Page 67 of The Winslow Brothers

I round the corner into the kitchen, which is wild with activity, and scoot past the waitstaff meeting currently underway with our head floor manager, Dave. While I’m in charge of getting the people here, Dave is more in charge of making sure we have the means to get them all served.

I do a quick scan of the extravagant setup provided by my brother-in-law Wes Lancaster’s restaurant, BAD, but I’m completely surprised to see the devil himself walk in through the back door, carrying a tray of food.

His eyes flick up and catch mine, and I can’t help but make the quick trek across the kitchen to give him a hard time.

“Hey, bro, what are you doing here? I thought you billionaire types had, like, servants for this shit?”

Wes shakes his head and chuckles, and I slap him on the shoulder lovingly. I have to admit that when he and my sister first got together, I was a little worried he was always going to be a bit too uptight for my taste. But after a couple of years with him in the family, I’ve come to know better.

Sure, he can still be a little moody and a touch serious, but he’s also pretty fucking funny, and beyond all that, he’s the kind of man my sister needs and deserves. Plus, even though Lexi isn’t his biological daughter, he loves my niece like she’s his own—with his whole, wealthy heart. Anything she wants, she gets. Anything she needs, he does.

I’ll probably never stop giving him shit, but down deep, I’m Wes Lancaster’s number one fan.

“We aren’t all just content to coast through life without actually working like you, you know?”

I scoff through a chuckle. “Bro, I’m at work right now. You need to work on your comebacks. Lexi can teach you.”

He flips me off, and I laugh. “Seriously, though. Thanks for catering. I’m really hoping this is beneficial for both of us.”

Wes claps my shoulder and squeezes. “No problem, man. Glad to do it. Though, after the stunt you pulled on Wednesday, my wife almost made me write you off altogether. Told me to let you hang.”

I chuckle. “No way. My baby sister loves me.”

“Normally, yes. When you invite yourself over and show up without permission? Not so much.”

“Come on,” I challenge. “We had a great time, didn’t we?”

“I’ve endured worse.”

“Exactly!”

Wes laughs. “All right, man. I’m gonna take off. If you have any problems, though, you can call or text.”

“Thanks, bud.”

Wes nods. “I hope it goes well for you.”

“Me too,” I admit. “You really never can tell.”

Without much further ado, Wes leaves out the same door he came, and I snap back into work mode. All the guests will be arriving momentarily, and it’s my job to make sure we’re ready.

Music thick and bodies thicker, Club Craze is officially jamming tonight, and after a couple hours of formalities, the world’s mostelite private event planners are letting their hair down in a major way.

Men and women intertwine on the dance floor, bodies grinding like they don’t have any lives outside of these walls, much less a wife in Minneapolis.

The energy makes me smile, and Ki-Ki gives me a thumbs-up through the window of the office over her back shoulder while she jams. I’m not entirely sure how she knows I’m in here watching without turning around, but I’d wager that she knows if I’m not out there, this is where I am.

Dancers gyrate in the cages above the floor, and neon lights strobe like ribbons in the wind. All in all, I couldn’t be happier with the way things are going so far. I’ve had two immediate bookings and forty-seven commitments of interest. At the rate it’s going, Club Craze could end up doing more private events than public.

Scanning the crowd at large, I plot out my next schmooze strategically, looking for someone who looks particularly open to persuasion, and lock on to a woman in her forties, who’s bent over backward on the dance floor doing a shot of hard liquor. I smile to myself and shift my weight toward the door of the office, ready to pounce, when another woman in a blood-red dress catches my eye through the masses.

Long, sleek limbs, silky dark hair, and the kind of features that could stand out on a pitch-dark night, Sophie Sage is unmistakable.

My eyes know her, and my body certainlyremembersher.

Can’t seem to forget about her, actually.

I wasn’t in charge of the invitations—one of the assistants in my promotional firm was—but damn if I don’t get one hell of a thrill out of the coincidence that Sophie was part of the list.

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