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“Why? Is everything alright, Harper?”

I smile over at her, bright and beaming, because Van didn’t need to add worrying about me to her to-do list. “Sure. What could be—”

My phone buzzes. I see a name I never wanted to see again.

Mr. Ito writes: Carlos is on his way to my apartment. Care to join?

****

I arrive at the penthouse, in a flurry of rage and despair. How the hell did he lure Carlos to his fucking lair? The son of a bitch.

The doorman doesn’t stop me. In the elevator, I consider for the first time that I ought to have called the police. I’d probably be the one who’d get in trouble. Jailed for prostitution or extortion or—

When I arrive at Mr. Ito’s apartment, I’m worried I went to the wrong penthouse. The lighting is … neutral for the first time. The curtains on the windows are pulled pack, which I’ve never seen in the daylight. The whole room smells delicious, like roasting beef and Spanish rice. I’ve never seen Mr. Ito’s home so natural, so airy, and it disorients me.

Across from the door, right above the TV, is the kabuki mask. It looks dead and lifeless in the sunlight.

I turn toward the kitchen, to the man behind the counter.

“Carlos?”

He’s watched me enter. There’s an array of onions, tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, and three avocados. He looks away from me to slice one. “Hi. I hope you like shredded beef tacos. I know you get something like it from the corner deli, so I thought—”

“What the actual fuck, Carlos?” I can’t believe Sweetness was the one Mr. Ito had— “You’re the one spying on me?”

“Spying isn’t really…” Carlos smirks, then fiddles. “Let me start from the beginning. You said we could … take it from the top, right? After the show…”

He gestures to the stool, where I sit when Mr. Ito cooks for me. I glance around the penthouse again, looking for Ito because he’s the one who’s supposed to be behind that counter and not … not Carlos.

I stagger to the stool.

“So, we met at the charity ball thing. You were performing, and I got to meet you at the mixer. I gave you and Van my card.”

“Mr. Ito did.”

“You know, it’s adorable how long it takes you to catch up when you’re wrong about a thing.” Carlos teases me. “Mr. Joji Carlos Mendez-Ramirez Ito gave you and Van his card.”

Ah.

I blink at him, probably resembling one of the error messages that pop up on the old lighting board. “That’s … a really long name.”

He rolls his eyes and nods. “Mom taught Spanish in Japan. Dad was the administrator. We traveled between Tokyo and Barcelona and New York and… Anyways, the first place we lived consistently was San Francisco. They opened an Asian fusion place with my older sister, and I went to a trade school instead of high school, which gave me a lot of nice connections to the … the tech world. Where my full-time job is.”

Which I knew about Carlos. He said he worked with computers and had moved around a lot as a kid. I’d thought entry-level IT. I glance over my shoulder at the mask as if that’s going to help me sort through this information. “Okay.”

“So, you and Van invited me to see the theater, because I wanted to donate my time. You were there for that conversation, at the charity thing…” He’s desperate for me to remember, but I’m still trying to fit the image of Sweetness into the mold of Mr. Ito. “Well, there was a bit of champagne floating around. Anyways, I came to the theater a couple days later, and uh, I thought you recognized me when you … came up to talk to me, but um…”

I’d greeted him with my usual. “Hey, I’m Harper. You’re the new techie, right? I think I’ve met you, but I’m shit with names and faces.”

He’d offered his hand at once, as if in a business meeting. Then melted shyly because it was too formal. “I’m … uh, Carlos. Van said you’d show me around the space?”

All three avocados are absolutely pulverized by now, but he keeps going. “Neither of you had recognized me, as uh, a potential investor—producer. Just as, you know, free labor.”

“It’s the clothes, dude,” I quip. “Jeans and a hoodie don’t scream ‘millionaire’.”

“Billionaire.” He smiles, sheepishly. “Anyways, it was pretty ideal actually. I got to make friends… But then we weren’t making the Kickstarter goals, and I knew, well, I wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure how or if … you know…”

He cringes again. “Anyways, I forgot that … Carlos talks to you guys over Facebook and that you had me on your phone as Mr. Ito. So, when I sent you that text, I thought you’d know it was from … you know, me.”