So Travis has turned my lies into facts . . . now I just have to decide which facts are the most useful.

“Your brother is . . . a bit aggressive,” I say slowly. “He’s made it pretty clear that he wants me. Lots of innuendo and all that. But I told him . . . I told him that while I wanted to work for him, I wouldn’t be his whore.”

Lander’s jaw tightens, making him look all the more like his brother. “What did he do?”

“Like I said, it was just some innuendo, a few accidental brushes of his hand.” I use my fingers to make quotation marks around the word accidental. “But he heard me, Lander. It’s been dealt with.”

“It’s sexual harassment and it’s illegal.”

“What—shall I report him?” I ask with a bemused smile. “Do you think the district attorney of New York City will drop everything if a personal assistant reports that her boss leered at her? Or maybe you’d like me to go to the media? Do you think this is a story for the New York Times?”

“It’s not funny.”

“Last night you practically called me a whore, and now you’re offended that some guy thought he had the right to leer at me. I’m sorry, Lander, but yeah, I do think that’s kinda funny.”

“I didn’t call you a whore, I called you—”

“A courtesan,” I interrupt with a smile “You’re right, I’ve misquoted you.”

“Did you?”

I shake my head and slip my hands around his waist. “Your brother doesn’t respect women. Having that so clearly out in the open actually makes things easier. With him I know where I stand and what I have to deal with.”

Lander pulls away. “You don’t have a problem with being disrespected?”

“If he treated me with respect, I might resent you for asking me to spy on him. As it is, I don’t really mind.”

Lander doesn’t answer. Instead he moves away from me, his eyes on a promotional poster explaining how HGVB’s customers should always be treated like family. I can’t imagine handing over my money to someone who would cause me as much pain and grief as my family has—with my disappearing father and a mother who consistently partnered up with men who hurt her and all that—but perhaps whoever conceived of the poster had a different life experience.

“As flawed as he is, I want . . .” His voice trails off for a moment as he studies the poster. “I want my brother to be successful and happy. If he’s doing anything that might stand in the way of that, I want to be in the position to help him . . . redirect.”

I smile, impressed with the skill with which he delivered that fabricated sentiment.