I park my car right around the corner from Emma’s office, get out, and walk over to the front. I’m not wild about being here—it’s always possible to have an elusive Gavin Walker sighting. However, this particular corner of CAA is a great place to sight the young, beautiful, and hungry. I stand by the glass doors waiting for Emma, and watch the highlighted and glossed women, all wobbling in high heels, as they clack in and out through the revolving doors. This is the part of Los Angeles that’s always depressed me; young people, particularly women, trying desperately to sell themselves to America, to the world. Hungry for love.

And a sandwich, as well. Most of these women are alarmingly thin.

Emma would tell me that I’m commodifying women’s bodies. Then she’d laugh, and run and grab a donut. She certainly does love sugar. It’s one of the most appetizing things about her.

That, and how quickly she’s willing to get naked. I like that, too. For instance, I was thinking of preparing dinner at home tonight. Something simple, delicious, and possible to interrupt with athletic bouts of—

“Jesus,” someone says.

No, no, that one’s off the menu tonight. Sorry.

Oh. It’s Emma’s younger sister…Lillian? Lori? Lysandra? Whatever, some L name. She’s wobbling before me in high stilettos, her blonde hair blowing about her face. I’ve heard Delia refer to—Lily, that’s it—as the prettier of the two sisters. My own personal biases aside, perhaps Lily’s taken it too much to heart. She seems to be always prepared for a model cattle call, or catwalk, or whatever animal-based thing they call those activities.

“It’s you.” Lily smiles, like she’s proud of herself for recognizing me. “So, like, what are you here for?”

“I’m picking up Emma.” There’s no reason to lie. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few days, but I’m fully prepared to walk into her parents’ house and declare that we are together. Then I would sweep Emma into a passionate embrace in front of all of them, and that harpy of a mother of hers could—

No. No. I was going to start thinking more charitably of people. That was a mantra that Emma wanted me to try. I’m not sure it’ll stick, but I’ll give it a shot. I also keep calling it a ‘mantra ray’ which I should attempt to stop.

“So cool.” Lily doesn’t seem to connect the dots on this one. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. “Could you give me a ride too? I don’t want to Uber it.”

“Is your car in the shop?” Do Americans say garage instead of shop? Why don’t I remember anything about living here, apart from the appalling traffic and the spectacular hot dogs at Pink’s?

“Ugh, it got repossessed or something.” Lily rolls her eyes. “Daddy said I had to be responsible about payments.” She makes a face that suggests responsibility is something for the perennially unattractive.

“Well.” I admit I’d rather get Emma into the car all alone. Not in the ‘I’m going to dump the body way,’ more in a ‘Can we have sex in front of the steering wheel without setting the horn off’ way. Then again, this is Emma’s little sister. I might as well look as heroic in Emma’s eyes as possible. “Of course.”

“Thanks!” Lily beams. “Not that I’m going to have to bum rides much longer. I had the best meeting with an agent ever.” She gets a dimple in her cheek that reminds me slightly of Emma, which automatically endears her to me. “Like, we just clicked. He knows exactly what to do for my career. Pretty soon, I’m not even going to have to Instagram model for fame any more. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I presume so?” I didn’t realize you could make money on Instagram. Then again, there’s much about the world I’ve never understood. Lily giggles again, and sidles up to me.

“Mom said you’re seriously loaded. So if you ever want to, like, help out a starving artist?” Bless this girl’s heart, she’s not trying to seduce the money out of me. She’s flat out asking. I’m almost inclined to give her ten dollars and a paternalistic pat on the head.

“Hey, this is a weird and not entirely comfortable sight.” Emma strides towards us out of the doors, the afternoon sun turning her hair into a radiant cascade of gold. And if that sounds too poetic, her cleavage is on light display. I’m ready to have her in the backseat of my car in under thirty seconds. Lily can practice driving, and also practice discreet non-listening.

“You guys are giving me a ride home.” Lily throws her arms around her sister, then eyes her with a certain degree of curiosity. Ah, here it comes. The moment of truth. “Wait a minute. You two are friends now?”

I expect Emma to meet my eye with a wicked expression, and a teasing comment. Instead, she gives her sister an absent-minded hug and says,

“Mm-hmmm.” She won’t even meet my eyes.

Ah. I see. We’re playing coy with the family still. The raging, headstrong part of me wants to sweep her into a searing kiss in front of her sister, all of CAA, and half the traffic on the bloody Avenue of Stars. Let them all gawk at me as I claim this woman with a ravishing—

“Can we stop for In n Out?” Lily asks as she guides Emma around me.

A ravishing hamburger? No. That’s not happening.

“I’ve just had the interior of the car cleaned.” I unlock the doors while Emma gives a slight roll of her eyes, and a quirk of her lips.

“Thank God no one changes that much,” she mutters. As we prepare to pull into traffic, I look at her. It’s not my imagination; she’s not meeting my gaze.

“I assume that’s meant in a good way.” I’m not going to be impolite, but I’m not trying to be any less blunt than I would usually be, mantra rays be damned.

“Yep.” She stares at her bloody phone, and a frown is creasing her brow. Lily clears her throat. Clever girl, even she can pick up on what’s happening in this car. The air has soured; as sour as one of those hamburgers she wanted. Are hamburgers sour? Do I care in the least right now? No.

“I, uh, think I’m gonna get an Uber after all. I’m hungry.” She leans over to the front and kisses her sister’s cheek. “Bye, Em. See you at dinner on Sunday.”

Ah, another raucous family gathering at the Brightmans, I assume. Another magical night filled with alcohol and Delia Brightman. Who could resist? Let me rephrase that, who wouldn’t resist? Lily climbs out of the car and slams the door. It’s now Emma, myself, and the whir of the air conditioner. The little bastard.

