Anyway.

Sailor wasn’t there when I came home that evening from another grueling night class. This time I did text her, just to make sure she was okay. She was. She texted back that she was returning to the archery club after spending time with Ash and the Sweet’N Low version of the Olsen twins. Sailor was spending a lot of time with Ash, which made me believe maybe I’d see her even after our arrangement was donezo.

Only for that to work, I’d have to pick up my mom’s calls and actually spend time with my family. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, though I’d promised Da to attend family social functions.

The following night, I crashed before Sailor made it home. Today, I’d left her a note with a coffee before I went to work, wishing her a good day, because apparently I was turning into someone’s sweet grandma.

The first thing I noticed at work was that Sylvester wasn’t there.

“Seen Syllie?” I stuck my head into Cillian’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, drowning in refinery blueprints. He was wearing a tailor-made Oxxford and had his hair slicked back neatly. He was punchable to a goddamn fault.

He looked up, his lips puckering in annoyance at my existence. I knew I cramped his style with my general loser-ness. It was like running the White House with David Hasselhoff as vice president.

“His wife is going through a minor medical procedure. He won’t be here today.”

“No shit. She okay?” I couldn’t hide my mirth, which sucked. But his absence meant I could snoop around his office. I hoped it wasn’t anything serious—just like, removing a mole or getting a boob job (if those were even a thing anymore. Everybody knew the world was all about ass-plants now).

“And what, pray tell, made you mistake me for someone who cares?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but he shooed me away with a flick of his wrist, his eyes still on the blueprints. “Never mind. Life’s too short to hear your answer.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, glowering at him.

“That, I am. And as one, I tend to shit over those who piss me off. Better step back, ceann beag.”

After those parting words, I bolted to Syllie’s office, drew the blinds to his glass walls, and started sifting through his drawers to find anything that could clue me in on his plans.

I was about to leave his office empty-handed when I noticed something on his desk, in plain sight—somewhere I hadn’t even thought to look. A piece of paper. I reversed, frowning at it. It was a list of names. Most of them I didn’t recognize, but one stood out, because it was the same chick who did PR for Sailor. Why would Syllie need PR? What scandal was he planning on extinguishing? He wasn’t running for political office, that was for damn sure. He was the kind of fuckface who only cared about making money. The public sector wouldn’t appeal to him. I took a picture of the names with my phone, making a mental note to Google them, and dashed out.

The minute I was out of his office, I collided with a dainty body.

“Hunter,” a delicate shriek whined.

“Mom?”

Ech.

She clutched her little Balenciaga purse to her chest, wearing a dress with a matching pattern. Jane Fitzpatrick had brought the looks into the union between her and Da, and I took after her in that department. She looked beautiful, and equally as pissy. Eyebrows pinched together, mouth flat.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” she said. No Hi. No How are you doing? Straight to stating the fucking obvious.

You’ve been avoiding me, I wanted to counter. For thirteen years, to be exact. When Da wanted to send me away, you should’ve said no. When I got kicked out of Eton, you should’ve brought me back. You never fought for me, Mom. Why would I fight for you?

“Been busy.” I popped a cinnamon gum into my mouth, starting for my station outside Da’s office. Back to my doggy spot. “Need anything?”

Parenting classes?

Moral compass?

A fucking heart?

“Yes. Some time with my son.”

Ahhh, not that. She continued, undeterred, as she quickened her pace to catch up with me.

“Your father said we’d be seeing more of you, that it was a part of your deal. But every time I contact Sailor regarding making arrangements for dinner, she says you’re too busy, and you never answer your phone.”

Sailor had been cutting me some major slack in recent weeks. Truth was, I straight up dodged them. So far I’d managed to do pretty well. Between college, work, Sailor’s injury, and that pub brawl, my life had been a goodie bag of calamities.

“Shame, Mom. Well, anyway, we’ve seen each other today, which has been good. Great. That should tide us over until next month.”

“Actually, you’re coming this week.” Her high heels stubbed the marble floor angrily. I felt like an asshole for making her chase me, but not enough to stop.

“Explain.” I rounded the corner. She followed.

“I talked to Sailor. She said she’ll make you come, no matter what.”

That certainly wasn’t what she told me when I actually tried to come with her in my arms, I thought testily. Still, it annoyed me that my grip on Sailor was loosening. She really was taking a step back from that thing between us, hence the plans with my mom.

“She’s my PA now. Sweet.” I stopped at my desk and flipped through files without purpose just to look busy. “Well, it’s settled, then. Anything else?”

“Yes. It’s on Friday. I’m cooking. And I have another question.”

“Of course you do.”

I was turning into Cillian, and I hated it. Being a cunt did not come easily to me.

“What did I ever do to make you hate me?” She looked up at me, and I could see in my periphery that her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Fuck. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have—in the office or at all. I didn’t look up from the file I was browsing through.

“Nothing. I think it’s safe to say you did absolutely nothing for me,” I said, amending, “I mean, to me.”

I closed the file with a thud, sparing her the look she’d been begging for.

The idea of having Sailor watch firsthand how little my family thought of me was infuriating, but inevitable. She already kind of had, at the charity bullshit, but she hadn’t been sitting with us, so it wasn’t like she’d experienced it from the front row. I shouldn’t care, anyway. As established, we were nothing to each other.

“I wish you knew the whole story.” She sniffed, looking down.

“I wish I cared.”

HHH: Thanks for the ambush dinner.

Sailor: Anytime.

HHH: ← Not going.

Sailor: ↑Not optional I’m afraid. My parents are going to be there. Sam, too.

HHH: Sounds like an intervention.

Sailor: Nope. You’ve got your sh*t together.

HHH: I can’t believe I went down on a chick who doesn’t spell the word shit.

Sailor: Hunter!

HHH: What? It’s like one step away from a nun. I feel like this is bucket-list-worthy. Can I strike off nun?

Sailor: I’m agnostic.

HHH: I’ll show you the light.

Sailor: You’ve already shown me plenty of things. None of them godly.

HHH: Not according to your moans.

No answer. Of course I had to take it one step too far. This was when I usually gave up on a chick, chalking it up as too much work. But with Sailor, her defiance turned me on.

HHH: Am I going to see you today?

Sailor: I’m watching tapes after practice until late. Then I have a photoshoot for a sports mag.

HHH: Crosses off fingering a celebrity, too.

HHH: I’ll wait. What 2 DoorDash?

Sailor: Do they deliver manners?

HHH: Sushi with a side of my superior sense of humor it is.

Sailor: Try to make sure the delivery person keeps their clothes on this time.

HHH: No promises.

That night, Sailor and I had sushi while listening to Syllie’s tapes and trying to decode some of his conversations. It felt like buddy studying for a test together or some shit. I kept punctuating my speech with my chopsticks and asking her: “And what about that?” “Did you hear what he just said?” “Does that sound suspicious?”

We came to some conclusions, though not exactly groundbreaking shit. Syllie definitely hated Cillian with Shakespearean fucking passion. He hated Da, too, but tried to remain professional when talking shit about him. He didn’t talk about me at all, something neither I nor Sailor pointed out for the sake of my ego, which currently was unsalvageably destroyed.

RIP, pride. Can you miss something you’ve never had?

“I think,” Sailor said as she packed up the empty containers, getting ready to throw them into the recycling bin, “he is definitely hiding something. And if you want something bad enough—more than the person you’re up against—you always get it. So, yeah, you can nail him.”