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front of a Starbucks-level espresso machine. “Clara, could we each get a flat white with a shot of Baileys, please?” If Clara thought it even a tiny bit strange that these two professional women were requesting a spiked coffee at three in the afternoon, she gave no indication. The woman expertly prepared their drinks and led them to a white leather couch that looked directly out at the spectacular view.
    â€œSo, I guess we should start with the obvious,” Emily said, taking a sip. “Why did he pick a Nazi outfit to wear to a costume party?”
    Helene looked at her hands as if searching for strength. “It wasn’t a costume party.”
    â€œCome again?”
    â€œWhat can I say, Emily? He’s a kid. A dumb kid with too much money and too much time and too many people exactly like you and me to cover his ass. It’s not a new story.”
    â€œNo. But it makes everything that much harder.” Emily glanced at her watch. Not that she had anywhere else to be, but she had flown cross-country with zero notice to help this boy, and it was high time to meet him.
    Helene noticed. “Here, come with me. I’ll introduce you.”
    The women walked down a long white hallway lined with street art–inspired paintings and down a winding staircase. Another hallway, this one covered with graffiti, led to a set of glass French doors. Inside she could see Rizzo in a set of boxing gloves, furiously punching a red bag that hung from the ceiling. A beautiful girl wearing only hot pants and a fuchsia sports bra hopped around yelling at him.
    Helene rapped on the door. Both Rizzo and the girl glanced up but didn’t stop punching or jumping.
    â€œRiz? Can you take a break for a minute? There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
    Emily should have been staring at his sweaty, shirtless, six-packed chest, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the trainer, whose sports bra featured a cutout all along its band, resulting in two inches of below-the-nipple bare breasts bulging out, threatening to emerge from their flimsy cover at any moment. It was so interesting, Emily thought, to wear a sports bra—which by definition was supposed to contain and support one’s breasts—and then cut away most of the fabric that would actually do either one of those things. She suddenly felt ancient.
    â€œHey, great work, Riz,” the girl said, swatting him on the ass with a towel. Her breasts heaved. Emily noticed she wasn’t alone in staring at them—Rizzo and Helene were captivated too.
    â€œThanks, baby. See you tomorrow.” Rizzo yanked the towel out of her hand and draped it around his neck. All three of them watched as the girl grabbed her duffel and her boxing gloves and walked toward the door.
    â€œDamn,” Rizzo breathed as he stared after her.
    â€œHey, Rizzo? I’m Emily Charlton. Helene brought me in to help manage the . . . situation from last night. It’s really nice to meet you.”
    His eyes met hers, and for a split second Emily was torn between feeling like the only woman in the world and feeling like a complete pedophile for finding an eighteen-year-old so damn sexy. No one had eyes like that; could that shade of green even be real?
    â€œHey, thanks for coming. Very cool of you, but I do think Helene is overreacting a little.”
    Rizzo twisted open a bottle of SmartWater and drank the entire thirty-four ounces without taking a breath. Helene gave Emily a look that said, Why don’t you take this one .
    â€œI’m sure you didn’t mean anything . . . nefarious by it, Rizzo, but especially after what happened in Charlottesville last year, the public tends to make a pretty big deal out of anti-Semitism, which is typically how wearing a Nazi costume is interpreted. So we should definitely get out in front of this.”
    He waved his hand and started on another bottle. “All just for laughs.