I walk past Klein’s desk. She jumps to her feet and follows me into the office, closing the door. “Are you all right?”
I spin around and give her a long stare. Her violet eyes meet mine, shining softly with warm care. Would a girl as nice as Klein look at me like this if I were as horrible as Mom?
But what if she just…can’t tell?It isn’t like Mom walked around sounding like a sociopath. I know how to look and sound sane. What if I’m good enough to fool Klein? Mom totally hoodwinked Dad—and the rest of the family—for so long. She made them think she was worthy of being a Huxley, of deserving everything the family motto conferred.
It occurs to me that I’ve been acting like an idiot. All I wanted was to project normalcy, a regular guy unencumbered by an ugly childhood event, to make sure my family wouldn’t worry. Instead, I’ve caused them concern, and actually embarrassedthem by having that horrible woman barging into Huxley & Webber.
“You look like the world just ended,” Klein says when I don’t respond. “You’re so pale.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, my tone too smooth, my smile too practiced. It’s my default response to everything, to ensure people don’t probe too deeply.
“Oh. Sorry.” She clears her throat. “Didn’t mean to be nosy.” Disappointment fleets across her expressive face.
Suddenly, I feel like an asshole. Klein is great—and quick, too. She knows I’m dismissing her concern. The old fear sits in my belly like cold, concealed fat, ugly and nauseating. I run a rough hand over my face. “Actually…no. I’m not, really. I…” The weight of the nightmare from the morning and what Dad said presses me down. I plop down on a chair and bury my face in my palms.
“Want to talk about it?” she says softly.
I can’t unload everything, but maybe she can help with—
“Am I a user?” I lower my hands and look up at her. “Like, with women?”
Her eyes widen. “Who told you that? No! I think you just like women and can’t settle. But that’s no crime. Plenty of men play the field.” She shrugs. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”
Except Dad thought I was afraid—that I’m not living my life like a true Huxley. And if I’m not a true Huxley, I can only be a Dunkel—my mother’s son.
“Uh. I didn’t say that to make you feel worse,” Klein says, peering at me with even greater concern in her eyes. “Do you want to head home early? You don’t have any more appointments today.”
I shake my head. I’m not giving anybody the power to disrupt my day. “No. I can handle the rest of today’s agenda.”
The corners of her mouth turn down. She bites her lower lip. “Do you, um, need a hug?”
I force a wan smile. I must look really awful for her to offer a pity hug. I should probably decline, but the bright glimmer in her eyes is nearly irresistible. If some of her light can touch me, my darkness inside might not feel so grim. I swallow the urge to say yes. “It’s okay. But thanks for the offer. What would I do without you?”
“Still be awesome,” she says, her voice full of earnest conviction.
The vise around my chest eases, and in a moment or two I can breathe without feeling like I’m about to suffocate.
“You really are perfect,” I say, looking up at her. The afternoon light pouring in from the windows illuminates her from behind, creating a halo and making her glow like an angel.
My angel.
I freeze. Where didthatcome from? Klein’s too good to be dragged into my messy life.Plus she’s engaged,I remind myself, feeling like I just downed a shot of acid.
I let out an awkward cough. “I mean, you know, a perfect assistant.”
She blushes. “Sure, boss.” And then rolls her eyes cutely.
Chapter Five
Ailee
Peking Town is a popular Chinese restaurant not too far from the office. I can’t eat anything there due to my seafood allergy, which apparently is quite rare; most people are either allergic to fishorshellfish. However, I’ve been there a few times because Katt loves their lobster fried rice and dumplings.
It’s done in a gorgeous red-and-gold décor—shockingly colorful and decadently luxurious at the same time. I adore the golden dragons glittering on the walls and the stunning calligraphy, even though I can’t read the characters. The only negative about the place is that parking is inconvenient—even by Los Angeles standards. I walk as quickly as possible without running because I don’t want to be sweaty for dinner or ruin the bouquet of tiger lilies I bought for Katt.
My watch says I’m fifteen minutes late. But I don’t regret staying behind and making a list of all the women Josh has dated in the last twelve months and handing it to security for extra scrutiny. Seeing his shell-shocked expression after speaking with his father made me want to do something concrete to help him.
“Petra Klein. Party of four,” I tell the hostess breathlessly. She’s a lanky Asian in a fashionably tight-fitting blue dress.
