The first letter I picked up was written on flower-bordered, pink notebook paper in handwriting that was refreshingly easy to read. Scanning the letter, I instantly caught an issue with the way this writer kept using the word “need.” They “needed” texts from their boyfriend. They “needed” his attention.

I didn’t adore the word “need,” because it carried this heavy sense of expectation, and it made any letdown so much worse. I’d gotten a few bullet points into the Notes app on my phone, jotting down thoughts for my response email, when Brougham came out into the hall. He’d ditched his uniform for a clean pair of pants—black, although just as ankle-hugging as the tan ones he wore with the uniform—and a simple white T-shirt, his damp hair towel dried and sticking up at every angle. At least he was semi-dry today.

“Ready?” he asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He was unsmiling, as usual. Now that I thought about it, I’d never seen any expression more cheerful than “careful nonchalance” on his face.

“I’ve been ready for about forty minutes.”

“Great, let’s go.”

He started walking down the hall, and I had to scramble to catch up with him while simultaneously folding the letter back in its envelope. “Brougham?” He ignored me. “Alexander!”

He stopped short. “What?”

I reached him and stood still, folding my arms. I had to tilt my chin to face him down; I might have been tall, but he was taller. “I’m not your employee.”

“What?”

“Just because you’re paying me for my time doesn’t mean you get to boss me around. And if you’re late, you should apologize.”

“Oh.” He looked taken aback. “I’ll still pay you from the time we agreed?”

“That’s—Alexander, that’s not the point.”

But he still looked puzzled. Well, money did not buy common decency, that was for sure. “Um, what’s your point then, sorry? And it’s Brougham.”

Well he said it was Brougham, but “Alexander” clearly got his attention. “My point is, don’t be a dick. And it wouldn’t kill you to say hello to me when you see me. I have other things I’d rather be doing right now, so a little friendliness wouldn’t go astray.”

I swear he almost rolled his eyes. I could practically see him fighting with his eyeballs to keep them in place. “Hello, Phillips.”

His sarcasm game was as strong as mine. “It’s Darcy. Hello, Brougham,” I shot back, my tone equally as terse. “How was your day? It’s good to see you. Where would you like to go to do this?”

“My house will work fine,” he said, on the move again.