Jameson is laughing hard now.

“They take me inside. She sends that child to his room, and then she goes to get ice, and then another kid comes out.” I picture his face, and my eyes widen. “This kid . . . is fucking evil, man, I’m telling you.”

“What’s his name?”

I try to remember it. “Same as that nerdy wizard kid . . . the one with glasses.” I click my fingers as I try to think.

“Who? Harry Potter?”

“Yes, that’s it. His name is Harry.”

Jameson smiles broadly.

“He starts slicing his neck with his finger.”

Jameson stops laughing, shocked.

“Then he puts his hands around his throat and begins to choke himself until he fakes his death,” I whisper.

“What?” Jameson screws up his face. “That is weird.”

“Oh, you think?” I stammer. “Then he runs away and comes back with a tie thing and a teddy bear, and I watch as he ties a noose around its neck and then hangs it.”

Jameson’s eyes hold mine for an extended time. He’s as confused as I am. “He did what?”

I cross my fingers over my chest. “As God is my witness. This shit really happened.”

Jameson laughs out loud in shock.

“And the dog,” I cry. “The poor fucking dog.”

“What’s wrong with the dog?”

“They have a fucking bucket thing tied to its head.”

“What for?”

“To torture it . . . why else?”

His face falls, and he stares at me. “What?”

“I’m not even joking . . . I got out to the car and considered going back in on a mercy mission and stealing the poor bastard to save it. He was eating peas, Jameson. Fucking peas, I tell you.”

Jameson tips his head back and laughs hard.

I put my head into my hands. “I’m sorry, Woofy.”

“His name is Woofy?”

I nod sadly.

He howls with laughter as he really loses control. “What did you do?”

I exhale heavily. “I did what any self-respecting man does when his life is in danger.”

“What’s that?”

“I got the fuck out of there.”

“You drove home with that ankle?” he asks in surprise.

“Sped the entire way.”

Jameson laughs hard.

“No more MILFs for me.” I hold my hands in the air. “I’m done.” I turn to my computer. “In fact, I don’t even think I want kids now. I’m scarred for life.”

A melancholy comes over me. “You know, I knew she was a widow and had it tough, but I never imagined it was this bad.”

Jameson watches me. “She was probably thinking of you when she ended it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I sigh. “Anyway, in another life she’s the perfect woman. It’s her circumstances that have fucked it.”

It’s ten o’clock on Thursday morning, and someone knocks on my office door.

“Come in.”

Sammia walks in, and I smile. Sammia is my brother’s PA and the sunshine of our office. She works out at reception and keeps us all in order. “Tris, your intern interviews are here.”

I keep typing. “Okay, what number did we narrow it down to?”

“With all the testing and the two interviews they have already done down on level forty, there are three final candidates.”

“Yes, okay, which one do you like?” I ask.

“I like Rebecca,” she says. “I think she has what it takes.”

“Well, to get this far, they all have what it takes, but let’s see who interviews the best.” I take out the intern-interview file. Every year we take just one on in the management level. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Kids travel across the States to be taken under our wing. All our past kids have gone on to great success, and most of them are in managerial positions. “To be honest I haven’t even had time to go through any of the interview notes,” I admit.

“That’s okay.” Sammia smiles. “It’s not like it’s your first rodeo.”

I chuckle. “Send the first one in.”

“Okay.”

I open the file and take out the relevant questions that I need to ask. I ready my notepad and pen.

A light knock sounds at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opens, and I glance up. My face falls.

It’s him.

The underpants attacker. Our mouths fall open in shock at the same time.

“You’re . . . Tristan Miles?” he gasps, horrified.

“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “I can’t even fucking walk because of you, and now you turn up here looking for a damn job?”

“Trust me. I didn’t know it was you,” he snaps back.

“Or you wouldn’t have attacked me?” I gasp.

“No, I would have still attacked you; I wouldn’t have come today.”

I throw my head back in disgust. “Are you kidding me?”

He folds his arms and narrows his eyes. “So . . . you were lying.”

“About what?”

“You don’t know my mother from work at all.”

“Yes, I do, and why the hell are we talking about your mother now?”

“Why did you come to my house to see her? Why didn’t you just see her at her office?”

“First of all . . .” I point to the chair. “Sit down,” I snap as I grab my crutches and move them out of his way. He falls into his seat. “Second of all, last time I looked, it’s your mother’s house. And thirdly, it’s none of your business why I wanted to talk to her. My ankle is completely fucked, by the way; thank you for asking.”

He smirks.

“You think this is funny?”

“No, I think you’re a lying jerk. They were totally your underpants, and you can stick your job up your entitled ass. I don’t want it anyway.”

I shake my head. Why am I not surprised by his attitude? “I will.”

We glare at each other.

“Don’t tell my mom that I came here today.”

I frown. “She doesn’t know?”

“No, and I would appreciate it if she didn’t find out.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I was going to surprise her if I got the job.”

I stare at him as I process his words. “Why wouldn’t you tell her you were going for this? Applications have been going on for months.”

His eyes drop to the carpet. “I didn’t want her to be disappointed when I didn’t get it.”

“She wouldn’t be disappointed if you didn’t get the job. I know that for a fact.”

His jaw clenches as he stares at the carpet in front of us.

“Why would you want this job?” I ask.

“I want to learn what to do and take over Anderson Media.” He pauses. “So she doesn’t have to work so hard.”

I stare at him.

“She does enough.” He scuffs his shoe on the carpet. “I don’t want her to have to worry anymore.”

My heart drops. “You think you have to protect your mother?”

“I don’t think it; I know it.” He stands. “It’s okay.” He exhales deeply. “I won’t waste your time.”

He’s right; he does have to protect her. She’s worth protecting.

I watch him for a moment, and I hate to admit it, but I’m strangely impressed by his loyalty to Claire.

“Sorry about your ankle,” he says.

“Are you really?”

“Nope.” He stares at me. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you found someone’s underwear in your mother’s bag.”

“No, actually, I wouldn’t,” I mutter dryly. “Because . . . I’m not psychotic.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He walks toward the door.

“Intern interviewees usually shake my hand,” I call after him.

“Not this one.” He turns and leaves. The door clicks quietly behind him.