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“And yet you still thought you were invited,” Zeus says. “You are a wonder of the world.”
Just then, Dev Madden comes into the restaurant with Jacob Chambers.
“No way!” I give up on my plan to sit down in the chair and go to shake hands with Dev and Jacob. “You can survive outside the office? You can survive outside of England?”
“We’ll see,” Jacob says, and he’s the kind of handsome, smooth guy who fuckinglovesintroducing himself, so he ends up introducing everyone to each other, even though he definitely didn’t plan thisbreakfast.
Dev takes a seat on my other side. “For an hour,” he says in a low voice.
“What?”
“I can only survive outside the office for an hour at a time.”
“Oh, so you’re not coming to thewedding?”
He raises his eyebrows in faux-offense. “Of course I’m coming to the wedding. Why would I skip the wedding?”
“According to you, you’re such a workaholic that you can only survive outside the office for an hour at a time.”
“I’ll go back before the ceremony.”
“You’re so full of shit. You leave the country for weeks every year.”
“ForMason.” Dev gives me a meaningful look. “That still counts.”
“Where do you live?” I ask. “Is it…in your office? What neighborhood? And what was your last girlfriend or boyfriend’s name?”
“Good try,” he says, then turns and strikes up a conversation with Poseidon.
We have breakfast.
Mason sits on my left, with Robin passed out on his chest the entire time. He’s still roughly the size and shape of a potato, his legs all curled up to his chest. Robin, I mean. Not Mason.
About halfway through breakfast, I put down my mimosa—I can tell they’re pouring it light on purpose—and survey the room. Nobody is paying attention to me. They’re all very involved in conversations with each other. It’s a nice touch, because when too many people look at me at once, I can only assume they’ve discovered that I’m a crime scene and are waiting around until they have to intervene.
“Are the lights different in here?” I ask Mason.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but it reminds me of his penthouse.
“Are the lights different at your place?”
“Different from what?”
“From how they used to be when we moved in.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because some people can’t tolerate the light from regular bulbs,” he says, as if it should be obvious.
“What people? Charlotte?”
Mason gives me yet another look like I’ve been beamed in from a neighboring solar system. “Who do youthink?”
“I don’t know?”
