Page 84 of Heat Island
“No way, that’s all yours, bride-to-be,” I laugh, settling back into the plush booth.
Josie stands up suddenly, her glass held high like she’sabout to make a royal proclamation. The disco lights catch the crystals on her dress, making her sparkle like the cocktail garnish.
“Wait, wait. I need to say something.” Her voice carries across our section, and even some of the nearby tables turn to look. “I know I’ve said this a million times already, but Trinity—“ She looks directly at me, her eyes bright with emotion. “You are literally the most amazing sister and wedding planner in the entire universe.”
My chest tightens unexpectedly at the genuine affection in her voice.
“You’ve handled every crisis, every last-minute change, every ridiculous request I’ve thrown at you this week. And you did it all while looking absolutely gorgeous and keeping your own incredibly handsome pack happy.” She grins. “I don’t know how you do it all.”
“I agree,” Tiffany adds with a lopsided smile. “So far, the only thing that hasn’t gone according to plan is this. And you let me handle that.”
“Here’s to Trinity,” Holly calls, raising her glass.
Even Amelia and Isabelle raise their glasses as we all toast.
I feel a warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol. For once, I’m not scrambling to fix a crisis or manage someone else’s expectations. Everything is actually working out. The wedding plans are on track, Josie looks radiant, and even the impossible to impress Mahoney sisters aren’t complaining.
Maybe there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that all of this will work out after all.
THIRTY
MATHEO
The cigar baris exactly what I expected from the grooms—all dark wood paneling, crystal tumblers, and leather furniture that probably costs more than most people’s cars. The air hangs thick with expensive tobacco smoke and the weight of masculine posturing.
I nurse a scotch older than I am while watching Trinity’s exes perform their elaborate alpha peacocking ritual. Egret holds court from a wingback chair that might as well be a throne, gesturing with his Cuban cigar as he pontificates about market trends. Brendin and Saren flank him like lieutenants, occasionally chiming in with supportive commentary.
Josie’s fathers already bowed out after one drink, citing their age and need for sleep. I catch Cash’s eye as he drains his own glass, trying to convey without words that I’ll hurt him if he offers to get another round.
Like the bro he is, Cash half-rises from his chair. “We might need to head back early, gentlemen. I’ve got an early morning call with our London office that I can’t miss.”
I’m about to thank my lucky stars and jump up to follow him out when Brendin protests.
“It’s still early, and we’re celebrating our last night of freedom.” He reaches forward to refill Cash’s glass from the crystal decanter at the center of the low table. “I know the CTO of OurLog is a very important person, but one more round never hurt anybody.”
Cash’s eyebrows raise as he sinks back into the seat. “You’ve heard of me?”
“We ran background checks on all of you,” Saren admits with a wince. “I know it sounds bad, but we couldn’t have complete strangers this close to our loved ones without doing some due diligence.”
I absorb this new information, waiting for the annoyance that doesn’t come. In all honesty, I’d probably do something similar in their position.
“Imagine our surprise when we got the report back from our P.I.,” Brendin laughs, stubbing out his cigar. “We were early investors in OurLog, actually. Series A round, if I remember correctly.”
My eyebrows shoot up. OurLog’s Series A was notoriously difficult to crack—only a handful of investors made the cut.
Saren nods enthusiastically. “Best investment decision we’ve made in years. That platform revolutionized how we think about social media analytics.”
“No shit,” Kyren says, abandoning his brooding pose by the window. “You guys funded the app that basically owns our generation’s attention span?”
“Among other ventures,” Egret says with obvious pride. “We specialize in identifying disruptive technologies before they hit mainstream adoption.”
Cash leans forward, genuine excitement replacing his usual professional reserve. “I remember that funding round. You guys came in at exactly the right moment. Without that capital injection, we never would have been able to scale our user acquisition algorithms.”
“And now look at you,” Brendin grins. “Thirty million active users and counting.”
“Forty-two million as of last quarter,” Cash corrects, then catches himself. “Sorry, force of habit. I’m always tracking metrics.”
Kyren blows out a ring of cigar smoke. “I don’t understand most of what you’re talking about, but it sounds impressive.”
