Page 3 of Mr. Perfect

“Oh, no, I took note of your peanut allergy. We had it professionally cleaned just for—” I stop short. Oh, fuck.

“I don’t think”—he coughs again, clutching his throat—“you’re telling—”

Oh, my God. He’s turning red. “Brutus?” I ask, my little two-inch pump pressing down on the power pedal as I try to make it over to the health building. “Brutus?”

“—me the truth.” And then his eyes bug out and he makes another mad grasp for his throat with one hand and my arm with the other.

Oh, shit. How the hell, Ellie? That’s all I keep asking as I race my way over to the medical building. How the hell could you forget to take your peanut butter sandwich out of your purse?

“Hang on!”

“You’re trying to—”

“No, sir!” I say.

“—kill me.”

“No, sir! I’m so sorry—”

But my words are cut off as his head flops back against the seat and he gasps for breath.

Chapter Two - Ellie

“What the hell happened?” Ming asks.

I flop down in my desk chair and pick up the landline phone. “Hello? Miranda? Yeah, can you let Shawna and Greg know Brutus won’t be able to make the song at nine?”

I shake my head at Ming while Miranda rips me a new one on the phone.

“Well, he went into anaphylactic shock on the ride over to the studio and I took him to health services for—” I hold the phone away from my ear as Miranda screams at me.

“What the hell?” Ming asks again.

I mouth, Peanut butter, while fishing out my lunch from my clutch and waving my baggie of peanut butter sandwich. “Yes, thanks, Miranda. And sorr—”

She hangs up, so I just put the phone back on the cradle.

“I really do quit,” I say, looking up into Ming’s smiling face. “What? Why are you smiling? I almost killed a rock star!”

Ming makes a big deal of straightening her smile. “Will he live?”

“Yes, but he’s mad as hell. He actually accused me of doing it on purpose!”

“Oh,” Ming says, rolling her eyes. “That jerk can just get over himself.”

I pull out my cell phone and start texting.

“Ellie, stop texting that man. You guys never even dated.”

I glare at my friend. “He got sent off to China by his father. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. We were about to date. We had lunch plans the next day. And then poof, disappeared off to China. One day he’ll get his phone back and then he’ll call and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

Ming gives me a slow blink. “Really?”

“Really.” I get up and walk over to the bathroom she and I share. We are the only two girls down here in the hangar, so it’s a single room. I shut the door behind me and lean against it as my fingers fly across the keyboard.

Ellie: Man, my day sucks. I hope yours is better. I almost killed a celebrity with my peanut butter sandwich. I know, I know. That is inexcusable. But I’m so distracted. I’m putting my notice in today. When you get home there will be no conflict of interest at all. We’ll have the best time, right?

That makes me feel better. I open up Pinterest and click through my boards until I find the one called Dream Home. God, it’s perfect. It’s nothing like my condo here in the Tech Center, which is ultra-modern—everything here is ultra-modern—and stackable. Because while land might’ve been cheap back when Stonewall Senior purchased his hundred and fifty acres twenty years ago, today it runs at a premium. It’s high-rise condos all the way. I’ve been living in mine for almost six years now. Ever since I got out of college and took the job as celebrity babysitter full time.