BooksBarbecue
Back Someone Had to Do It
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Authors
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  37. THE STORY BEHIND SOMEONE HAD TO DO IT
  38. SOMEONE HAD TO DO IT: THE PLAYLIST
  39. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

I’ve clocked him at midforties after assessing the girth of his belly and the thinning of his hair at the crown of his head. He’s basically the type of guy who’s been overlooked and underestimated his entire life and is dying for his chance to be a hero. The way he leaps from behind the large wooden desk to help Mei, moving so fast it defies the limitations of a middle-aged, overweight man who spends ninety percent of his day on his ass, reaffirms that we couldn’t have had a better adversary. He’s perfect. He rushes out to Mei’s side, the beautiful ballerina who’s taken a nasty fall right outside the building, the damsel in distress who needs a guy like Mr. Doorman to help her to her feet and whatever else a man does after he rescues a woman. The last I see of him before I slip behind the front desk is him on his knees, mouth agape, hopefully too distracted by all that blood to notice that Mei hasn’t actually been punctured by anything.

I crouch behind the desk and look for the spare key fob that will let me inside Nate’s unit. At first, I freak. I don’t immediately see where they’re kept and all the worst-case scenarios flash through my head. The doorman seeing me behind his desk. Calling the police. This getting out to the press. I force myself to suck in a breath and finally see them in all their plastic glory, right smack-dab in front of my face.

In the elevator on the way to the fifth floor, I hold it in my palm like it’s a rare gem. But it’s even more valuable than that. This is literally the fucking key to inheriting my father’s entire fortune.

16

BRANDI

Nate and I avoid each other cautiously for a couple of days or so, like we did in the beginning, when things were still provisional, fresh and new and uncertain, and we were afraid of stepping over each other’s personal boundaries into that realm of intolerance. There are words that need to be said, but we don’t say any of them. We haven’t been the same since our fight. Some dynamic has shifted between us—I know he must feel it too. Everything’s been off. Forced. Quiet.

I hate when he’s quiet. I’m tired of feeling like I’m walking on eggshells. I’m tired of him avoiding me. I want us to go back to normal. I need him to be my best friend again.

But Nate has made no attempts to break our silence, even when we cross paths in the morning or at night before bed, and I don’t know how much longer I can endure it, this seething, suffocating thing.