1. Margot

One day,when I lose my marbles, I will be able to pinpoint a single person as the sole creator of all my troubles.

I sigh as I push the unlocked front door open easily—it wasn't even latched properly—and find a totally empty apartment. There are no lights on, dishes piled high in the sink, a stack of reminder notices cluttering the counter, and a who-knows-what pile in the middle of his living room floor.

I creep closer, not concerned enough to raise an alarm but definitely pissed enough to steal a bunch of his shit and teach him a lesson.

I love my little brother, I really, really do. Some days I have to remind myself of that fact, but goddamn it, all I ask is that he looks after himself. Mom and Dad have kicked the bucket, and I just don't have the energy or cash to keep him doing the bare minimum of humaning.

Why couldn't I have been an only child?

I reach the living room and pause by the ratty sofa bed. That what's-it pile in the middle of the floor? I'm proud to discover it's my little brother.

And by "proud," I mean not at all.

"Perry!"

Nothing.

I'd assume he's taken something and passed out, but this dipstick can sleep through anything. I was also there the one time he tried Molly, thought his skin was peeling off, and then almost drowned himself in the pool. Safe to say he's never tried a drug since.

I kick him and get a muffled "Margy, no" in return.

He groans, long and drawn out, then flops over onto his back. The laptop that was resting on him clatters to the floor.

"Watch it," I warn, stepping around his splayed legs to retrieve it. Then I take a minute to look at him. "Please tell me there's a story behind … that."

He blinks sleepy brown eyes at me before using the coffee table to sit up properly. "What time is it?"

"Nine."

He groans again. "I only just fell asleep."

That takes me aback. "What, why?"

"I was finishing my application for—" A yawn stretches out his face, and he waves toward the computer I'm holding. "—that."

Well, a job application I can't be mad about. He's bounced from dead-end job to temporary holiday positions for the last three years, and I've about had enough.

Sure, my job coaching kids in karate isn't exactly glamorous or high-earning, but it's mine.

"Elite?" I read. "What the hell is this?"

"Whores for hire."

"I'm sorry, what?"

He sniggers and staggers to his feet. He's wearing an overcoat that looks like it's made entirely from grass and what can only be hemp pants, though I'm ninety-five percent sure he doesn't know that's what they are.

"I'm exaggerating. I've done a few kids' parties, dressing up as a troll, and a few weeks back, I was working at this super-posh place. Marble everywhere. Actual gold cutlery—probably—and I needed to hang a piss, so I was trying to find one of the million bathrooms there when I heard these guys talking. You know me," he says, holding up his hands like he's innocent. "I would never eavesdrop on a private conversation. But they were between me and a proper place to piss, so I waited them out like the gentleman I am."

"And …"

"Might have heard some things."

"About this Elite?"

"Exactly." He nods and opens the fridge, pulling out a half-eaten container of Thai food. My brother never stops moving. Or eating. And he'll ramble about anything and everything if given the chance. He's a sweet man—it's why I love him—but daaamn does he need to be hit with the common-sense stick. Repeatedly.

"What did you hear?"

"The guy whose kid's party it was, he hired his wife. Or bought her. Or … something. Anyway, they said it's an agency where rich people can get anything they want. Anything. No questions asked. There are a whole hell of a lot of people on the payroll who'll cater to their needs, and maybe this guy gave some details, and maybe I quickly took down the number, who can say?"

"One problem: you're not rich."

"No." He jabs a forkful of cold pad thai at me. "I'm the anything guy! It's perfect because I have literally no morals."

"Can we please not say that like it's a good thing?"

He chuckles and rounds the counter, spot of sauce on his chin and broad, sweet smile in place. "They pay really good, Margy. This could be my chance."

"Your chance to be hired by a serial killer who's going to cut you up into tiny pieces and then have all his rich buddies cover for him?"

"Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe the serial killer will be female."

"How is that any better?"

"The ladies love me. Get really protective. It's the puppy dog eyes—works every time."

"Right."

"I'm telling you," he shouts back over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall. "This is it. It's going to be amazing. Everything is easy from here on out."

Well, it's not like it can get harder for him at this point.

I set his laptop on the counter and wake up the screen. There's a welcome page for something called Elite Connections—subtle, reeeeally subtle—and my gaze finds the little blinking number one next to his inbox.

I click on it because I'm more than a little bit curious about the type of person looking to hire my brother through some kind of anonymous job listing. Are they desperate? Or sociopaths? Who can tell?

There's a whole lot of nonsense about welcoming Perry to the Elite team and how they carefully match their clients and employees, blah, blah, blah. I scan ahead, looking for anything concerning, and pause when I reach the enquiry that's been sent through.

I'm bored. So bored. Life is just booooring. Ridiculously boring, darling. All my friends have coupled up and I'm just the slightly batty trust fund bunny who can't fit in anywhere. I need a man for double dates. I need a man to show my family I'm not a complete nincompoop. And, considering it's two am and this entire email is an alcohol-fueled request, I probably, quite frankly, need a man to sort out my dreary life. Some feminist I am. Maybe it's time I just give in and become the vapid airhead trophy wife my parents expect me to be. Fuck law school! Fuck autonomy! Whatever. I have the money. Just send somebody.

Okay, so the type of person looking to hire my brother is a hot mess. And he is also a hot mess. One hot mess plus another hot mess equals one hell of a disaster.

I rub my temples, wondering what on earth I did in this life to earn this level of fuckery. I … I can't. There is no way in hell Perry can meet this … person.

The world will implode. And also, she sounds like she has issues, and while I'll never say this out loud, I can't let that kind of negativity around someone as sweet as Perry.

She'll bring him down too. He's empathetic to a fault.

I click around for a delete button, but there's nothing there. Only two options. Confirm or Deny.

Shit. If I deny it, that might get Perry kicked out of this job thing, and while I'm not convinced that's totally a bad outcome, I also can't let him down like that. Besides, what if they called him and I got busted? Yikes. Nope. Then I'll get the puppy dog eyes, and I can't resist those damn things either.

So I either confirm or leave it for him to find.

But if I confirm, she'll be expecting her knight in shining armor.

Just send somebody.

Somebody.

The wildest, dumbest, most-hairbrained idea hits me. The kind of idea that proves I'm Perry's sister.

I'msomebody.

Ooooh … that's dangerous. I shouldn't.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as little prickles of excitement pop in my stomach. There's no way I will. It's stupid. I know that. I'm a very sane, very responsible, very levelheaded lad?—

The toilet flushes down the hall, and I jab at the Confirm option. It's almost a reflex, how easily the movement came to me.

Perry's whistling echoes in the bathroom right before the shower turns on.

I stare down the hall for a full minute, trying to at least pretend like I'm debating with myself over this.

Perry's not the only one who's struggling though. Sure, I might have my life together from the outside, but internally, I'm every bit as bored as this melodramatic diva.

Feeling like the world's worst sister, I hurry to download the file and email it to myself, and then I'm extra careful to go back and delete it from the sent file.

I'm doing this for him, I remind myself. This chick is toxic, and I don't want my baby brother around that. Chances are that I'll walk out on the first day of the job, and then I won't need to worry about it at all.

I scrawl out a note for him before I leave. Because I'm a good sister, and not because I'm too cowardly to face him.

Now, let's see what this Elite is all about.