Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
The driveway is already full when I arrive, so I find a spot along the curb, check my appearance once in the visor mirror out of habit, and grab the bottle of wine I brought as a thank-you gift for the invitation. While I’m doing my main Thanksgiving dinner with my parents, I budgeted time to stop by this team event of appetizers and fellowship before everyone goes off to other celebrations.
Also… I want to be there for Locke should he show up as promised, although part of me wonders if he’ll bail.
The main floor is open and already packed with people—players and partners and a few staff members moving through the space with drinks in hand.
“Hello,” a stunning woman with lustrous red hair says, appearing out of nowhere. “I’m Cherry, Miller’s wife.”
“Hi,” I say with a smile, handing over the bottle of wine. “I’m Livia Cross.”
“Ahh,” she says in recognition of my name. “The new team shrink.”
“Um… well, that’s not really—”
But her attention is on a couple arriving behind me, and she squeals in delight. “Tanya… Jordie… you made it.” She starts to move away, but almost as an oversight, she glances back at me. “Thank you so much for the wine. Do you mind dropping it in the kitchen for me?”
“Sure,” I mutter.
I move through the house, nodding at people, accepting hugs from those I’ve established relationships with.
Someone—most likely Cherry—has done a great job with the décor. There are candles everywhere, autumn arrangements on every flat surface, and through the rear wall of windows I see a large tent set up in the backyard with round tables for people to congregate.
In the kitchen is an array of caterers arranging platters of finger foods and I promise myself not to overindulge since I’ll be eating my mother’s fine cooking in a few hours. I deposit the bottle on a butler’s pantry counter and grab a glass of wine from a waiter who is pouring.
Juno finds me before I find her, appearing at my elbow like a vision. She’s in a deep burgundy dress, her hair in a sleek twist at the back of her neck.
“You made it,” she says, and we give one-armed hugs because she’s holding a glass of wine too.
“I made it.” I clink my glass against hers.
She tips her head toward the far corner of the main room where a cluster of people have claimed a section of furniture away from the traffic flow. I follow her through the crowd and find Crosby first, looking relaxed as he holds a highball glass with amber liquid. Arch is beside him in a lightweight dark sweater and charcoal dress pants.
And standing to his left is a woman who can be none other than Crosby’s sister, Birdie.
She’s around my height, all soft curves in a fitted dark green dress. She looks just like her brother, but where Crosby’s stillness reads as contained, hers is coiled. Like she’s about three seconds from saying the thing everyone else is only thinking. She has a drink and is mid-sentence when I approach, gesturing with her free hand to make a point that has Arch laughing with an accompanying eye roll.
“Livia.” Juno touches my arm as we approach. “This is Birdie.”
Birdie turns and her face opens into a grin that is instantly and completely disarming. “Finally. Juno has said approximately five hundred things about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mostly.” She winks before taking a sip of her drink and I like her immediately.
“I’ve heard things about you too,” I say.
“Also mostly good, I assume?”
“Well, I know you’re a commercial saturation diver. You work at two hundred feet on offshore oil platforms.” I pause. “I don’t know that good is the word I’d use. Impressive, maybe. Slightly terrifying.”
She laughs, genuinely delighted. “I love her,” she announces to the group.
“And I can’t wait for our girls’ night out Juno promised.”
“Obviously,” Birdie says. “I’ve been living with my brother for far too long while I’m in between contracts. I love him, but I need to be in a room with people who don’t leave their gear bags in the hallway.”
“I leave my gear bag in the hallway,” Arch says.
“You don’t live there.”
“I’m there four times a week.”
“Which is not the same as living there.”
“Functionally—”
“Arch.” She turns to look at him with an expression of elaborate patience. “Functionally is doing a lot of work in that sentence and I need you to let it go.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Takes a drink instead.
These two bicker like players on the ice trying to outdo each other and I find it a fascinating dynamic. I know that Arch and Crosby are best friends, so it stands to reason Arch knows Birdie pretty well.
I take a sip of wine and relish the ease of people whose company I enjoy.
“Okay,” Birdie says, turning back to me as she changes gears. “I have a question. As the newest person in this organization—what is your read on the Cherry situation?”