Page 102 of Hate To Be Mine

“Stuff your sorries,” she said, her voice clipped and professional.

I flinched. “It’s a great photo at least.”

“There’s a storm coming,” she snapped. “The only question is whether it’ll hit us head on. The runway show is at risk. We need to put our heads together to make sure we can still pull this off, and if not, figure out what’s next. We don’t have the permits to stay longer. If the show doesn’t go off, that’s a big deal. I don’t want to be negative, but this could be a very costly storm for a number of reasons.”

She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back so tight it had to hurt. She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a white blouse. Gone were the linen pants or pretty sundresses. She was all pure professional determination.

“Hi, Bernadette,” Elizabeth said.

Bernadette offered a small smile. “Where are my manners? Hello, Elizabeth.”

Then her anger was right back on me. Yep, that was one pissed-off woman.

“We’ll deal with the picture later. Right now, we have a potential weather emergency. Get your brothers. We need to strategize.”

She wasn’t yelling. Her tone was tight but neutral. She was doing her job, staying focused like I should have been doing.

I pulled out my phone to send up the Blackwell bat signal.

No spotlights needed. I just sent a message to the Blackwell group chat: Emergency meeting. Dining room. Now.

Twenty minutes later, we were all gathered in the resort dining room.

Bernadette was sitting away from my brothers. I noticed she always separated herself. The woman that had been warming up to me and the rest of the crew was gone. She was making it very clear she was not one of us. It had little to do with professional distance. It was self-preservation.

Mom and Elizabeth were talking. I was pretty sure I heard something about pickles.

I took a seat next to Dash. He elbowed me. “That’s her?”

“Don’t start any shit,” I warned. “I’ve already punched one guy this week. I’ll do it again.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I like to mess around but I know this is neither the time nor the place. But I’ll have plenty to say later.”

Bernadette’s focus was on her tablet. She glanced up and looked around the room. But she never looked directly at me. “Thank you all for coming. As you’ve probably noticed, there’s a storm approaching. It’s approximately two hundred miles east. Current models show three possible paths. One misses us entirely. One grazes us with heavy rain and wind. One hits us directly.”

“What’s the likelihood of each scenario?” Adrian asked.

“Roughly equal. We won’t know for sure until tomorrow morning.”

“And if it hits us directly?” Briggs asked.

“The runway show would have to be postponed at minimum. Possibly canceled if there’s infrastructure damage or if flights can’t land.”

The weight of that hung in the air. Millions of dollars. Elizabeth’s launch. Everything we’d worked for.

“What do we need to do?” I asked.

Bernadette looked at me directly for the first time. I saw respect in her eyes, or maybe she was just glad I asked the right question. Like she expected me to revert back to the airhead persona. She knew that was a bullshit facade.

“Batten down the hatches,” she said. “Secure all equipment. Make sure everyone has food, water, and emergency supplies. Candles in case of power outages. We need to treat this like it’s coming straight for us. If it misses up, we’ll laugh about it later. If it hits us, we’ll be glad we were ready.”

“I’ll coordinate with the resort,” Briggs said. “Make sure they’re implementing their storm protocols.”

“I’ll handle crew communication,” Elizabeth offered. “Keep everyone calm and informed.”

“Dash, you’re on equipment,” Adrian said. “Get everything secured and weatherproofed.”

“What about the show venue?” Mom asked. “Should we delay setup?”