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Triskelion Territory Designs was doing well for such a young company. Raven and her sisters kept to a strict business code of warm professionalism. Know the clients. Understand their vision and budget, and then add to that vision. After only three years, one of which was during their last year of college, they were making a name for themselves.
With their personal savings and the wise investment of their parent’s estate, the girls had been able to purchase and renovate a brick-and-mortar three-story building in downtown historic Eufaula, Oklahoma.
The gorgeous, old red brick monument had existed since the 1920s, and with deft hands, and a decent budget, it was a stunner. The ground floor contained Triskelion’s showroom and offices, a small kitchen, and powder room. The second floor was the sisters’ shared kitchen and bathroom. The center island was dedicated to herbal tea, protein shakes, and smoothies. There was also a small gym, lounge, and entertainment space— if entertainment equaled a whiskey bar, flat screen TV, and sound system, which in Raven’s humble opinion, it absolutely did— Daddy raised his girls right. The bar’s backsplash wasn’t finishedin traditional tile but a collage of old and new photos, family mementos, and special letters. One of many familial touches to keep their parents’ memories, smiles, and especially their love close. The third floor was divided into three-bedroom suites. Perfection.
Raven and her sisters chose Eufaula because it nicely bridged the distance between existing clients and potential future clients in Oklahoma City, Norman, and Tulsa and hopefully reaching into other close states— Texas, Missouri, and Arkansas. They didn’t mind commuting to see clients. They loved to travel.
Though the three sisters looked extremely similar, with long black hair, thanks to Native American heritage from both parents, obviously much stronger from their mother, mixed with pale Irish skin and hazel eyes— an admittedly striking combination. They definitely looked like family, clearly sisters, not triplet close by any means, but close enough to draw attention. They wore the same size clothes and shoes— that was hell growing up— and stood at 5’4”. If Raven were being strictly honest. she topped out at a smidge over 5’3”. The utter unfairness of being the oldest and yet the shortest! Ridiculous!
Since Raven and her sisters were separated by less than a year— Fertile Myrtle, they name is Lily Byrne— they were in college together. Her younger sisters didn’t like the thought of separation, or their big sister leaving them behind, so both chose the online accredited high school route so they could take mostly concurrent college classes and finish early.
Rowan, the youngest, doubled down, always the overachiever, so that hand in hand in hand they’d loaded their dad’s old, long bed Chevy with dorm life necessities, piled in the truck’s cab, and followed their parents’ Jeep for the hour and a half drive to Norman. Raven never missed her hometown of Bristow, Oklahoma, because she and her sisters returned as often as possible.
Raven, River, and Rowan had gravitated toward the arts— coloring to sketching to oil and watercolors on canvas; playdough to modeling clay to hand-thrown pottery; felt animal puppets to monogramming school totes to intricate hand-embroidered countrysides... and decorating.
Give them a space... bathroom, bedroom, office, a treehouse for the love of God, and they would transform it into a sanctuary, a haven, a place to reflect, be at peace, a private nook of inspiration, or a cozy corner to quietly fade into the shadows.
Their talents had always brought them joy, as well as their family and friends. So, it wasn’t a huge surprise to their parents that all three girls planned on majoring in Interior Design. Mom and Dad had forever encouraged their children to follow their passions. The girls only differed in their minors. Raven went for Art History, as any history appealed to her. River, more tech-savvy than her siblings, chose Digital Marketing, and Rowan, the youngest with the oldest soul, chose Information Studies, because, she had argued, personal libraries would need facelifts— the real truth— she just loved books.
By tacit agreement, the sisters chose academics over dating. Sure, they went to parties with each other and friends they’d met in class, had a date here and there, but, at the end of the day, they were passion-driven, led passionately by textiles and art, murals and museums, dreams of future clients— boys still coming into their own held very little appeal, except for a casual flirtation. There were those who felt deeply and those who just wanted felt up— they were of the former persuasion.
Raven had just settled at her desk to go through Triskelion’s emails when,unsurprisingly, a music complaint was thrown her way. “Is it absolutely, one hundred percent necessary, to play Dermot Kennedy radio every morning? Last time I checked, Spotify has a few other choices,” River groused. “And no, Raven,I am not suggesting switching to Passenger radio, Lewis Capaldi, or gag, sea shanties.”
“Oh, bless your heart River, you forgot yet again that I’m first, the oldest, second, awake and downstairs at least an hour before you— Every Single Day— and third, your taste in music sucks and would scare off potential clients in a millisecond.”
River loved her sisters. Loved them. They were her best friends, her confidants, and her reason for living. They lost their parents. But together, each and every day, they chose to remember all the ways they had been cherished by their mom and dad. Their folks would never forgive the girls if they didn’t grab happiness and success like trinkets at a Renaissance Festival.
Love, however, stretched thin when River promoted herself to Spotify Manager in the office— Screamer Rock or Red Dirt Country— did anything else need to be said? Rowan was chill but leaned toward Classical, like Pachelbel and Yo-Yo Ma classical, which Raven loved— but not... as much as her sister. So, yes, Raven did monopolize the radio. So far, a thankless undertaking.
“Suck my...” River began.
“River! Let it go, weirdo.” Rowan finally chimed in. “Your music is questionable for, like, ninety-eight percent of the world.”
Raven chose to move on. She knew from the hundreds upon thousands of ridiculous conversations had betwixt the three of them that throwing a timely non sequitur was effective upon occasion.
As Raven opened the main business email, she said, “How about we go over what we’re each working on. I like everyone knowing the separate projects in case one of us has to step in for some reason.”
Raven’s scroll and delete of potential jobs versus spam emails stilled. Her cursor hovered over an email from O’Faolain Industries, LLC. What, in the absolute hell, she thought silently.
“What?”
“Why are you turning red?”
Both girls asked at the same time, noticing their sister’s stillness, bulging eyes, and fly-catching mouth wide open for business.
No way, Raven thought. There was no way on God’s green Earth this email was legit. O’Faolains were money. Like, clear your throat and cough up a diamond money. Oil of course. Oklahoma oil money plus a million other businesses—thatis the O’Faolain clan. The Irish Wolves were practically a mandatory class in school. Again... no M F’ing way is this email real.
“Jesus, Raven! What in the hell is going on?” River demanded while Rowan watched her sister closely.
Raven cleared her throat, blinked her suddenly dry eyes, and admitted, “This may be junk, but oh my God, you guys, I am looking at an email fromTHEF’ING’O’FAOLAINS! They would like to interview our design firm to see if our...” Raven made air quotes, “vision... agrees with their newest venture. I...”
“No fucking way!” River, of course. “No motherfucking way is this legit.” Exactly what Raven had thought sans the verbalization.
Rowan looked at both sisters as she swiveled her laptop in their direction. “Read it. Look at the address. It isn’t spam. I think... maybe, it’s real.”
Raven’s head felt fuzzy, like she’d had one too many shots of whiskey. Her eyes were tracking in slow motion. She watched as her sisters read through the same email that, no lie, had the potential of making their careers.
