“I don’t care about the money,” said Maura. “You will not tell your uncle about Reg.”

Maura’s house wasn’t a palace or anything, but it was paid for. Evan had made sure of that. It was one of the few things in his life that he knew had been truly unselfish. He was perched on an armchair near the window, unable to sit back, unable to relax. Maura, on the other hand, was standing near Reg, who was playing with his toys on the rug.

“They cut off my trust fund,” said Evan. “How am I supposed to help you raise Reg, if I don’t have any money to give you?”

Her arms were crossed, her face turned away from him, like she wanted to keep the world at bay for a little while.

“For the last time, Evan, I don’t want you to help me raise Reg. You’ve done enough.”

“He’s mine, Maura.”

She shook her head. “We’ve talked about this a million times. I don’t need you to be his dad. You know that. You were just…”

“A donor,” said Evan. “I know. But you’re my best friend, and he’s my son. No, don’t argue with me!”

They had been friends for years. Maura had been one of the few constant things in his life. She had never cared about his money or his family name; she’d never taken cruises with him and his rich friends, and she’d never asked him for anything other than his friendship.

Except for one thing.

One night, a little over three years ago, they had had a long talk about the future, and about how much she wanted a child. How the men she was meeting just weren’t boyfriend material, let alone father material.

What about me, he’d asked her. I’ve got great genes. Look at my jawline!

She’d laughed. Yeah, that wouldn’t make the friendship weird at all. Can I remind you that you’re gay? And rich, and irresponsible, and the furthest thing from a parent?

“You remember the deal,” said Maura. “You insisted on helping us out with your trust fund, and that’s fine. But you promised—you swore—that you’d never tell your family about Reg. I don’t want him growing up to be a Cray. Your family is toxic. But worse, I don’t want your family thinking I’m a gold-digger. I didn’t have a baby to trap you. You were just part of the biological process.”

Reg came over to Evan with his bear. “Mr. Bear wants to kiss you!” he said.

Evan couldn’t help it; he beamed. Even if Maura insisted that he couldn’t act like Reg’s father, there was a deep bond between him and the toddler. He leaned down and got a kiss on the cheek from Mr. Bear, then quickly grabbed up Reg and lifted him.

“Noooo,” said Reg, bursting with laughter, “put down Mr. Bear and me! Put down!”

Maura’s face had softened, her eyebrows rising with what looked like sympathy.

“He really loves you,” she said.

Evan looked hopefully up at her. “That’s because he’s family. Even if you won’t let him be a Cray—which I totally understand—he means the world to me.”

She sighed. “Just don’t be noble, okay? We’ll work something out, so that you feel like you’re contributing. I just don’t need your Uncle Archie interfering in my life.”

Evan shuddered, thinking of his uncle. “I know the feeling,” he said. “I will figure something out. I can’t leave you penniless.”

“I do have a job, Evan.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Speaking of, don’t you have a job now? Shouldn’t you be going to it, instead of sitting here arguing with me all morning?”

Evan groaned. “Why did you have to remind me? Yes, I suppose I had better go meet my dad’s ancient assistant.”

* * *

Evan wondered if this was what it felt like to walk to the electric chair or the guillotine, the way his feet wanted to shuffle extra slowly, body dragging, some part of his brain calling out for time to stop, or at least slow down.

Don’t be melodramatic, he told himself. It’s not like you’re going to your execution. A life sentence, though, that’s closer to the truth.

There had been a note from his uncle this morning, telling him which office to report to (on the second floor! The second floor!), and who he was supposed to meet.

That was the bad part. That was the part that really had his feet pretending to slug their way through molasses. You’ll be working with your father’s former personal assistant, said the note.

Evan didn’t want to be petty, but he’d heard quite enough about his dad’s assistant Simon. Simon was helpful, he was organized, he had been a great moral and intellectual support to Dad. It sucked, because he knew his dad had compared him to Simon, and every time, Evan would come up short.

