Page 5 of Everything About You

“Are you all right?” Rhodes asks. His eyes are glued to me.

We’re sitting at our desks, and I’m trying to sign in to my email account with no luck. There’s a sticky note on my desk with

the username and password, but for some reason it doesn’t work.

I nod. “I’m fine.”

This fucking stupid computer.

“Are you fine?”

Finally the password works—turns out the caps lock was on—and with the sense of relief that I don’t have to call tech support

and sound like a total moron, I turn to Rhodes and let my gaze meet his.

“Yes.” I lift my brows. “Everything is great.”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “You seem...”

“What?”

“Well, you seem annoyed or something.”

I roll my eyes. “Why would I be annoyed?”

“Dunno.”

Cheeks warming, I mean to look away... but there’s something magnetic about his eyes.

“I’m not annoyed.”

“All right.” He straightens up in his seat and points to the computer. “Seems we’ve got loads of emails already. How are we

even meant to—”

The doors burst open behind us, and we both spin so quickly in our chairs I think we might resemble blurry cartoon characters

to the two girls standing before us.

“Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the girls has slick blond hair that stops just above her shoulders. The edges are as severe as the jut of her cheekbones

and the sharpness of her chin. She’s wearing an oversized gray sweater and a black midi skirt, and she pushes up the sleeves

as she takes a step toward us.

“I’m Haydée,” she says, arching a brow and studying me before looking to Rhodes. “Public relations senior manager.”

“I’m Zoe,” the other girl says in what I believe is a posh British accent. She’s a bit mousier—quieter, shrinking into the

blue shift dress she’s wearing and standing a few feet behind Haydée. “Public relations senior manager, as well. Only...

well, I’ve been learning under Haydée, so sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t even be a senior manager. I mean, I’m qualified,

but—”

She forces a chuckle and Haydée furrows her brow, shaking her head slightly and keeping her attention on us.

Not awkward at all.

“We’ve got a project we need you to complete quickly.”

“ Très rapidement ,” Zoe says.

Haydée lifts her chin. “Ah, oui . Je voulais vous demander si vous parlez tous les deux francais? Couramment ?”

Wait, what?

Rhodes looks to me and then shakes his head. “Non, je suis désolé . Nous ne parlons pas francais couramment . Nous pouvons en comprendre un peu.”

Huh?

“ Vraiment ?” Haydée purses her lips. “Il semble que vous avez compris . Vous avez répondu rapidement et votre francais semble bon.”

“ Notre francais est très limité ,” Rhodes says.

They’re speaking too fast. What is happening?

Haydée then turns to me, no longer speaking to Rhodes, and narrows her eyes. “Ah. Est- ce vrai ? Votre francais est -il à tous les deux très limité ? Ou seulement le v?tre ?”

I have no idea what is happening. It sounds like maybe they’re talking about breakfast food or something. With a drop of sweat

forming above my brow, I force a smile.

“Sorry, I’m still learning.”

“I thought so,” Haydée says. “It might benefit you to pay attention as Rhodes speaks French. We’d prefer if you both were

able to converse with our French-speaking clients and colleagues.”

Rhodes’s face goes red, and I’m sure mine is quick to match.

“We need you to do an inventory of the current season,” Haydée says, pointing toward one of the closets behind us.

She runs us through the process, and it’s fairly simple. There’s software that acts as a database across all of Maison Dauphine,

which categorizes every single sample from accessories to clothing and indicates the status and whereabouts of everything.

We’ll just scan the items with the iPad cameras and use the app to mark that, as of today, the sample is here in the Paris

office.

“We need these all done before you leave for lunch today.”

Haydée doesn’t leave any time for questions, comments, or concerns. She and Zoe are gone, with the doors shut behind them, and we are left with iPads in hand and an absurd number of items to scan.

“What about all those emails?” Rhodes asks, starting to unzip a garment bag on a rolling rack. “We’re already behind, I think.”

“How can we be behind if we just started?” I groan.

Rhodes nods toward the computers. “There are a bunch of emails we haven’t even started on.”

I squint. “I know. It was a rhetorical question.”

He laughs now. “I see. Dunno, seems like this is going to be the kind of job where we’re always behind.”

“We’ll be fine. All we need to do is scan all of this and then we can breeze through the emails, and we’ll be caught up.”

We begin working in silence, and I keep catching Rhodes glancing over at me.

Finally he sighs.

“All right, I think I know what this is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Milo. I know it’s probably kind of weird... the paparazzi and stuff. But I’m honestly just a person—”

A laugh escapes my lips with such fervor I clap my hand over my mouth, nearly dropping the tweed hat I mean to inventory.

“I’m serious!” he says.

