"Your graduate thesis,"
Augustus repeated, as though the question was entirely straightforward. "I read it last year."
"Why?"
Of all the people who could have voluntarily subjected themselves to eighty pages of academic research, Augustus Evans was the last person I expected.
"It was relevant to Ever Holdings' luxury-sector clients."
I crossed my arms.
"You could have read hundreds of industry publications. Why mine?"
Augustus hesitated.
The pause was infinitesimal, but I caught it.
"I've kept track of your academic achievements over the years," he said. "Including your graduate studies and Geneva internship."
I stared at him.
"You followed my academic career?"
"Occasionally."
"Augustus, I barely followed my own academic career. Half the time I was just trying to survive it."
"I'm aware."
"How?"
"You complained extensively about your thesis deadline at Christmas dinner."
Oh.
Right.
Unfortunately, that did sound like me.
