“Nonsense. Everywhere I stumble, someone’s bragging about how smart you are. It’s heartwarming, how much they all love you.”

We climb up. Minami stays downstairs, but Conor trails behind us. Honestly, there’s no reason for me to be here. He could easily carry Tamryn to wherever she’ll sleep.

“I think it’s brilliant, being so young and already doing great things,” she says. “When I was your age, I knew sod all.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it is. I made some shit choices. My email was CuntGoddessTam, and I used it proudly on job applications.”

I laugh. “Did you get any offers?”

“Of course. The email, specifically, made me a very desirable coworker for a certain segment of the population. Not one that I wanted to work with—oh, here, on the right. That’s my room.” She turns around. Beams at Conor and holds her hand out to him. “Tell me more about those drugs.”

He lets a few pills drop in her palm, without touching it. “No more than one every six hours, CuntGoddess.”

“Thank you for addressing me by my preferred title.” She turns to me. “Maya, did you know that he took three calls during dinner? You cannot allow him to keep working for the entire holiday.”

“I…doubt it’s within my powers to stop him.”

“We’ll figure out something. You’ll figure something out.”

“We are,” Conor grumbles, “in an active deal phase that requires finalizing—”

Tamryn interrupts him with a playful wave of her hand. “Yes, yes, the markets, the country’s GDP.” Holding on to the wall, she lifts on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. “Do you have time to tuck me in?”

Conor nods, no hesitation.

“Good night, Maya,” she tells me before disappearing with him past the door.

I’m left alone in the deserted hallway, hollow-boned, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to look away from this.

Remembering a time when I pulled Conor inside my room.

Chapter 11

Three years, two months, three weeks earlier

Edinburgh, Scotland

“What are you doing here?” I half intended for the question to sound confrontational—How the hell did you find out where I live and tele-transport yourself into my kitchen, you psycho? Unfortunately, it comes out breathless, and maybe a little intrigued.

From their perch against the windowsill, Georgia and Alfie study me closely, loath to miss a single beat of this show.

“I know, I know.” Conor puts his hands up, palms open. “I said I’d be arriving tomorrow. But after your text, I couldn’t wait.”

He smiles, lopsided, and I wonder if he’s had plastic surgery. Botox. Face lift. The thing where they suck fat out of your cheeks. Not because his features have changed, but because he looks…young.

Not young young. Not He could sit next to me at a lecture and I wouldn’t bat an eye young. Conor is obviously a man, and the campus reality in which I move is made up of boys. He must be around my brother’s age—thirty-four? Thirty-five? But while I was growing up, Eli and his friends, with their adult problems and adult lifestyles and adult conversations, always seemed ancient to me. Antediluvian. Boring. Now…