Sometime before the present: Unwanted Offer …

  Alex resists the overwhelming urge to repeatedly bang her head against the wall beside her. It was difficult to resist, but credit to her willpower she somehow did.

  When she was told the Dean had summoned her, she had braced for bad news. Maybe a lecture about her attendance, maybe some bureaucratic nonsense. Not this.

  She definitely hadn’t expected to find Chris Jordan—yes, that Chris Jordan, the guy from the bridge accident—comfortably seated in the Dean’s office, his wife perched beside him legs crossed comfortably in the traitorous Dean’s office.

  And worst of all? The Dean himself was practically fawning over them.

  Alex tilts her head slightly, the other occupants in the room observing her like some important experiment. Oxford was nice this time of year, she supposed. And since her ‘family’ had a long standing relationship with the institution for centuries, getting in to finish this particular course wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, it would be a bit too easy.

  “Alex?”

  The Dean’s voice slices through her thoughts. There’s a distinct note of exasperation in his tone, his brow furrowed like he’d been trying to get her attention for some time now.

  “Yes?” she replies, deadpan.

  He exhales in relief, at the fact that she had not suddenly gone catatonic.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, directing the apology toward the couple. “She has her… quirks. But she’s brilliant.” He laughs awkwardly, as if to soften the insult.

  Alex raises an eyebrow.

  The laughter dies a swift death in his throat.

  He clears his own throat, gestures stiffly to the chair beside Lilian. “Have a seat.” Yeah. That was absolutely not happening.

  “I’m good, thanks.” She clasps her hands behind her back and inclines her head slightly. Go on.

  The Dean hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with her standoffishness. “Very well.” He adjusts in his seat. “This is Chris and Lilian Jordan.”

  “I know,” Alex says flatly. “We’ve met.”

  The Dean nods. “At the excursion, so I heard.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  A loaded silence.

  The Dean shifts uncomfortably, sneaking a glance at the couple, then back at Alex.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “they’re here to see you.”

  Alex crosses her arms. “What for?”

  Chris sits up straighter. “We’d like to offer you a scholarship—”

  “Don’t need one.” She cuts in without hesitation, her gaze still locked onto the Dean’s unfortunate bald spot. The fragility of human hair, endlessly fascinating.

  Chris stutters. “Uh. Really?”

  “Mm-hm. I’m coping just fine with the fees.” She cranes her head slightly, as if reading off some invisible projection before answering.

  “I’m living off a small fortune I inherited… from my grandparents.” She recites, faltering only slightly. It’d been a while since she’s had to explain the source of her income.

  Lilian studies her with quiet skepticism. “And your parents?”

  Alex meets her gaze evenly. “I don’t have any.” That part was true.

  “So you’re an orphan?” Her husband pipes in, and both the Dean and his wife looked scandalized at the brusqueness of the statement. Point to him. Alex appreciated directness.

  “Chris!” Lilian hisses, mortified.

  Alex, however, just nods. “A rich orphan,” she corrects, lips twitching. “Like Batman.”

  The Dean and Lilian stare at her in open disbelief. Chris, on the other hand, looks fascinated.

  Alex grins.

  Lilian recovers first, smoothing her skirt. “Could you give us a few minutes alone with her?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” the Dean says, his brain clearly still buffering. He leaves quickly, shutting the door behind him.

  Alex’s eyes linger on the door, fantasizing stepping out alongside the Dean, this awkward and unimportant conversation far behind her.

  “Alexandra? Alexis?” Lilian’s voice pulls her back.

  She turns slowly to the woman, suppressing a sigh. “Alex is fine.”

  “I noticed no one said your last name,” Lilian presses, And wasn’t she an insistent one?

  “It’s just Alex.”

  Lilian rears back slightly. “Just Alex?”

  Alex places a dramatic hand over her heart, feigning offense. “Oh, what century are we in?” she sighs. “Beyoncé. Madonna. Shakira. Cher. Bono. Rihanna.” She ticks them off on her fingers, Lilian exhaling in understanding.

  Jokes on her—Alex was just getting started.

  “Sting. Prince. Oprah. Confucius. Aristotle. Plato. Socrates—”

  “We get it!” Chris groans.

  Alex barely suppresses a smirk. “Drake. Coolio. Common—” She pauses, catching her breath. “I’m sorry, I have it all memorized. Fergie.” She exhales dramatically. “It’s okay, Fergie was the last one.”

  A beat of silence.

  She studies the couple carefully. Digressions aside, these people had summoned her for a reason. The sooner they said what they wanted, the sooner she could leave.

  “Listen, if this is about your nuclear accelerator—”

  “We’re trying to thank you, asswipe.” Chris interrupts eloquently.

  Alex blinks.

