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I trust Imani, but Delute Designs is cutthroat. If push comes to shove, there is a chance she would use the information to get a leg up. I’m not naive to think otherwise; I’ve lived in this city long enough to know that everyone fights for themselves.

“He’s shy.”

Imani blinks at me three times in rapid succession. “What?”

Cullen lets out a cough that is actually a stifled laugh in disguise. I am fully aware that my excuse was awful, but I am grasping at straws here.

“Yeah, he’s super shy. Doesn’t really do well around people. His therapist is getting him to go out more, you know, which is why we came here. Most people don’t crowd the more expensive floors. Makes it less stressful for him instead of wandering the streets where everyone is bustling about. It’s a hard thing, having social anxiety in a city like this. But we’re trying with some baby steps. He’s making great progress.”

The crappy lies start tumbling off my tongue, my bad habit of panic rambling reappearing in full swing.

“Really?” Imani doesn’t buy it in the least. We’ve worked together enough that she can sniff out the reasons behind my ramblings, that they’re the by-product of a lack of preparation.

I dig my metaphorical heels in the ground.

“Yup. He’s a social recluse, hates parties. Doesn’t really interact well with human society. In fact, we had just hit his hard limit.” I pull out my phone, checking the time. “Look at that, it’s five past two. We’ve got to get going. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

I turn around and grip Cullen’s shoulders, keeping him angled away from Imani and pushing him. I guide us toward the escalators, glancing back every few seconds to check that she isn’t following.

This has to be the worst performance I have ever given in my life—even worse than the time I had to present a summary of the summer reading on the first day of eighth grade for the Great Gatsby and recited the plot of the Titanic because my brain just merged all versions of Leonardo DiCaprio together.

When we finally make it out of the department store and back onto the busy street, I shift my grip to Cullen’s hand and start dragging him away. I need to put as much space between us and Imani’s general vicinity as possible.

We make it probably five or six blocks before Cullen halts his feet, causing my arm to almost pop out of its socket at the sudden stop. I turn back to protest, only to find him doubled over, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Cullen.”

The silence turns into full-blown howling, and I screw up my lips in response to keep my composure.

“That was awful,” he chokes out.

“Shut up,” I whine. “I tried my best, given the situation.”

“Social recluse? Really? Who am I, Rafe?”

“I don’t know! I couldn’t think of anything better.”

I try to stay mad, but his laughter is too contagious. Chuckles wheeze out of me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes before a few roll down my cheeks at the sheer absurdity of the last ten minutes. We’re both bent over, clutching our stomachs for a good two or three minutes before we have to catch our breaths.

I wipe at the stray tears on my face, calming my erratic pulse. I catch sight of Cullen’s grin, and my heart does one of those loop-de-loops.

“I have to be honest. I think you only made her more suspicious.”

“I know.” I let out a huff, fully acknowledging the fact that Imani is going to corner me on Monday to poke for more details.

Actually, I think I made the situation worse. I’d acted so cagey that there is no way she will be subtle about it. Anne sits in the cubicle next to me. She will hear Imani needling me.

God damn it. I’ll have to find a way to talk to Imani without everyone else nearby and come up with a better reason as to why she needs to keep my dating life on the down-low.

I shuffle forward, letting out a groan as my forehead falls against Cullen’s chest. He strokes the back of my head as I let out an even deeper groan and grip the sides of his shirt.

“Why was she even there? There are like a million people living in the city, and she happens to be at the same department store, on the same floor, at that very time, really?”

“Actually, it’s over one and a half million people.”

I give him a shake, whining, “That doesn’t help.”

“Who was she, anyway?”