They were playing the same game and that prickled under Gansey's skin unpleasantly. The only way to rise above was to stick to nothing but truth. To a point. Perhaps it would be wise to show some quarter when it came to his personal opinion of Joseph Kavinsky. Kavinsky, who took pleasure in running down coeds from other schools. Kavinsky who kidnapped Matthew Lynch because Ronan wouldn't give him the time of day. Kavinsky who, for reasons Gansey refused to understand, dreamed himself a lackey. The sight of Prokopenko sleeping behind the wheel of his douchemobile was something etched in Gansey's mind. Kavinsky knew a kind of pain worse than death, and it had made him something Gansey could scarcely look at.

Now, here he was, about to ask for a business relationship. A favor.

"Have a seat," Gansey said civilly, firmly. That part was not negotiable. If they were going to do this, they were going to be on the same plane. Gansey would try like hell not to think of it as stooping far below him. That meant offering something up. He continued, "I would like to talk business."