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"A woman of good blood and high status with all the pre-requisites needed to become a good hostess and the mother of my children," Liam declares.
The three of us stare at him.
"What?" He frowns.
"You been watching a lot ofBridgerton?" Sinclair finally asks.
"My sister likes to watch it, yes. How do you know about the series anyway?" He frowns.
"Summer and her sister Karma have been bingeing it, and I’m afraid I may have been coaxed into sitting in on some of the episodes," he explains.
"The one time I’m glad I wasn’t there to accompany my wife." Michael’s features wear an expression of horror.
"So, Summer and Karma are sisters? Which makes you" —I glance between Sinclair and Michael— "family."
"Brothers-in-law, as it turns out," Sinclair confirms, scowling at Michael, who returns the gaze with an expression of mild dislike.
This should be interesting. The two men are equally matched in power. Sinclair with his extensive interests in the business community in Europe, and Michael with his grip on organized crime, though he’s legalized the vast majority of his businesses. Still, can one actually walk away from one’s roots when they’ve been part of not only your life but also that of your forefathers? For decades, Michael’s family has been synonymous with theCosa Nostra. Could he really move them into more legalized businesses? And isn’t it useful that the man who can play a key role in that is also his brother-in-law?
My phone buzzes. I glance at the tracking app to find the golden spot that represents Lena pop up very close to my location. "Eh? What is she doing here?"
"Who are you talking about?"
The door to the room swings open, and she steps in with a bag slung over her shoulder and a tablet in her hand. "There you are." She heads straight over to me. "I’m afraid this pitch can’t wait. You need to take a final look so I can send it off."
"You could have called or emailed."
"I did."
"Eh?" I close the app and find she’s right. Two missed calls, two missed texts, a bunch of emails. All from her.
"Is it already time to send off the Delancey campaign?"
"It’s Friday the thirteenth," she reminds me.
"Of course, it is. And if you had gotten through to me, I’d have told you that I didn’t need to look at it."
"But you must; this needs to be sent before the end of the day, and—"
"You’ve seen it. What do you think?"
"That the team has outdone themselves. The creatives are fresh, the copy is witty, and the concept, you have to hear it—"
"If you’re happy with it, I’m fine with it."
"What?" She gapes.
"You, clearly, think it’s a stellar pitch. I believe in you, so send it off."
"You… you’re sure?" Her voice is low, "Are you really sure?"
I smirk. "Of course, if you’d rather not—"
"What? No!" She draws herself up to her full height. "It’s good. I’ll, uh, just shoot off the email to them then. Sorry I bothered you." She finally glances around the table, noticing the other men. "Good day, gentlemen." She walks around them and toward the door.
"Wait for it... wait for it," Michael murmurs under his breath.
"Do you think he’ll last until she reaches the door?" Sinclair asks in a lazy voice.
