“Thank you.” Reo still didn’t look pleased.
“I do want to add one thing.” Kaede raised one leather-gloved finger. “I lookfuckingphenomenal in black.”
Reo rolled his eyes.
“I just don’t want anyone getting their hopes up. That’s all.” Kaede shrugged. “Carry on.”
Daisuke said nothing, yet crossed his arms over his chest, telling me that he was already putting his outfit together in his head.
The twins spoke back and forth, finishing each other’s sentences.
"We’ll be wearing—”
“Black suits— "
" —with sharp lines."
"And clean hems."
"No loud stitching."
Then, they nodded in sync.
Hiro pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and leveled it at me across the table. "I still don’t think guests should come."
"My Tiger said guests can come." I set my hands on the table and folded them together. "So, guests can come."
Hiro pursed his lips and offered no further push back.
"We finish this meeting." I stared at all of them. "Then you can burn the rest of the afternoon on your outfits like fucking women heading to a gala."
A ripple of satisfaction moved around the table, and even Reo’s lips curved into a smile.
Fuck. What are you doing to my men, Tora?
An hour later, the meeting ended and I checked on my Tiger, needing her scent in my nose, her warmth surrounding my skin, her body pressed against mine.
Where are you, Tora?
I went to the kitchen.
That place was a war zone of its own—sous chefs shouting, trays being loaded, steam rising from pots the size of oil drums.
I stood in the doorway and scanned the chaos for my Tiger, craving just a few seconds to hold her in my arms and run my fingers through those silky braids.
She wasn’t there.
One of the sous chefs saw me, bowed, and nearly dropped a platter.
Tora, I want to see you.
Pissed, I left before I disrupted her whole operation and searched the rest of the house. I never found her.
Goddamn it.
It was lunchtime when I returned to my office. Men carried boxes into the space.
My mother’s belongings.
