“About Conor…” Rose starts.

“Be serious, Maya,” Alfie interrupts. “You can’t trust him. You just met this bloke on vacation last year, and now you’re…”

Banging him against your door lingers around the table, deliciously unsaid.

Surika, the only person in this room who’s not currently in my little Make Suffer book, snorts between bites. “I think we can safely assume that the Harkness scion is not some kind of catfishy murderboi.”

Alfie scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I highly doubt that Finneas Harkness’s eldest son is walking about kidnapping American-born students. He probably just wants to get laid. No offense.”

“None taken,” I say.

But the atmosphere is still full of skepticism, and Surika sets down her fork. “Do you guys seriously not know who Finneas Harkness is?” She rolls her eyes. Mutters something about financial illiteracy. “Tell them, Maya.”

I clear my throat. “Actually…”

“Oh, my—okay. Whatever. His father is CEO of the largest hospitality company in the UK. He owns dozens of luxury resorts. The lining of his cells is made of gold. His son’s in finance, though he does biotech. Has his own firm. He also shits cash.” She browses her phone, hands it to Alfie. From across the table, I spot the Forbes logo, and a picture of Conor with Minami, Eli, and Sul. They’re all smiling.

I hold my breath. Thankfully, no one in the room recognized my brother.

“Is that supposed to make us worry less?” Alfie is unimpressed. “Has anyone watched American Psycho?”

A surprisingly good point. “You can keep an eye on me. I’m still sharing my location with Rose,” I say before waving goodbye and hurrying down the stairs. In a weird way, their worry warms my heart. It tells me that they still care about me, and…No. I need to snap out of it.

Yes, they are my friends and I love them.

Yes, they are incredibly toxic company for me right now.

Yes, I’d rather spend the morning with my brother’s colleague whom I’ve known for over a decade and yet I’ve thought about fewer times than I’ve seen Pride & Prejudice 2005.

Not something I ever believed I’d say, but here I am. Watching Conor Harkness leaf through a financial newspaper like he’s living in a 1950s time capsule. Plopping down in the seat in front of him, because he snagged a window table at the Fountainbridge Loudons on a Saturday morning.

“Hey,” I say when he looks up. A sudden, jittery rush pinkens my cheeks, the morning air fresh against my skin.

This feels contextually wrong. Someone I know from Austin, Texas, is here in Edinburgh. An improbable collision of parallel worlds.

“Good morning.” He sets the paper aside, and I’m beginning to think that I really lucked out when the Harkness receptionist put me through to him. My brother has a handful of friends, but if any other of them had come to the rescue, the whole Hey, I’m rebounding with a dude in his thirties tale would have been much less believable.