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“Aha!” Eli shouts. “I found the report from a consult you had on March twenty-fifth with a Dr. Haway?”

“You’re so creepy, Eli,” I can’t help but deadpan, but I hope he knows I don’t mean it in a bad way, just . . . factual. “Yes, I had a doctor’s appointment that day, and yes, I ran away pretty much straight after.”

“Well, that report is actual evidence, my sweet summer child,” he says all sweet and shit. He’s such a brat. I’m kinda loving it. Too bad I can’t actually enjoy it.

The pendulum swings again.

“Smitty would probably help,” I mumble.

“Who?” Eli asks.

“Are you talking about Joe Smith? The captain of the Squids?” Tucker looks completely perplexed.

I nod. “Yeah. He picked me up a few blocks away from the apartment and gave me the phone, drove me to the airport, paid for my excess luggage. A statement from him could maybe say it’s anonymous because the person is famous?”

I have no clue if that’s actually possible, but it can’t hurt to mention it, right? I’m sure Eli knows, since he apparently knows everything.

“Your middle name is Westley?!” Eli screeches out of fucking nowhere, and that . . . is enough for today.

“We’re leaving,” I declare, but Tucker won’t let me go to stand up.

“Oh no we’re not,” he says with a laugh in his voice. “You’re staying right here while Eli tells me all your secrets, west boy.”

I whine, what else can I do? I was sure Tucker would never find out since he didn’t mention it before, but of course my full name was in the contract. Maybe he didn’t read it all the way through—maybe I should tell him he needs to be more careful, pay attention to the details.

Maybe I need to remind him what day it is.

“You need to go to work, actually, and I need to get out of the bat cave and go do literally anything else. I have a lot to plan for the boys for next week. I’m taking them to the National Jazz Museum because I refuse to let them only have sports as interests.”

“Hey—” Tuck starts to protest, but I cut him off with a pat on his thigh.

“There’s more I need to plan, though⁠—”

The door clicks then bangs open and a giant walks in—no, that’s Lex.

“What is going on?” he grumbles and rubs his eyes. “Why’s it locked down? I had to use my fingerprint and my code, angel.” He whines. “It’s too early for codes, and I know you went to sleep last night, so⁠—”

He realizes then we’re in the room, and weirdly, he narrows his eyes on Tucker.

“Are you getting my angel into trouble again?”

Before today, I’d have thought that was the most appropriate nickname to ever exist, certainly better than west boy, but now I’m not so sure. Eli seems more like a sneaky little demon if you ask me.

“I am,” Tucker says, unrepentant.

Weirder still, that seems to relax Lex.

“At least I don’t have anything to do with it this time.”

This time?

“Hey baby,” Eli croons at Lex, back to being the sweetest creature on earth. They kiss good morning and I avert my gaze, not willing to look at anyone.

He turns to us when he straightens back to his mountainlike size. “What the hell are you doing here?” He sounds way too casual to be talking to his boss’s boss’s boss. At least for my liking.

“It’s none of your business,” Tucker says carelessly.

“Uh, yes it is.” Lex slaps his hands on his hips and stares like an exasperated mother. “Tonight is your first draft as owner. You can’t fuck it up. We need more depth in center, and at least one more guy to help Matty out.”