Page 54 of True Colors

Good sex with good people.

No chaos, no emotional shrapnel.

For the past year, I’ve practically been celibate. You try to work eighteen-hour days, live out of suitcases, fly between divisions of your father’s empire, and still manage a social life.

I’m not cynical about relationships. I want what my sister has, what my parents have, but I just haven’t met anyone who makes me want that with them.

My mother’s opinion is that I’d do well to find a woman who is smart and ambitious but not locked in the same relentless pursuit of achievement that drives me.

“You need someone who makes you curious and slows you down,” she told me, not too long ago. “Someone who makes you feel something that you can’t logic your way out of. So, that eliminates Erin.”

“Mom, I’m not interested in Erin like that.”

“I don’t know why you’re interested in her anyway,” Mom sneered.

She doesn’t like Erin at all, never has. We know her family in New York—they’re part of my parents’ circle—but they’re not my parents’ friends because they’re too eager to climb the social ladder.

When I step into my office thinking about how my mother will react to Anouk, I remember that I have a one-on-one with Dot, who is waiting for me while I’ve been daydreaming.

She looks up from her phone, shoving her reading glasses onto her forehead when she sees me. “You look smug. Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t think so.” I drop into my chair. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You had the Novagene project report out.” Dot sets her phone on my desk. “How did it go?”

“Really well.”

“And Anouk?”

I can’t help it; my face breaks out into a smile. That seems to happen with some regularity every time I think about, talk about, talk to, or see Anouk.

“She’s brilliant,” I tell her, aware I’m gushing. “Absolutely brilliant. The model she built—Dot, it’s top-tier. Better than the ones we saw in Singapore. Better than the one our genius in New York built for that oncology portfolio.”

A grin spreads slowly across her face. She’s cat-who-got-the-cream smug. “Is this a good time for me to tell you I told you so?”

“You already have. Repeatedly. Loudly. With hand gestures.”

Dot laughs.

“She…ah…she’s….” I want to ask her about who was dying, why she had a nervous breakdown in the office, and her childhood, but it would be a breach of trust.

“She’s what?” Dot coaxes.

“I thought Finn was her boyfriend.” The words are out before I can think them through.

Dot steeples her fingers. “Why would you think that?”

“Maybe because he told me when I bumped into them that he was her date.” I shake my head, now worried about how far I’ve fallen that I’m discussing my crush with her supervisor.

Really classy, Luther.

“Anyway”—I regroup, take a deep breath—“it doesn’t matter.”

“Luther, Anouk is special.”

“I know.”

She narrows her eyes in disbelief. “What brought this change about? You suddenly decide to use your eyes? Or did you grow new ones?”