Well. Now I know, don’t I? And I’m here, wiping boogers off my face with the sleeve of my sweater, scouring my contacts for my brother’s number. I use it so little, I can’t immediately find it. Did I not save it under Eli? Or Killgore? How the fuck did I—Ah. There he is. I must have been feeling super witty on that day.

Zilla, Bro.

I listen to the ringback tone. Take a deep breath. I don’t want to sound like I’m having a mental breakdown as I tell Eli that…

What? What am I going to tell my brother? Hi, some asshole I’ve been dating but never even told you about just broke my heart. I mean, what am I trying to accomplish with—

“Harkness Group, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice asks. It’s kind, with a slightly plastic beat. Reception-y. Did I accidentally call my brother’s job?

“Hi. I was looking for Eli Killgore. I thought this was his phone number?”

“Mr. Killgore is en route to Australia, and for the next few hours his calls are being transferred to me. Who am I speaking to?”

“Maya. I—”

“Ah, yes. We were waiting for your call.”

“You…were?”

“Please hold.”

A brief parenthesis of jazz-adjacent elevator music is quickly interrupted by a curt, “Yes?” It’s a male voice, richly toned, crisply articulated, with a slight rasp. Familiar, but I can’t place it. Not my brother’s.

What the hell does one reply to Yes?

I clear my throat. “Hi. I’m looking for Eli?”

“Eli’s currently on his way to you.”

“…Is he?”

“Correct.” There is an accent. Not Scottish nor American. “In the meantime, I can discuss the financial incentives.”

My nose dribbles, and I try to keep my snuffle quiet. “That’s very generous of you, but I’m good.”

“I see. It was communicated to me that you were worried about the carveouts, and—”

“I’m not. Because I don’t know what a carveout is.”

“Excuse me?”

“All I want is to…” I get the tremor in my voice more or less under control, and restart. “Is to talk with Eli, so—”

“As the managing director,” he interrupts, firm, “let me reassure you that while Eli is in flight, I am more than capable of—”

“Are you capable of putting me through to Eli? Because that’s all I’m asking for.”

Yup, that was an explosion. Followed by a silent, drawn-out beat. And: “There may have been a misunderstanding. Am I speaking with the Mayers CEO?”

“I’m Maya. Maya Killgore. Eli’s sister.”

“You are—” A deep sigh. “Of course, you fucking are.”

And that, at last, is when I finally place the voice. It belongs to Hark. Or, Eli calls him Hark. Full name, Connor Harkness.

No, the Irish spelling. One n. That’s what the accent is.

Conor Harkness.

He’s my brother’s good friend. The best, maybe, though adult men rarely dole out the label. Our orbits have overlapped dozens of times, but unlike Minami, Hark never showed the slightest interest in me. I have faint recollections of him sitting in our living room, drinking beers with Eli, wearing high-finance clothes, saying high-finance things. I cannot remember him ever glancing my way or initiating a single conversation. Frankly, that was a relief. It wasn’t fun, being that young, feeling older men’s eyes on me.