“If there is one thing I can leave with you, it’s this: we work in a jungle and are surrounded by alpha males and apex predators. Everyone’s looking to be the last one standing, to be at the top of the food chain, and they sometimes don’t care who gets hurt in the process. Don’t lose your heart. Don’t lose your soul. Don’t lose your compass, and that doesn’t mean don’t win. Win. Fight. Conquer. You have just as much right to success as anyone who works for it. It may be a jungle, and they may be lions . . .”

She pauses, her eyes finding mine again, holding mine.

“But the daughter of a lion is still a lion, and this is your domain.”

“You got everything?” I ask Iris, rolling her suitcase out to the front of the hotel and peering up the street for the car taking her to the airport.

“Yeah,” she answers absently, checking her phone. “I’m sure Sarai is fine. It’s just lice, but August figuring out lice?”

“Yeah,” I agree with a wry grin. “Get home as fast as you can.”

We both laugh at that.

“I just want to make sure it’s handled thoroughly.” She pokes out her bottom lip. “I do hate to leave early, but I’ve gone to all the sessions I wanted to attend.”

“Good. I’ll debrief with the team next week to hear takeaways, things we learned. That kind of thing.”

“I, uh, saw you.” Iris glances up from her phone, assessing me and chewing the corner of her bottom lip. “In Banner’s session. In the back.”

“Oh yeah?”

And, Iris? And?

“Iris, I think this is your guy in the black Tahoe. Oh, nope.”

“Was it just a matter of checking out the enemy, or . . .” Her expression asks me to fill in a blank I have no intention of filling in.

“Bagley’s a rival firm.” I keep my voice even, neutral. “But Banner’s not my enemy. I was just curious. Don’t read too much into it.”

“What would I read into it?” Her eyes are wide and innocent, but I know better. Iris has survived a lot, been through things that sharpen your senses and intuition.

“Just checking on an old . . .” I search for the right word “. . . friend. Banner and I went to college together.”

“I had no idea.” A grin spreads on her face. “Did you two date or something?”

I look past her shoulder to the black SUV pulling up.

“Not exactly. Drop it, okay? Your car’s here.”

After a searching glance, she shrugs. “Consider it dropped.”

We greet the driver, and I haul her bag into the back.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, one foot on the running board, one foot on the ground.

“There’s a thing at the bar. I’ll show my face. Or I may skip it and go crash. I’m exhausted.”

She climbs in and leans out the window. “Thank you for the opportunity to come and experience this.”

“Guess I don’t have to ask which session was your favorite. Banner, right?”

“You looked like you were enjoying her . . .” Mischief sparks behind her eyes. “I mean the talk, too.”

“What happened to consider it dropped?” I lightly tap the hood, signaling it’s time to head out. “Go exterminate my niece’s hair.”

As soon as I enter the hotel lobby, Mitch and a few other agents accost me.

“Foster,” Mitch slurs, already halfway to falling down. “Join us at the bar.”

Why the hell not? Alone in my room, I’ll only rehearse what I heard today, the things Banner said that have been looping through my head. The last thing I need to be thinking about is Banner. She works for a rival firm. She’s dating a man widely considered the NBA’s patron saint. And the main reason I shouldn’t be thinking about Banner? She hates me.

All day I’ve walked around with this . . . emotion I can’t quite name agitating my insides, seething under my skin. Of all the things Banner said in her session today, the least impactful thing has impacted me the most. The one I can’t stop rehearsing.

My boyfriend is a good man.

Zo Vidale digs wells in Africa, feeds hungry kids in India, and probably helps old ladies cross the street. Every Good Samaritan and Citizen Award there is, he has won. He is a good man, and I, along with the rest of the known world, admire him. I respect him.

So why the hell does it bother me to hear Banner call him a good man?

“So, Foster,” one of the agents—maybe Jimmy, I think is his name—says. “I heard you went to college with Banner Morales. That right?”

Is the world conspiring against my peace of mind?

“Yeah,” I one-word it, prop my elbows on the bar and motion to the bartender. “Jameson, please.”

“I heard her session was packed.”

“Yeah,” I answer automatically.

“You were in there?” Mitch perks up to demand. “I thought it was just for chicks.”

“I needed my sister-in-law,” I lie. “So I poked my head in to find her.”

