“If you’re talking about the party, that was not my fault. I invited a few people and—”

“Things got out of hand. More people showed up. Adam had to kick them out and clean up before Paige found out. He didn’t take you out riding and hiking for a while after that, did he?”

“So that’s what this is about? He’s tired of cleaning up after me?”

“You think he was mad because he had to clean up? You really didn’t get it, did you? Not then and not now.”

I glared at him. “Yes, I’m not as smart as you, okay?”

“No, you’re just a helluva lot less considerate than I am.”

“Excuse me? Considerate? This from the guy who probably walked in here today without acknowledging a single employee, snapped at them if they dared say hello, told them off if they asked whether he’d like a coffee—”

“Apples and oranges.”

“Like hell. You’re rude and dismissive—”

“To people I don’t know and don’t care about. You’d never catch me treating Jeremy or Elena the way you treat Adam. Back then, Adam said that you couldn’t have a party, and explained why. Now, he says you need to come to Miami, and explains why. Both times he was right. Both times you went ahead and did your own thing. Both times you dragged him into it with you. At fifteen, that’s just teenage arrogance and rebellion. At twenty-one, it’s a complete and utter lack of respect for someone you’re supposed to care about.”

“I do care about—”

“You’re in love with him.”

“No, of course not. He’s a friend and—”

“You’re in love with him. Always have been and everyone knows it. Everyone except Adam. You’re as bad as Jaime was with Jeremy. Sure, you don’t make an idiot of yourself over him, but it’s just as obvious. You never would have caught Jaime treating Jeremy like that, though. You know why? Because she’s an adult.”

“And I’m not.”

“Most times, yeah, you act like an adult. But what everyone else calls recklessness, I call a lack of basic respect for others. That’s immature, and that’s why you’re never going to have a shot at anything with Adam. The age difference makes it tough enough for him to see you that way. The maturity difference means he can’t.”

I nodded and picked up another file.

“Not going to run away?” he said.

I shook my head.

“Good.”

I let him make a few more notes, then said, “So, having diagnosed my romantic issue, are you going to suggest how I can fix it?”

Clay looked at me. “You’re asking for relationship advice from the guy who panicked and bit his fiancée when things went wrong?”

“Good point.”

“If you want that kind of thing, call Nick. His advice is shit, but he really likes to give it.”

I laughed and shook my head. I opened a file, then glanced at him again.

“You may have screwed up more than any guy on the planet, but you got Elena back. How do I convince Adam I’ve changed?”

“You can’t convince him of anything. You need to do it. Change. Grow up.”

“Right. So . . . any advice on a slightly . . . smaller scale?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

Grow up. Yes, there was a plan I could execute before dinner. What Clay meant, though, was that I needed to mature before Adam could see me as a potential girlfriend. While I’d like to see that as proof that Clay thought I had an actual chance of reaching that goal, I knew better.

Right now, I just needed to get back to where Adam and I were before. Friendship. That didn’t seem to require a maturity time-warp. Just a little bump in that direction. Maybe a big bump.

Step one should be the apology. Only I thought back to the party incident . . . and all the other times I’d taken Adam for granted or manipulated our relationship to my advantage. Then I’d apologize, and he’d say that was fine, no big deal . . . and it would be a long time before we really got back on track. To him, the apology was obligatory, as was his acceptance. Adam’s anger burned out fast, but left embers that smoldered for weeks.

I started by writing my apology in a letter. I told myself that was the best way of making sure I covered everything, but halfway through, I realized I was writing it to avoid saying it. Not very mature. I needed to do this in person.

The problem was getting a chance to do that.

I didn’t see Adam for the rest of the day. Elena and I were making plans for dinner when Benicio came by and took me aside.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I’m having trouble with the Nasts.”

“Surprise, surprise. Let me guess. You tried to warn Thomas Nast that these people are after Adele’s baby and he said, ‘What baby?’ Right before hanging up on you.”

“Precisely. Your grandfather can be very difficult.”

“You think? Try being the witch granddaughter he wants nothing to do with. Are you asking me to speak to Sean?”

“If you could. I don’t need confirmation of the child’s existence . . .”

“Though you’d like it, if possible.”

“Yes. More importantly, though, I want to be sure they are taking the threat seriously, because the more of these ‘signs’ this Giles collects, the more followers he’ll sway.”

“Sean’s in Hong Kong. Meaning I’d have to deal with Bryce. That’s as impossible as dealing with Thomas. I’ll call Sean. I doubt he can do much from across the world, but I can at least let him know.”

“Thank you.”

I left a message on Sean’s voice mail. After dinner, I continued sifting through files, after making sure everyone knew I was available for whatever other tasks they had in mind. No one took me up on the offer.

Soon it was time to go to bed. Paige and Lucas had a condo in Miami—a recent concession they’d accepted from Benicio, so they wouldn’t need to stay in hotels every time they had business in town.

For the first time in my life, it seemed strange going home with them. It wasn’t that I felt unwanted, just that it suddenly seemed odd, at my age, to be scooped up and taken “home” by my “parents” for the night. I suppose it had been odd for a while. I just hadn’t noticed.