rosanov matter-a-factly, as he stood up.  "Stop by tonight."

    Now it was Scott's turn to blink.  What the actual fuck.

    "Hollander will be there too," continued Rosanov before Scott could turn the stammering in his brain into a coherent response.  He stared at Rosanov, eyebrows furrowed.

    "I can't..."

    Rosanov shrugged. 

    "Come, don't come, is up to you.  But Hollander would like for you to be there."

    With that, he walked away, leaving Scott with a drink, a room number, and a decision to make.

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