“But really,” I said, watching her more closely, “Are you okay?” Elena looked down at her wine.
“Yeah. I mean, not ‘perfectly stable,’ okay. But, like… still-showing-up kind of okay.” I nodded, understanding more than I let on. “You know me. If life doesn’t make me cry or question capitalism, what’s the point?” I reached across the counter and tapped my glass against hers. “To messy art and overpriced apartments.”
“To control-freak big brothers that want to pay for your life, but you don’t let them because they keep weird bronze sculptures.” We laughed, drank, and for a moment, everything felt still.
No boardrooms. No headlines. No power dynamics or secrets.
Just me and my little sister, drinking wine in a kitchen way too big, finding that rare kind of comfort you can only get from someone who knew you before the world expected anything from you.
The city was unusually quiet for a Saturday, probably because most of Manhattan was still nursing hangovers or stuck in overpriced yoga classes.
I pulled the car into the arrivals lane at JFK, glancing in the rearview mirror as Elena appliedmakeup as if she were meeting with someone important. “It’s just Nico,” I said.
“Exactly. He’ll make jokes about how I look like I haven’t slept, probably crying over a barista I barely know again.” That made me burst into laughter. “To be fair… you have,” I say, teasing her.
“That was a long time ago, shut up.” Before I could fire back, my phone buzzed.
Nico: Touchdown.
Look for the hottest guy in arrivals with a chef’s kiss luggage.
Moments later, there he was. He had aviators, a leather weekender bag slung over one shoulder, and that same smug grin he’d had since forever. “There he is,” I said, putting the car in park. He spotted us immediately, waving dramatically like a washed-up pop star.
“Why does he look like he’s about to sign autographs?” Elena deadpanned. “Because he totally would. If someone asked him.” He climbed into the backseat, throwing his bag onto the empty seat next to him. “My favorite power siblings,” he declared, leaning forward between us. “You two look disgustingly well-rested. Gross.”
“You look like you bribed a flight attendant for extra drinks and then gave her your number,” Elena said, twisting in her seat. “I did both of those things.But she upgraded me to first class.” I shook my head and pulled into traffic. “Brunch?”
“Please. I’m starving. And slightly hungover. But mostly starving.”
We ended up at a French café in the West Village. It was Elena’s choice, which meant overpriced pastries and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. We found a corner table on the patio, and by the time the waiter brought our drinks, Nico had already launched into a story about his latest failed situationship with a ceramicist in LA. “She said I didn’t ‘respect her creative boundaries.’ I said her creative boundary was ghosting me mid-work days.”
Elena snorted into her cappuccino. “I swear,” Nico continued, “I’m going to marry someone boring. A dentist. A dog groomer. Someone who thinks foreplay is paying the bill early.”
“I don’t think that’s your destiny,” I said. “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s yours? Because rumor has it, Monsieur CEO has been busy playing sexy boss with the heiress of Hayes International.”
Elena blinked. “Wait—what?” I didn’t answer fast enough. “You fucked Samantha Hayes?” she asked, sitting up so fast she nearly knocked over her drink. “That’s Sam?”
“I didn’t know who she was the first few times, and let’s avoid the word fucked, we are adults. But yeah, we spent the night together in Paris.” I muttered.
Nico nodded dramatically. “A classic romancemovie. She was hot, smart, and flirty. He was emotionally avoidant, but charming. Sparks flew.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Elena said, eyes wide with a strange mix of awe and horror. “Theo, you realize this is your actual life, right? Not a bad t.v. series drama?”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“And you’re working on top of her now?” Elena asked with a smirk. “And under her,” Nico whispered, and I swear they started laughing like it was the most hilarious joke ever. “She works for the company,” I corrected. “Technically not under orforme.”
“She’s literally across the hall,” Nico added helpfully. “And according to Harper, the sexual tension is so thick it qualifies as a fire hazard.”
“Jesus. Harper needs to shut up,” I muttered, finishing my espresso. Elena leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Okay. But… are you okay with having her there after you… Well, fucked her?”
“Elena Jones! And yes, I’m okay with having her around. I’m just trying not to fuck everything up.”
Nico raised his glass. “To not fucking everything up, just Hayes’ daughter.” I rolled my eyes as we clinked. Elena almost choked laughing.
“Also,” Nico added, “I want to meet her properly. The whole ‘I fu— slept with her, but now I don’t know what to do’ energy is killing my vibe.”
“You’ll meet her,” I muttered. “Tonight. At the gala.”
