Page 127 of Even in the Dark

"I was hoping you'd be wearing pants with little embroidered lobsters on them," I repeat.

"What the—" His forehead furrows."What?"

"New England prep school guys in movies are always wearing lobster pants. And pastel polos with cable-knit sweaters tied around their shoulders," I explain. "I just figured when I moved here, seeing it in person would be one of the perks."

His eyebrows arch up, hovering somewhere between his hairline and the worn wooden rafters. "I can't tell if you're joking right now."

"I would never joke about lobster pants."

It's true. Seeing them in the wild is on my bucket list. Way down the list, but still. And just my luck, the first millionaire I meet—sorry,billionaire—is wearing boring, plain old navy shorts and a frayed Blind Melon T-shirt.

Xavier stares me down for a good three seconds. "Well, my lobster pants are at the dry cleaners right now so… sorry to disappoint."

"Don't feel bad." I shrug. "The entitled temper tantrum was a solid consolation prize."

His jaw tics. "Seriously? What is your problem?"

And… it appears Xavier Rockwell's feathers are ruffled.

Mission accomplished.

I lift a brow and sink into the desk chair, swiveling to face the dusty monitor. My fingers tap across the keyboard, like I’m inputting vital data—when in reality, I’m typing out the lyrics toYou’re So Vaininto a blank Google Doc.

"Are you seriously ignoring me right now?"

The computer fan whirs. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck—this AC unit is losing a valiant battle against the summer heat. I hum under my breath, "Working."

"Real professional," Xavier scoffs.

I lean in, squinting at the screen like I’m decoding nuclear launch codes. The chair creaks.

He exhales sharply through his nose.

Stew in your privilege, Rockwell.

A few minutes later, Bree strides in, all business in her crisp manager’s polo and khaki shorts. "Alright… what seems to be the problem?" Her gaze lands on Xavier, and the way she halts in hertracks is eye-roll inducing. "Xavier… Rockwell," she practically stammers. "Oh—h-hi!"

This is the most flustered I’ve ever seen straight-laced, no-nonsense Bree Crawford.

Xavier explains the situation, his irritation evident in his clipped tone. And Bree's eyes keep darting between us, clearly torn.

"I see," she says, biting her lip. "I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Xavier… but we have strict pick-up policies. Even for… well, especially for families like yours."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.Families like his?Puh-lease.

Bree continues, "I wish we could make an exception, but I'm sure you understand. The childrens' safety and parents' peace of mind are our top priorities."

I swear she’s quoting the Kids Club policy handbook verbatim.

Xavier’s jaw tightens, but he nods.

Bree turns to me. "Maggie, did you offer to call someone on Finn’s approved list?"

Before I can answer, Xavier cuts in. "No, but shedidgive me some fantastic fashion advice, so we’re all good."

A sharp, white-hot prickle runs up the back of my neck, and I force myself to exhale slowly.I literally suggested he call his mother.

Bree’s eyes dart between us, scrambling to smooth things over.

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