  Chris glances at his wife, who already has her mouth open, poised to scold him, and quickly adds, “Ah. I said ‘wipe.’”

  Lilian closes her mouth with a click.

  Alex is momentarily thrown off. “Thank me?”

  “For saving our lives,” Lilian clarifies. “That night on the bridge.”

  They remembered.

  Alex suppresses the urge to groan. England it was, then. She did have a lovely little chateau in Birmingham. A bit of dusting, a small investment in transportation—she could make it work.

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  She winces. You know things were bad when England was starting to sound like a vacation. At least she wouldn’t get stupid assumptions concerning her accent over there, she thinks, optimistic.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, weakly.

  Chris gives her a knowing look. “Okay, cut the crap. We obviously didn’t tell anybody.”

  Alex exhales. “…So you’re not here because I outsmarted your engineers?”

  “Not at all.” Chris waves a hand. “Some of them probably needed to retire anyway.”

  “Tsk.” She shakes her head. “I see.”

  Chris hums before standing, Lilian following suit. “We’ll be on our way, then. Since you don’t need that scholarship.”

  He extends a hand.

  Alex eyes it but doesn’t take it.

  Chris shrugs and retracts it.

  Lilian hesitates, her fingers twitching like she desperately wants to hug Alex. The moment she lunges, Alex barely dodges it, shifting back just in time.

  “You’ll be alright?” Lilian asks, recovering nicely.

  Chris scoffs. “Lilian, she just said she has a fortune. Of course she’ll be alright.” He turns to Alex, eyes glinting. “Certifiable, but overall alright.”

  Alex pushes through a cluster of pedestrians clogging up the walkway, her flimsy excuse for a disguise—a baseball cap—fumbling briefly but not displacing. Why on earth she didn't drive, she fails to remember, her irritation mounting with every shoulder bump and unapologetic passerby.

  And, because the universe clearly delights in her suffering, her phone buzzes.

  She groans, muttering curses as she sidesteps out of the human traffic. Hand cupped over the screen against the glare, she squints down to check the notification.

  “Alex!” A voice hisses in her ear.

  Alex yelps. An actual yelp.

  She whips around, heart hammering. “Jesus, Henry! You scared the shit out of me. I could’ve hit you!”

  Henry, unfazed, grins like an idiot, red-dyed hair catching the sunlight.

  What are you doing standing here anyway?” he asks.

  Alex scowls, more pissed off at the fact that he managed to sneak up on her than at the actual scare. “Why, do you own the walkway?” she grumbles.

  Henry gestures broadly to the building beside them. “Technically yes, seeing as you're in front of my Café.” He replies glibly.

  She follows his gaze, eyes landing on the sign above the storefront. It was his Café. Her scowl deepens.

  “Walking home,” she mutters. “Same route as always.”

  “Perfect! That means you can come in for coffee,” Henry declares, hands on his hips like some caffeinated superhero. “On the house.”

  Alex exhales. “Henry—”

  “Come on,” he interrupts smoothly. “It’s right here. And it’s not like last time where the excuse was 'going out'.” He gestures at the café like a car salesman presenting the deal of a lifetime.

  Alex hesitates. The cozy little shop was tempting.

  “I would love to,” she says with exaggerated regret, “but I don’t drink coffee.”

  Henry tilts his head. “Really?”

  “I swear, I don’t.” She wasn’t about to subject herself to the horrors of burnt-bean-flavored disappointment.

  “Well, we have other stuff.” He steps into her path, cutting off her escape. “Tea? Hot chocolate? A suspiciously large cookie?”

  Alex sidesteps him, the urge to flee the crowded walkway fueling her drive

  “Some other time,” she calls over her shoulder, already increasing her pace.

  Henry, of course, takes this as a challenge. His footsteps quicken behind her, and suddenly, he’s keeping pace at her side. Alex sighs.

  “I don’t get you, you know,” he huffs, effortlessly keeping up. “Your dad? Him, I understand. He’s funny. He adores me.”

  That pulls a reluctant smirk from Alex. “So you don’t get me because I don’t adore you?”

  “Exactly! I am adorable.” To emphasize, he frames his face with his hands, batting his lashes like some kind of deranged Disney character. “I mean, look at me.”

  Alex slows, giving him a once-over. Annoyingly attractive, she admits begrudgingly. Pity that motormouth was attached to him.

  “You’re not adorable enough to make me have coffee with you.”

  Henry gasps in mock horror, hand to his chest. “You are so mean.”

  Alex shrugs, voice turning saccharine sweet. “Really? Because I think I’m adorable.” She shoots him a wink and walks away, leaving him spluttering.

  For a blissful moment, there’s silence.

  “I don’t think I’m adorable!” Henry yells after her. “I know!”

