I turned my phone face-down on the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking garage, muttering under my breath about fourteen-year-olds and their terrible ideas.
But as I navigated through morning traffic, a treacherous thought wormed its way into my mind: which Valentine sister would Iris get along with best?
Stop it. This is a job. Just a job. A very weird, very lucrative, increasingly complicated job.
I reached school without further incident, parking the Lexus in my usual spot near the east entrance. As I killed the engine, my phone buzzed yet again.
Iris: Okay but seriously, be careful. Rich people are weird. Don't let them eat you alive.
I smiled at that.
Isaiah: I'll be fine. They're just people with too much money and not enough common sense. I can handle it.
Iris: Says every protagonist before disaster strikes.
Isaiah: ...
Isaiah: I'll text you tonight.
Iris: Love you, idiot.
Isaiah: Love you too, gremlin.
