They stop talking and look my way, twin expressions of inquiry on their faces.

“Do you know how to make a sex tape? Like, specifically? I get the sex part,” I say, waving my hand, “but do I need a special camera? Or a tripod or something? Do you know?” I ask earnestly, scratching a dry spot on my knee.

“Everly!” Sophie snaps in response.

“What?” I ask, confused. “Look at him. Odds are he’s filmed it a time or two.”

Sophie’s eyes bug out. “Do I need to remind you that you have a brother?”

“I know I have a brother. I’m not going to ask him for advice on making a sex tape. That’s disgusting.” What is wrong with her?

Sophie shakes her head. “Yeah, and that’s my brother,” she says, pointing at Boyd and making a face at me.

Oh. Yeah.

“Well, can you wait in the back room?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “There’s a shocking lack of information available on the web.” I hold up my phone as way of proof. “Sawyer’s birthday is in a week.”

“Please stop talking,” Sophie says, holding up her hand in a stop motion.

I sigh and look at Boyd, who is looking at me like I’m nuts. He really is perfect for Chloe. I might need to work on that anonymously now, come to think of it.

I shrug and change the wording of my internet search. That’s better. I smile at the new search results and start reading.

Thirty-Nine

“Where the hell is Sawyer? We’re going to be late for our dinner reservations.” I’m leaning against Sandra’s desk looking at the clock on the wall. I’ve been hanging out in Sawyer’s office for fifteen minutes. I don’t mind waiting, but it’s weird. He’s always so punctual.

“I’m not sure. He had me cancel everything this morning and he’s been in and out of his office all day,” Sandra says. “It’s not like him.”

I look at the clock again and then back at Sandra. If we’re late to dinner I can roll with it. It’s Sawyer’s birthday. I’m sure whatever he’s doing is important.

“So.” I grin at her, eyebrow raised. “New Year’s Eve?” I leave the question hanging in the air for a minute. “You got home okay?” I prod when she doesn’t answer.

Sandra flushes and nods, not meeting my eyes. “I did,” she admits.

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” I ask, laughing.

“I, um…” She taps her mouse, bringing her computer to life, and clears her throat. “Thank you,” she finally offers, then swivels in her chair to face me and says, “I got home very well.” Then she grins, bites her lip and swivels back to her computer screen.

Sawyer walks in then, firing off directions to a well-dressed woman in her forties walking beside him. He’s almost rude, his voice sharper than I’m used to hearing from him. He says something about seventy-two hours and not a moment longer while she nods with a, “Yes, Mr. Camden.”

He notices me then, leaning on Sandra’s desk located outside of his office, and surprise flashes in his eyes the second before he recovers and stops short, clearly remembering just now that we have plans. That it’s his birthday.

“That’ll be all, Marlene,” he says, dismissing the woman without even looking at her. “I’ll expect an update from you with the test results in the morning. Sandra will see you out.”

The woman doesn’t appear bothered in the least at the abrupt dismissal. She smiles kindly at Sandra, who has popped up and collected her coat from the closet outside of Sawyer’s office. So she’s not an employee, whoever she is.