As the mirrored elevator car rose, a flutter of nerves made me feel antsy. Not only was I somewhat anxious about seeing Emily for the first time since we were kids, but I also hated feeling penned up. I’d never had claustrophobia before, but prison could do that to you. I’d had to actively work through it every day for six years, and it seemed my nervous system wasn’t quite ready to let go.

The elevator dinged when it reached the penthouse level, and I stepped into a wide-open foyer area with two walls made completely of plexiglass, so the Los Angeles skyline was on full display.

I raised my hand to knock on the tall door across from the elevator, but before my knuckle made contact, the door was pulled open, and a very petite girl with bright fuchsia lips, a high black ponytail, and a flower tattoo that wound up her neck, stood there. She gave me a cursory glance and then her gaze returned to the phone in her hand, and she punched something in before again looking up. “Tucker Mattice,” she said, perusing me. Her tone was unimpressed.

Not that I’d imagined I was very impressive, but most people could muster the basic social grace of a smile. This is LA, I reminded myself. Everyone is unimpressed by everything. It’s a whole mood.

“Tuck,” I said.

She raised her brows. “Well, you certainly look the part.”

“The…part?”

“Bodyguard. Hired—” her gaze swept my body again “—muscle.”

“Oh, ah, well yes, that’s why I’m here…” I held my hand out, realizing I hadn’t been given her name and waited for her to tell me, but she simply nodded, gave me a limp shake, and then stood back so I could enter.

Okay, then.

The inside of the apartment felt about as welcoming as the outside. Everywhere I looked was white and shiny and bereft of knickknacks of any kind, as though I’d stepped into some futuristic alien pod. If the aliens in question were completely devoid of personality. There was a Christmas tree by the window that looked more like a large, white pipe cleaner adorned with shiny silver balls. I looked over at the woman just to set my eyes on something that wasn’t stark and mostly monochromatic. She was staring at her phone, her eyes practically bugged out. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed.

“Is everything…okay?”

“No, it’s not okay. Excuse me, I’m on damage control. Nova will be out in a few.”

With that, she raced out of the room, yelling something into her phone about an Instagram post.

I walked over to the couch and began to sit down but then thought better of it. I’d showered that morning, and my clothes, though old, were clean, but even so, I worried I’d leave a speck of dirt or an ass imprint in the smooth velvet. Standing seemed safer.

“Tuck.”