“Is something wrong?” I won’t take my eyes from her face, which makes her squirm. Bloody hell, what is this?

“Nothing. I’m totally, completely, absolutely, indisputably, unequivocally, insurmountably fine.” She blinks up at me. “How many adverbs was that?”

“I lost count,” I growl.

“Fine. I’m fine. You can drive. I’m not going to grab the steering wheel and try to hijack your car. I mean, it’s a really nice car. Self warming seats and everything.” She bounces a little by way of illustration. “Perfect for winter mornings. I mean, it’s Los Angeles, but—”

“Your verbal tics are one of your most arousing aspects.” I finally get her to look me in the face. “But if you don’t tell me what the problem is right now—”

“Why’d you tell me Gillian was a business associate?” She’s point blank now, a very American phrase. She looks right into my eyes and asks. “Why didn’t you tell me you two used to date?”

Perhaps Gavin Walker is my own personal gremlin of misfortune, assigned to me by a higher power to keep me humble and on edge. There’s no other way she could know Gillian’s name, or our previous relationship. And the way Emma’s looking at me now—both hopeful and wary—is enough to make me want to keep the car running, go upstairs, engage in the manliest grappling session ever committed in full view of a Hollywood office, then come down here with my tie askew and drive home. I want her to know the truth; it would be so damnably easy.

But the fact that she has to even ask the question shuts me down. No. I won’t play these childish games.

“Did you need a list of all my former romantic conquests?” I ask, my jaw tight. Emma’s eyes darken on the word ‘conquests.’ Perhaps ‘trysts’ would have been a better word. Or ‘dalliances.’ I should keep a romantic thesaurus on me at all times.

“Well gee, I would’ve told you if I’d ever done anything with Gavin, say.” She nestles back against the seat. I hope she’s enjoying the heated seats.

My head throbs as I finally pull into traffic, as we drive towards Palms. Emma notices after a while that we’re not heading for my place. She winces. “Ugh. If we’re going to my apartment, be prepared for kind of a mess.”

I’m accustomed to kind of a mess. It’s my default setting these days. Whatever this discussion is going to be, I’d rather it be in a patch of reality like Emma’s apartment. I saw the Voltron poster on her wall, alongside her bookshelves. Reality will not feel as grim there; I can sense it.

We park, and take the creaking elevator up to her floor. I swear, the thing is vibrating like it’s prepared to plummet us to an untimely end. The perfect setting for romance: potential death by shoddy engineering.

Finally, we make it to Emma’s place, and it is just as she warned me: a mess. There are clothes slung over the back of her desk chair, or hanging from the knob of a door. How any human being can live in a studio apartment and not turn into a Kafkaesque nightmare is beyond me. Though perhaps I’m a bit too large for this place; getting my shoulders through the doorway is a challenge. Usually, I’d be proud of such a fact. Right now, though, my focus is on Emma as she hastily slides some graphic novels and magazines underneath her bed. Her strange, nerdy obsession with Kylo Ren and General Hux kissing has been made known to me. I don’t find her less desirable for that, another fact which amazes me.

“So now that we’re in the privacy of my comfortable shoebox of a home, can we talk about Gillian?” Emma sits down on her bed, and something crinkles. She jerks in shock, and pulls a half-eaten bag of Doritos out from underneath her. “But first, a word from our sponsor.” Her cheeks flush…and I laugh.

God, how can this woman wind me up and infuriate me one moment, then make me laugh like this the next. Rubbing my eyes, I consider how best to do this. Tell her the complete truth. That might be the smartest option.

But I gave my whole heart and soul, my complete earnest intentions to Gillian once. I remember it not being enough. I remember sitting there afterwards, hating how weak I’d allowed myself to appear. No. Weakness is not an option, and trust is essential.

Emma’s got to trust me, or I’ll have to walk out of this little hobbit hole with its Doritos and its cartoon drawings. I’ll have to stamp through a sea of clothing and books to get there, but I will find the door again.

“This is the truth,” I tell her at last. “Gillian and I dated. We broke up. The break up was entirely her decision. I wanted to get married, but she had other plans. Our relationship has been over for many years now, and I was truly having drinks with her about business. Finances, if you must know.” Yes, none of that is a lie. It’s not the whole truth, but for Gillian’s sake as well as my own I’d like for there to remain at least a little bit of dignity. “We’re still friends, but nothing more. If anyone told you something to contradict those details, then it’s his word against mine. You’ll have to decide whom you want to trust.” I speak slowly and with calm, but I mean what I say. I won’t dance like a fool so that Emma knows I’m no threat, that she can trust me. I won’t simper, or beg. If she believes me, she can accept this. If not, like I said: books, clothes, stumble to the doorway. “The decision is yours.”

Emma sits there with her eyes wide, worrying her bottom lip. Then she says, “Man. I feel like I just got handed a mission with the fate of the free world on my shoulders.”

Well, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor. I pick my way around piles of personal debris and head to the bathroom. I turn on the water and splash my face, merely to cool down. My brain is throbbing with the desire to go find Gavin and challenge him to a brisk, manly round of beating the absolute shit out of each other. Drying my face on a towel—a Hello Kitty towel, in case you were curious—I turn and come face to face with Emma. God, she must have been hovering behind me like a sexy ghost in one of those Japanese horror movies she loves so much. Only without the hair in her face, or the overt themes of the danger of modern technology.

“Okay.” She nods. “I’ve thought about it.”

The moment of truth, then. I won’t let her see how badly I want the right answer.

“And?” I say, one eyebrow quirked.