I pull the box apart, my forehead crinkling when I realize it’s a watch. A very nice, very expensive watch, to be exact. “Gray . . .”

“Consider it a good-luck gift.”

I run my hands over the silver face. “This is too much.”

“Nah,” she says, grabbing a chicken wing. “You deserve it. I’m proud of you for stepping up for this job. It could be a fresh start for you, for all of us, really. Besides, I never get to do stuff like this with you hiding out in Washington, so consider this me making up for lost time.”

I bite my lip, my eyes feeling a little watery as I slide the watch onto my wrist and mess with the band.

“Okay, that’s enough sappy shit for one night, though,” Gray says. “Since this is your first time on a street team, I thought we’d talk strategy.”

I want to roll my eyes at her, because it’s a little bit insulting that she doesn’t think I can hang out at a shitty comic store and watch what’s going on without screwing it up . . . but she’s probably right.

The street team is basically a euphemism anyway. Usually when you call people a street team, they’re, like, out there promoting your brand, spreading the word and talking it up, that kind of thing. My dad’s street team is the opposite. They’re lurking quietly in the shadows of the industry, trying to tear stuff down or make it their own. Sure, some of it is innocent, but anything having to do with Vera Flores probably won’t be. He doesn’t want to re-create what she’s doing; he wants to own her and everything she makes, and he wants revenge for making him look like a fool. Suddenly, I feel a little warm, a little out of my league, a little—

whatthefuckiswrongwithme

“Rid, you okay?” And I hate when she asks me that because I know what she’s really asking: Are you going to fall apart again?

“Yeah, I’m great.” I shove an onion ring in my mouth whole and chew with it open. Gray gags and throws a cheese fry at me, which sticks to my shirt. “And you said you wouldn’t share,” I say, biting into it with a flourish. She laughs, and it feels like a victory.

Crisis averted. For now.

“There’s my annoying baby brother,” she says, pulling files out of her bag.

I shouldn’t preen at the sight of my name on a file. It should absolutely not make me feel this good. But Dad had his people put this together—specifically for me to read—and then made Gray carry it over, and that’s probably the most thoughtful thing he’s done for me in a long time. Which, shut up.