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Brandon: We need to talk.

We haven’t talked since… I think it was the call after… I dropped off the file. That was 2 weeks ago, so why is he back at my heels? Can’t he just go MIA again? He didn’t even remind me of our weekly dinners like he usually did, which is why I didn’t go. I wouldn’t have gone either way, but…

Anyway. I put the phone back and take one last glance in the rearview mirror. Talking is the last thing I want to do. With him, with my family, with anyone.

The urge to go home and drown in food rises up.

No. I can do this. Just breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.Perfect control.

With a sigh, I open the door and walk toward the entrance.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe Mom will be reasonable.

The door looms ahead as I ring the bell, the house straight out of an old Hollywood film with white columns, manicured hedges, and an air of obscene luxury.

My mother opens the door, her short blonde hair falling in soft waves onto the cream-colored dress hugging her slim figure. Not a strand is out of place. “Naomi, darling.” Her voice drips honey, but I taste the artificial sweetener underneath. “You’re late.”

“Traffic.” It’s the oldest, lamest excuse, but I don’t have the energy for creativity.

I step past her into the monument to my mother’s bad taste: the foyer with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and gaudy oil paintings of people who look vaguely like us. It’s the kind of place that screams ‘old money,’ except our money isn’t even that old. At least not my mother’s. My father’s is.

“That dress is a bit…” She gives me a once-over, taking in the dress, the heels, and the hastily applied makeup. “…snug, isn’t it? I thought we agreed on the Dior.”

“I like this one.” My smile is a razor’s edge. “Brandon picked it out.” Let her hate him a bit.

“Did he now?” Her lips purse, a tell of disapproval. “Now that I look at it a bit closer. It is beautiful.”

Why does she like him so much? Is it his last name?

“And where is Brandon? Why isn’t he here?”

Because I told Blake to keep him away. Because I can’t handle his intensity right now. Because every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m drowning. “Held up at the office. You know how it is.”

“Again?” Her face falls. “Oh, that’s too bad. I was so looking forward to seeing him. It’s been too long.”

Sure you were. “He sends his regrets.”

“Is everything alright with you two?” The concern in her voice sounds genuine. That’s what makes her so dangerous, she can make anything sound like love, even when she’s twisting the knife.

“Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Work must come first, after all.”

I nod, grateful for the reprieve.

Another car pulls into the driveway, its headlights cutting through the gathering dusk.

Please don’t be Brandon. Please don’t be Brandon.

My little brother unfolds himself from the driver’s seat and strides up the path, all easy smiles and casual confidence. His dark hair is artfully tousled, and he probably spent twenty minutes getting it to look effortlessly messy. He’s wearing designer jeans and a fitted shirt that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

And, of course, there’s a girl with him. There’s always a girl.

This one’s blonde, leggy, and draped in a dress that barely covers the essentials, she clings to his arm, giggling at something, and her stilettos alone probably cost more than someone’s car payment.

“Nay-Nay!” He grins, using that stupid childhood nickname Blake gave me as they join us in the foyer. “Nice to see you, as always.”

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