As so often happens since I arrived in California eleven days ago—the first to get the kids from foster care after my sister and her husband died in a bad wreck—my heart freezes mid-rhythm, waiting to see how she reacts. But Margot’s small, pale face remains placid. Her eyes hold to mine. “You were the little one? Like me?”
I nod. “I was the youngest one. Just like you.”
That satisfies her. I can tell because her lips twitch just slightly before smoothing back into their straight line. Her hands arrange the bubbles in a small pile while I wash the lollipop out of her hair. As soon as it’s freed, she reaches for my arm. She gets her fingers around the stick, runs the lollipop under the faucet, and sticks it back into her mouth.
“Aunt June.” She smiles. “I like your house.”
She sits there in the tub licking the obscene sugar disc for almost half an hour, asking every so often about the house.
“Do you want to see the rest of the place?” I ask when she’s wrapped in a towel.
“Not tonight.” She shuts her eyes and says, “Just take me to my bed. And lie down with me.”
I do just that. My sister’s daughter snuggles in beside me, wraps her arm around me, lets a quiet breath out. I watch the ceiling until my eyes blur…then slowly drift shut.Chapter 2BurkeI cup my hand over my pants pocket as I stand in the elevator. From the parking deck up to the sixth floor. Always that moment of vertigo. I shut my eyes and lean the back of my head against the steel wall.
Smells like cake in here. Like fucking birthday cake. I open my eyes and blink at my reflection, bent like in a funhouse mirror. There better not be a party in the office today—or even worse, some kind of in memoriam. Surely they wouldn’t.
A couple seconds later, the elevator doors limp open and I step out onto the marble floor. Aesculapius, the small, stone sign says, with an arrow pointing down our hall.
The app is being pitched to investors as just Aes—and it might later be re-named—but regardless, it’s better to keep our identity and location under the radar. I learned that with my last two startups. No one’s ever heard of Aesculapius—at least not outside Roman history.
I pat my pocket as I walk toward the door to the admin suite. Probably everybody’s heard about what happened. Or maybe not. I bet so, though. Asher had an endless list of friends. He always did. But since he started working with our bastard of a father, he really knew the whole damn city. I bet his obituary was featured prominently in every Bay area magazine and paper.
Not that I would know. I wasn’t here.
I stop and try to school my face into a “normal” look. Then, after a fortifying breath, I push the door open and step into what I think of as the waiting room. It’s just a desk, a couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table—a place for people to wait.
Helena looks up from where she’s seated behind the desk, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder. She murmurs something in Spanish and hangs the phone up, and my heart thumps a little faster.
“Burke, hello.” She stands up and steps around her desk, but doesn’t move toward me. Smart. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, making a sad face.
“Thanks, Helena.” I look her up and down, keeping my eyes and face neutral, then look around the small space like she just mentioned the weather. “How have things been?”
“The usual,” she says after a moment. “How are you?”
I don’t fucking know. My little brother died while I was on a Himalayan mountain with an investor who still hasn’t invested and a satellite phone that didn’t work. How do you fucking think?
I give her a bland smile. “Good trip.”
“Someone shared one of the pictures you sent. The mountains were beautiful.” Her voice sounds chirpish. Awkward.
“Very much so,” I say—just as awkwardly.
“We’re so glad to have you back.”
I arch my brows. “Thanks.”
I give her a strained smile before starting down the hall toward my office. But I only get a few yards before I hear, “Hey, man!”
I clench my jaw. Fucking Gabe has got his door cracked. I peer through to find him rising from behind his desk and striding toward me. I escaped a hug from Helena because she’s older than us, plus she’s kind of new. Gabe is a goddamn hugger, though. He goddamn hugs me with one arm and says, “So sorry, man.”
“A heartfelt sorry always helps.”
“Don’t be a dick, dude.”
“Don’t wear some much product.” I pat his blond head, which doesn’t really have that much product.
“Jeezus.”
“Don’t take our Lord’s name in vain.”
“I’m Jewish,” he says.