I swallow another laugh, eyes bugging. “I know you are. Celebrities— they’re just like us .”

Judging by the way his face falls, he realizes almost instantly that his theory is incorrect. “Not the right thing to say,

I guess. I don’t know. Sometimes people treat me really weird before they get to know me. I just thought...”

“You just thought I was starstruck?” I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but that is not what’s happening here... I mean, you’re... yes, I know of you. My brother is, like, obsessed with your brother.”

Rhodes’s eyes go wide, and his lips remain in a wide smile. “Yeah?”

“Not obsessed.” I groan. Idiot. “That’s—no, he just loves soccer. Football , I mean.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, it’s, like, his whole life.” I scan a barcode sticker that’s been placed on the size label of a sequined dress. “He’s

been following Ollie’s career through the academy and all that. He follows him on Instagram and TikTok, and he doesn’t normally

follow a ton of players.”

Bit of a lie, because he follows most of the Clyde Circus club. I think if it weren’t for Ollie being more of a personality and

having such an iconic player for a father, he wouldn’t follow him at all.

Because while Rhodes’s twin brother, Ollie, has just signed and will soon debut with Armoury United, my brother is a huge

Clyde Circus supporter. Armoury and Circus have one of the most famous Premier League rivalries.

I smile as it hits me that this might finally get Rhodes to leave me alone: “He loves Clyde Circus.”

Rhodes scoffs. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Rhodes brings his hand to his mouth. “What an absolute tragedy. Your brother’s taste is...”

It’s harmless teasing, but it might cause steam to burst from my ears.

“He has great taste, actually.”

Rhodes lifts his palms. “I’m only calling it as I see it.”

“You don’t know him.”

Maybe sensing the sterner tone, he studies me for a beat. “Fine. I know he’s supporting a losing club, but... fine.” Then

he gives me an up and down. “Don’t tell me you have a Eun Seung-hyun poster above your bed.”

Scanning a bag of jewelry, I shake my head. “Definitely not. I do have a Clyde Circus keychain that he gave me. And I have

a scarf from when he dragged me to go see them play in an International Champions Cup match back home.”

“Dragged you? Not a football fan yourself, then?”

“No. I like tennis, as you already know.”

“But you went with your brother, that’s nice.”

I nod. “Of course. He’s my brother.”

Rhodes’s eyes seem to soften at this.

“That’s nice,” he repeats, scanning some shoes. “You guys are close, then?”

“We are. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“That’s brilliant. Is he here with you? In Paris? Did you come with your family?”

“Nope, he’s back in Florida. They all are.”

Rhodes considers this, biting the inside of his cheek and tapping his fingers on his desk. “Right. Are you here with, like...

your boyfriend?”

I shift in my seat. “Uh. No.”

Was he just asking me that ? Like, was that a loaded question? Surely it was not a loaded question.

“Why’d you say it like that?” He chuckles.

“Like what?”

“Sort of like it was an absurd suggestion.”

I inhale. “I just don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You’re anti-boyfriend?”

“What? No, I’m not anti-boyfriend.” Where did this leap come from? “I mean, I guess kind of. But not fully, just... I have goals and I’m busy and, in my experience, dating isn’t worth the

complications.”

Rhodes pokes his tongue against his top lip, then nods. “Sounds like you’ve definitely dated the wrong guys.”

“Oh, right.”

“I’m serious.”

I cock my head. “And what does that mean, Rhodes?”

“Nothing bad. Really!” He shrugs. “Not everyone will appreciate a catch.”

With a lump and any possible chance of a coherent thought stuck in my throat, I poke my thumb into my palm.

My chest warms, and I don’t mean to so openly blush, but he’s actually impossibly charming. And despite my best efforts to

not be the most basic American in Europe, I might also find myself swooning just a little bit because of his British accent.

Wait. This is it. This is the kind of thing London’s resident fuckboy says. Right?

Rhodes, a fuckboy and a mind reader, wiggles his brow. “I’m not trying to butter you up or something. I’m just explaining what I meant.”

Sure, sure.

Then: “So, you’re in Paris all alone?”

“With my best friend. We’re staying at her aunt’s flat.”

“Oh, nice, where?”

“The 7th.”

He smiles. “I actually am staying in the 7th as well. My parents have a flat there.” He pulls a face. “Does that sound so

cringey? ‘My parents have a flat?’ I do make my own way, as well.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Woof. That came out way snarkier than it probably should have.

Rhodes takes it in stride, though. “You’re interesting, Milo.”

“ Interesting ,” I echo with a scoff. “I’m sure you meant that as a compliment.”

He lifts one shoulder. “I did.”

Our eyes meet.