“Good morning. I’m Michael. I’m an acquaintance of Zeth’s.”

“An acquaintance?” She eyes his hand like it’s actually a coiled snake, but she slowly reaches out and shakes it. “And when you say acquaintance, do you mean an associate who kills people for a living?”

Michael doesn’t flinch at Pippa’s direct line of questioning. He’s charm personified when he leans forward and places a kiss on the back of her hand. “You could say that,” he tells her. “But don’t worry. It’s an infrequent arrangement.”

Lacey breaks the tension by holding out her hand to Pip, looking up at her expectantly. Pippa seems a little flummoxed by Michael’s candor. She’s obviously very distracted as she roots in the pocket of her pant suit and then deposits her apartment keys into Lacey’s outstretched palm. “Okay, then,” she says. “Yes, well I suppose we had better go inside.”

******

“One percent. Sweet.” Lacey immediately starts helping herself to Pip’s cereal, while Michael walks through the apartment, moving gracefully from room to room. I’m the last one to enter the apartment, right behind a very confused Pippa. “What the hell is he doing?” she hisses. “And how the hell does he move like that? He looks like a trained ballerina that went overboard on the steroids.”

He really does. “Checking the place over,” I inform her.

She spins around, fixing me with a hostile glare. “For people he wants to kill? I thought he said that part of his work was infrequent?”

“Yeah, usually it is. Look, Pip, can we—”

“I’m sorry.”

I stop short. “What?” In all the time I’ve known Pippa, I’ve never heard her say those two words so plainly. Yes, we’ve both been shitty to each other sometimes, and yes, we’ve both had to apologize, but Pippa’s proud. She normally takes the long way around. I regret that what I said made you feel…I realize that it probably wasn’t great of me to…I see where you’re coming from, and I understand that I could have…

There has never been an I’m sorry moment with Pippa. Hearing her saying it now takes me back a little. She reaches out and takes my hands, the same way she did the last time I sat in her kitchen when she basically told me she didn’t trust me to know what the hell I was doing.

Now that I look at everything that’s happened, perhaps she was right, but—

“I’m really, really sorry,” she says. Her face is stoic and devoid of all expression. I think it has to be in order for her to get those words out. “I know I’m a major bitch sometimes. Captain Bitch of Bitchtopia. I suck, I really do. It was cold and cruel of me to tear into you like that the other day. And it was really unprofessional of me to go searching through Zeth’s history. I’m sorry. Please—say you’ll forgive me? I swear to you I won’t ever do it again. You can date Charles Manson for all I care, so long as you’re still my best friend.”

I open my mouth, not quite knowing what to say. Pip announced her speech loud enough for Lacey and Michael to hear, but doesn’t seem to care. That’s even more out of character. It’s one thing to be sorry, but it’s another thing entirely to undergo a public apology. Not that it matters; Zeth’s sister and personal right-hand man weren’t listening by the looks of them—Lacey’s offering Michael a spoon full of food and Michael, surprisingly, is accepting it, both talking in hushed tones. I know him, of course. I know there’s a very strong probability he heard, processed and stored every single word.

“Can we just go back to how everything was six weeks ago?” Pippa continues. “No, screw that. Let’s go back to how things were two and a half years ago, when the only things we had to worry about were exams and which doctor’s service we wanted to get on.”

“Okaay. Sure. I guess?” This is weird. Really freaking weird.

Pippa’s shoulders slump, as though a weight has just been lifted from them. “Thank you,” she says, smiling. “Come on. Come and sit down. I’ll make us some tea.”

I sit down on the sofa, and Pip does as she says, making us some tea. It seems to be a habitual act for her whenever she has company. Lacey declines, though Michael very graciously accepts—unlike Zeth at my parents’ house, somehow Michael holding a cup of English Breakfast just seems right. Pip brings me mine, offering me out the same cup she always gives me when I visit. “Here. I’ll just run to the bathroom and then we can talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

She’s not gone long. Michael and Lacey sit in the window seat across the other side of the vast room, overlooking the city, talking together, and me and Pippa sit in silence watching them for a moment. Eventually she speaks. “He cares about her,” she observes.

“Everyone cares about her. It’s hard not to.”

“Hmmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Has she told Zeth yet?”

I shake my head. Drink my tea. We sit in silence some more. And then, “I’m glad you’re here, Sloane. I really am. I thought it was going to be months before I got to see you again.”

“Yes, well, things have been pretty crazy. I wanted a sane shoulder to cry on.”

She pivots in her seat, frowning at me. “Why? What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Well, not fine, but…I’m okay. I just—Zeth overheard me arguing with Oliver. He heard me telling him that…he heard me telling Oliver that I’m in love with him.” God, I even feel terrible just saying it. What an idiot. From the very beginning I’ve known this whole thing with him isn’t conventional. It never will be conventional, but it appears as though my stupid heart didn’t get the memo on that one. It’s somehow managed to convince itself that a very conventional let’s-all-fall-in-love-with-Zeth-Mayfair fest is totally on the cards, and it won’t take no for an answer.