Then, with a definitivethud, she slams the binder shut.
"No," Rosa says.
"No?" I repeat, my brain stalling. "Rosa, we need that leverage.Mother is going to crush us on the music playlist. If we have Alistair, we have a majority vote."
"You don't need Alistair," Rosa says, sliding the binder back into her bag, just out of reach. "You have me. And frankly? I like Alistair. He wears parrots. He eats chocolate. He tips the nurses well at Christmas."
Her expression hardens as she looks at the door where Mother exited.
"Catherine, on the other hand... Catherine tried to serve me foam. Catherine upset a bride in an airport. Catherine needs to suffer."
She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"If I tell you what Alistair is doing, you will use it to neutralize him. You will make him boring again. I don't want him boring. I want him chaotic. His chaos distracts Catherine. It drives her insane. And watching Catherine York lose her mind over a parrot shirt is the only entertainment I have."
"So you’re withholding evidence," Preston says, impressed. "To prolong the psychological torture of our mother."
"I am managing the flow of information," Rosa corrects him. "It’s triage. Alistair is stable. Catherine is the critical patient. We focus on her."
"But M. Santos..." Jax tries one last time.
"Is none of your business," Rosa says with finality. "And if you try to hack my binder, Preston, or if you try to steal it while I’m sleeping, I will tell the entire hospital about the Dignity Box. And I will include the explanation of just what happened when I first saw the box."
Preston pales. "You wouldn't."
"I would," Rosa says. "Now, Pierre is coming back. Look innocent."
Pierre returns with the contract.
"All ready," Pierre says, looking nervous as he approaches Rosa. "Just a signature here."
I sign the paper. The chocolate cake is secured. The venue issecured. And the mystery of M. Santos remains locked in a black leather binder, guarded by a woman who scares me more than the IRS.
"I love this family," Jax says, shaking his head as we stand up. "You guys are a mess. A beautiful, rich, chaotic mess. And we are absolutely terrified of the nurse."
"Agreed, your mother is diabolical Luke. Are we safe in your apartment?" Preston asks, turning towards Luke.
"No," Luke replies nonchalantly.
"No one is safe from me, you all know that. And you should be terrified, the Black Binder knows everything," Rosa says, standing up and smoothing her dress. "Now, let’s go to the Plaza. I want to see if I can make the event coordinator cry. It’s been a long day and I need the amusement."
"To the Plaza," I agree, taking Jax’s hand.
"To the Plaza," Jax echoes. "God help them."
Chapter 8
Stag Nights
Max
The car—Preston’s vintage Porsche 911—crunches over a gravel driveway. We are three hours north of the city. There is no cell service. There are no sirens. There is only the aggressive sound of crickets and the rustle of Preston’s silk scarf.
"Welcome toThe Silent Birch," Preston announces, cutting the engine. "It is a digital detox facility for the hyper-successful and the mentally frayed. We are checking in for forty-eight hours of mindfulness."
"I hate it," I say immediately. "It smells like damp wool and pretension."
"It smells like serenity, Maxwell," Preston corrects, stepping out of the car in loafers that are absolutely not designed for gravel. "Now, hand over the phone. And the pager. And the backup pager I know you taped to your ankle."