  The front door clicks shut behind Alex as she steps in, tossing her keys somewhere in the vague direction of the entryway table and slumping onto the couch.

  "Chris! Are you here?" she calls toward the muffled racket coming from the kitchen.

  A quick glance confirms her suspicions—Chris is very much alive, just in the middle of what looks like a one-man kitchen raid. Not her problem. She reaches for the remote, settling on a random episode of Bones.

  Chris emerges moments later, looking wildly disheveled, his search expanding beyond the kitchen into full-scale household destruction. He starts yanking books off the bookshelf, flipping through them before tossing them to the floor, eyes darting in between the nooks.

  “Keys. Alex, please tell me you've seen them," he says, shoving a hand into a dusty nook and withdrawing it with a grimace.

  “I literally just walked in,” she replies, eyes locked on the TV.

  “Well, did you see them before you left?”

  Alex glances at him, unimpressed. “Chris, I didn’t see any keys. I don’t even know what keys we’re talking about.”

  “House. Car. Medicine cabinet, while we’re at it.”

  She winces as he tramples over a couple of discarded first editions.

  “I’ve missed my blood pressure pills two days in a row,” he continues, voice laced with irritation. “And the adult thing to do would be to check where I stand.”

  His frantic search resumes—pillows tossed, chair cushions overturned.

  Alex arches a brow. “What do you need your car keys for anyway?” She gives him a proper once-over, only then registering the dress shirt and blazer. “Wait. Why are you dressed like that?”

  Chris freezes for a fraction of a second before coughing out a vague, “Uh… bachelor party.”

  Alex stares. Then, flatly, “It’s 11 a.m. Let’s try that one more time.”

  Chris sighs, finally admitting defeat. “Fine. I’m going to the office.”

  Alex bolts upright face set to scolding mode. Akio would be so proud. “No! Chris, you are retired!” She gestures wildly. “There was a whole party about it! Not to mention you made me move back in so you wouldn’t feel lonely—”

  “In this big-ass house?” he cuts in.

  “In this big ass—Yes, exactly!”

  “I remember,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, “but this is very important. And I cannot stress the ‘very’ in this sentence enough.”

  Alex folds her arms. “Damian’s at the office. Have him handle whatever it is.”

  Chris scoffs. “Him? Please. He’s an incompetent ass-kisser.”

  “He has a Master’s in Mechanical Engineering,” she deadpans. He I an asskisser, but he was an intelligent one. Both things could be true.

  “And you have multiple PhDs in a lot of things,” Chris fires back.

  Alex rolls her eyes at Chris’ favorite rant, tried, tested and true. She could recite some of the bullet points in her sleep even.

  “Yet here you are,” he continues, nodding toward the screen, “fascinated by a—” he squints at the TV, “—rom-com murder show.” He gestures at the current victim on-screen. “That guy dies, by the way.”

  Alex makes a strangled sound of betrayal. “Why? I hadn’t seen this episode yet.”

  He shrugs. “This is Bones. Everyone new is either dead or about to die.”

  “You know what?” She stands, determined. “I’m suddenly very motivated to help you find your keys and send you on your way.”

  Chris shifts tactics. His voice dropping into soft coaxing. “Come on Alex, You could be running the company.”

  Ah. Step two of the ongoing ‘Get Alex to Take Over’ campaign. Truly Alex should have numerous awards for the number of times she's had to put up with–sometimes even fend off–this particular subject.

  “Chris,” she says sweetly, “like you, I’m retired. Unlike you, however, I plan to stay retired. My life is food, and spoiler-free Bones reruns.”

  Chris sighs, shoulders slumping. Foiled again.

  “Good for you. Me? I’m going to the office. The fear of decomposing into a fossil looming over my head.” He throws his arms up dramatically. Then, more urgently, “Alex, I need my fucking keys!”

  Speaking of.

  “Did you check your jacket pocket?”

  Chris pauses mid-step, then scowls. “Of course I checked my—” He shoves a hand into his pocket. The unmistakable jingle follows.

  Alex narrows her eyes.

  Chris clears his throat. “Never mind, love. I found them.”

  Alex snorts. “I swear, sometimes you give me severe whiplash.”

  “I’m taking that as a compliment.” He kicks a throw pillow out of his path.

  “Why not let Ezra drive you?” she suggests. “You pay the man. Let him work.”

  Chris shudders. “No, thank you. I’d like to enjoy my knees while they still function.”

  He kisses the top of her head on his way out. Alex wrinkles her nose.

  “Oh, by the way,” she calls after him, “you swore. So you’re on dish duty tonight.”

  “I’ll just bribe Ezra to do them for me!” Chris yells back, and with that, the front door clicks shut.