“What I want to know,” Maybe Jimmy asks, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Did she look that good in college?”

Frumpy sweater. Baggy sweatpants. Hair scraped back. No makeup. Seven freckles.

“Yeah,” I reply, staring into my drink. “She did.”

“Did not,” Mitch counters with a sneer. “I interned with her at Bagley. She didn’t look anything like that, but I guess it didn’t matter to Vidale.”

“What’s that mean?” Maybe Jimmy asks, practically smacking his lips for some juicy gossip.

“I was supposed to meet with Vidale.” Mitch leans forward, glancing around to make sure he’s not being overheard . . . or more likely to make sure he is overheard. “Last minute, Cal grabs Morales for the meeting. She goes into the conference room. Next thing I know, wham, bam! She’s Zo’s agent. Hadn’t even graduated or taken the exam yet. How’s that happen?”

Mitch’s “theory” of how that happened is scrawled all over his face.

“Whoa,” Maybe Jimmy says, eyes stretched. “Are you saying she fucked Vidale to get the job?”

My muscles tighten, straining with the effort not to slam Mitch’s head into the bar. Everyone knows how good Banner is. These assholes don’t commission a third of what she makes. Jealousy is an ugly emotion that makes you do and say petty things. A defense for her burns the tip of my tongue, but I say nothing. I swallow my Jameson, my frustration, and that same nameless emotion clawing at my insides.

“At least now they aren’t trying to hide it anymore,” Mitch says. “I’m surprised Cal hasn’t put a stop to it. If their relationship goes south, Bagley could lose our best baller.”

“What if he knows it won’t go south?” Maybe Jimmy asks. “If this has been going on for years, they might be getting married or something.”

My boyfriend is a good man.

“Even marriage is no guarantee,” I hear myself saying. “And if Banner is stupid enough to fuck her client now, she has to know people will think that’s how she landed him in the first place.”

As soon as I say the harsh words, I want to take them back, but it’s too late. Mitch looks past my shoulder, and his eyes widen. His mouth drops open.

“B-Banner,” he stutters. “Uh . . . We were just . . . Pull up a chair. Have a drink.”

I close my eyes, praying to the whiskey gods that Banner didn’t hear my last comment. When I turn on my barstool, there is no doubt in my mind that she heard every word.

“Let me get this straight,” she says through tight lips, ignoring Mitch’s pitiful cover-up attempt. “I got where I am by fucking Zo. Do I have it right?”

“Banner,” I start.

“Fuck you, Jared.” She doesn’t even look at me when she says it. She glares at Maybe Jimmy. “You haven’t signed a new client in two years, and the few you have left are jumping like you’re the Titanic because you’ve managed their careers into the toilet.”

She points to Mitch. “Cal Bagley would have fired you years ago if your father wasn’t his best friend. I spend half my time cleaning up your shit and the other half taking up your slack.”

Her eyes, when they shift to me, are obsidian. Hard. Dark. Cold. Even when she’s been furious with me in the past, irritated with me, she’s never looked at me this way.

“And how dare you intimate that anyone would assume I’m successful because I fuck my clients?” She hurls the question at me.

“I didn’t say—”

“When you wouldn’t even own your agency,” she cuts over me, “if your brother hadn’t bought it for you. So is your success because of nepotism?”

The hell?

I stand up fast and step so close, I smell her shampoo. After all these years, it’s the same scent. Something fresh and clean and distinctly hers. I step so close her head falls back so she can maintain her glare, but she doesn’t fall back. I’m so close the sight of her in this black dress hugging her curves, with her hair piled high on her head like a crown, swallows up my peripheral vision and Banner is all I see.

“You should get your facts straight before you speak,” I say so low only she can hear me, though I’m sure Mitch and Maybe Jimmy strain to catch it.

“And you should be careful before you insult me,” she returns, her words a challenge, a pistol drawn. “Or my boyfriend.”

I don’t allow myself many regrets. I don’t say I’m sorry often simply because I’m usually not. I say what I mean. I mean what I say, and I stand behind it. If it hurts someone, as long as it was true, I’m not sorry. But I regret saying that about Banner to these two idiots. I don’t think it’s a good idea for agents to date clients, and I expressed as much to Banner at the game, but saying it to Mitch and Maybe Jimmy felt wrong. Tearing Banner down feels wrong.