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“Going just fine,” the doorman replies. He might say more, but his voice doesn’t carry as I step into the elevator.
I can hear the woman’s footsteps, and as much as I don’t want to, I place my hand against the edge of the door, holding it open.
A pretty brunette, in an outfit similar to mine, smiles as she steps onto the elevator with me. “Thanks,” she exhales.
“No problem.” I take my hand away from the door, and they slide closed. “What floor?”
“The—” She glances at the buttons. “The same one as you, apparently.”
My smile back to her feels awkward, and I drop my eyes to study the floor.
The woman makes a humming sound in her throat. “All Sundays should start with champagne.”
My smile is more natural this time. “They really should. Probably Mondays too.”
She chuckles, and I relax a tiny bit more.
I can do small talk with strangers. And I need to remember that’s what this brunch is: small talk with strangers.
The ride is blissfully quick, and when the doors slide open, I step out.
I smile at the stranger again and plan to tell her to have a nice day, but she’s turning the same way I am.
I wish I’d waited for her to get off first because now I have to slow for my destination and wait for her to pass and…
She’s slowing too.
We look at each other, then her eyes widen. “Oh my god, it’s you!”
My own eyes widen. “Me?”
She nods. “You’re the heir—” She cuts herself off, and I feel my faceblush. She was going to say heiress. As in The Hockey Player and the Heiress video.
“I’m Natalie,” I squeak, holding out my free hand. “Luke’s wife.”
She takes my hand. “Steph. Jackson’s sister.”
I swear my heart stops for a moment.
No one told me Jackson had a sister. Or that she’d be here.
He wouldn’t tell her about the Blizz thing, would he?
“Oh my god, please don’t look so scared.” Steph laughs. “Promise I’m a last-minute add-on, but it’s just me.”
“Just you?”
“Well, just me and then the other three. But I just mean that they’re always here, so Luke probably told you about them. I make it when I can. And I’m glad I did, Miss Champagne.” She grins as she knocks on the door. “For real, though, these ladies are the best. You have nothing to worry about.”
I have nothing to worry about.
The door swings open before us, and a woman about my height, with hair a little lighter than Steph’s, beams at me.
“Hi!” She holds her hand out. “I’m Katelyn.”
Katelyn.
As in Jackson Wilder’s wife.
