“Eve,” he shot back, arching one severe eyebrow. “Listen.”

“Fine, fine!” She schooled her features and cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. Wayne? How may I help you?”

“You already help me, Ms. Brown. Which is why I got you this.” Setting aside his phone, Jacob fiddled in his pocket again and produced . . . a name tag? It was burgundy and gold, rather like the one Eve already wore. He dropped it into her outstretched palm, and she examined it more closely.

Yes; this name tag was exactly like the one Eve had worn all year, except for a minor difference. Written beneath the familiar phrase HELLO, MY NAME IS: EVE was one teeny, tiny word:

MANAGER

Speechless, she looked up at Jacob. “This is . . .”

He offered her the smallest, sweetest smile in the world. “We already do the job together. I was wondering if you’d be interested in making things official.”

Old doubts—in her abilities, in herself, in whether she deserved this when it was something she wanted so much—tried their best to rise from the dead. But with the ease born of a year’s practice, Eve kicked them back into their graves and let the brilliance of this moment wash over her, uninterrupted.

“You want me to be a manager,” she said.

“I do,” Jacob replied.

“Like you,” she said.

“With me,” Jacob replied. “Always with me.”

“Because you love me?”

“Because you’re good at it,” he corrected calmly, firmly, “and because I need you. Your ideas, your energy, your care—all of it. You’re not just my sunshine; you’re the sun. You make my business better. You make it ours.”

At which point, Eve dropped her ice cream and kissed Jacob so hard, they almost fell off the bench.

“Fabulous, darling!” Gigi cried, and somewhere in the distance, Eve heard the camera whirr.

Acknowledgments

What a journey the Brown sisters have taken me on. I’m so glad I dared to write them.

Thank you to my readers, old and new, for making me giddy with every email you send or Instagram caption you tag me in or book you buy. Thank you to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, and to my editor, Nicole Fischer, for making all this happen. Thanks to Imani Gary and Jes Lyons for presenting this series to the world in such a fun and thoughtful way, and to Laurie McGee for polishing this story until it shone.

Thank you to my beloved friends, who gas me up when I desperately need it, who offer advice or critique when I ask, who inspire me with their own work and thoughts and wonderfulness. Divya, Laila, Maz, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Dylan, Kennedy, Therese, KJ, and the countless others who have been so kind and supportive—you guys make this job extra magic.

Finally, thank you to Mum, Sam, and Tru. Writing this book during lockdown meant you got a terrifyingly up-close-and-personal view of my, ahem, “artistic process.” It wasn’t pretty. So. Thanks for not burning me at the stake, I suppose? Also, for keeping me alive and making me smile.