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“Which is why you have to allow yourself little treats to keep youth alive,” he says, before going back to the Ducati on his phone again. I swear, the way he’s hovering his thumb over the screen that he’s about to hit buy like he’s buying a pair of shoes on Amazon Prime with one click.

I leave that decision to him and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To allow myself a treat,” I say before heading down the hall to Natalie’s office.

Unlike Tuck, I knock. Even though I’m the boss, I’m still not going to just barge in. I knock twice and then I walk in. Natalie is sitting at her desk, eating a pastry out of a to-go bag from the coffee shop around the corner. Her eyes are very focused on the computer screen in front of her.

“Can you believe that since that beach party, more people are interested in Hawaiian barbecues? I mean, yes, the food was good, but there’s something about laughing and dancing and carrying on while a speared pig is in the middle of it all. I don’t know, it’s a little weird.”

“There’s a charity gala,” I tell her, rounding to her side of the desk and leaning against it. I cross my arms over my chest, cross my legs at the ankles, and look down at her.

“Oh?” she asks, still studying her screen.

“Every important person in the industry will be attending, and some people who aren’t in the industry,” I go on.

“What kinds of people?” she asks.

“Famous people,” I say. I don’t know if I am annoyed or amused by the fact that I am talking and she’s not even bothering to look up at me.

“Ooo, famous people,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or if that’s actually something she cares about. “Like famous famous or like rich people famous?”

“What’s the difference?” I ask.

Natalie swivels her chair to face me, and I continue to look down at her. “Famous, famous. Celebrities. Actors. Singers.”

“Anyone I would know?” she asks.

“I heard Olivia Rodrigo is supposed to attend,” I tell her, and she snorts. Then she stares at me and gives me a hard look.

“Olivia Rodrigo,” she says.

“That’s what I heard,” I say, examining my fingernails casually.

“Isn’t she on some world tour or something?” she asks skeptically, and I have to chuckle.

“Are you a fan?”

“No. I mean, maybe a little. I mean…I just don’t see why she’d be at the charity gala.”

“It’s for Girls’ Education,” I say.

“She does care about things like that,” she says, sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“I want you to attend,” I tell her.

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll make sure I look professional, but not like a waitress.”

Ahh. Funny girl is making a joke about the last party I brought her to. But I’m serious.

“What designer would you like to wear?” I ask.

“Designer?” she snorts again. “No offense, I don’t own any Gucci. It’s just not my style.”

“Dior then?” I ask. “Or maybe Louis Vuitton? I feel like Louis would suit you.”

“You’re joking, right?” she asks. “Marcus, I don’t feel like anyone is going to care if the event director is wearing Louis Vuitton or Kmart Blue Light Special,” she chuckles.