Was it fair to be jealous of someone you’d never met? Probably not. Probably it said yet another bad thing about Evan’s character. Still, to know that your dad had trusted some other guy far more than he could ever trust you, it got under the skin. And now Good and Helpful Simon was going to be good and helpful to Evan, which sounded just wretched. Evan pictured some repressed old spinster of a man, the kind of guy who wore a greasy narrow black tie with suspenders and round glasses, prematurely stooped, critical of everything. Honestly, who else could have possibly handled Evan’s dad’s insanity? The man was a genius, but he’d also been entirely crazy.

There was a pang in Evan’s heart. Just because his dad was crazy, didn’t mean Evan didn’t miss him. He did, terribly. That mad old man had been everything to Evan. How could you die before I ever had the chance to make you proud? I promise, one day I was really going to straighten up. Wasn’t I? Eventually?

He had to be honest. He had no real reason to look down on this Simon guy, no reason to criticize someone he’d never met. It was fear. He was scared of the way his life was about to change. Scared of the way things were about to get more boring, more grown-up, than he’d ever imagined himself being.

A real grown-up would’ve called about Reg by now. Evan was going to have to break the news about his downfall. Maura was going to be furious. Not because of the problem itself, but because he’d chosen not to tell her yet.

Better not to think about that right now, though. He was here in the lobby. This time of morning, it was crowded with people surging towards the elevators. No one got out of his way, nobody kept a deferential distance from him. He was just another guy.

Even though the Cray Building was the tallest building in town, it wasn’t huge. It was dwarfed by the skyscrapers up in the city. But aboard its old, creaking elevators, it took a while to reach the top floor. Evan was so used to how long it took to get up there, that the arrival to the second floor was terrifyingly quick. No time to think, no time to pause; the door was open, and people pushed past him to get out. He followed, dull and obedient.

The second floor. Little arrows pointed to Sales and Marketing (left), Records (right), and Corporate Communications (left again).

Strange, to think his dad’s old assistant was now working in Records. What did record-keepers even do? Wasn’t everything on computers?

Sales would have made more sense. Evan had met several of the company’s salesmen over the years, and they all seemed cut from the same bluff-and-hearty mold, hard-drinking guys in their forties eager to tell you about all their travels to Wichita and Bismarck.

He could hear the bustle of the offices to the left; ringing phones, shuffling papers, loud voices. He glanced down there and saw busy people doing Important Work Things. By comparison, turning right, he saw a long, quiet, empty hallway. His steps echoed in the hall, then were immediately muffled as he entered the records department, as though all sound had been absorbed by musty old manila folders.

No sign of an ancient personal assistant in suspenders and tie.

At the closest desk, some guy sat with his back to Evan, taking a call and scribbling notes on paper, and Evan went to ask him where this Simon’s office might be.

The man turned in his chair, and Evan froze.

It was the guy from the club. The guy he had led to the hallway, the guy he’d—

Evan swallowed.

Naturally, the guy recognized Evan, too. Of course he did. You don’t just forget something like that. His eyes went wide, and he whispered into the phone, “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

Evan had already taken a step away from the desk. He never in a million years would’ve even danced with the guy, if he’d known he worked here at his dad’s company.

“I…ahem. Hi. I’m looking for Simon, please?”

Now the guy positively blushed. “Oh. I’m Simon,” he said. “Are you…Mr. Cray?”

“Holy hell!” Evan felt dizzy, unable to catch his breath. “You’re kidding me. You were my dad’s assistant?”

I blew my dad’s assistant. No, that is not possible. There’s a mistake somewhere. Maybe there are two Simons in this department. Maybe there are like a thousand of them, but if so, why does the guy look like he’s about to crawl under his fucking desk out of embarrassment?

He couldn’t make eye contact. How could he look this guy in the face? But that meant instead he was looking down at the assistant’s body, which was totally the wrong signal to send, especially with the memory of that night still fresh in Evan’s mind.

A hesitant nod from Simon. “That’s…yeah. That’s me.”

“But you’re not old.”

Simon started to shake his head, then interrupted it with a nod. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to be?”

“My dad always talked about loyal old Simon and you’ll never guess what old Simon did this time. I guess I just assumed?”

Simon looked around the office as though in a panic. Like he didn’t want anyone else to see them talking. Not that there was anyone here. To Evan’s mind, it was worse that they were all alone in the office.

Simon said, “Can we…do you want to go downstairs and get a coffee?”