I grab a box of tissues nearby, dabbing.“Fooken hell…”
Karina pulls back quickly, all business once more.
“I’ll let you tend to…that.So, uh, seven tonight," she says, rising and depositing an armful of roses on the table."Viktoria doesn't like tardiness."
"I'll pick you up at six-thirty," I reply, still on my knees surrounded by flowers and water, feeling ridiculous yet somehow less alone than I have in months.
From outside, the bagpipes reach their triumphant finale, punctuated by enthusiastic applause.
"They're not going away, are they?"I ask resignedly.
She looks down at me, a mixture of sympathy and amusement in her eyes."Not a chance.But at least now we know why."
And just like that, our trajectories lock into place—united by suspicion, corporate intrigue, and the world's most mortifying social media campaign.
Duncan MacTavish has no idea what he's started.
7
PLAID INTENTIONS
KARINA
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
That's the only explanation for why I'm climbing the stairs to my apartment at 11 PM on Friday night, my mind spinning with corporate espionage theories and the lingering memory of Callum Abernathy's surprising laugh—a deep, rich sound I'd inadvertently triggered when Viktoria had called Duncan MacTavish "Scotland's answer to a Bond villain, but with worse tailoring."
Seattle's nighttime fog presses against my windows as I fumble with my keys, exhaustion clinging to me like the dampness in the air.
July should be warmer than this, but the city seems determined to match my mood…
Clouded.Unsettle.And frustratingly unpredictable.
Good thing I only have three more items to cross off my to-do list…
Shower.Sleep.
Oh yeah—and forget the way Callum Abernathy’s hand brushed mine as he passed me coffee during our four-hour strategy session with Viktoria.
To forget the intensity in his eyes when he'd leaned forward, saying, "We're close to something here.I can feel it."Forget how Viktoria had stared at us both with her patented big-sister x-ray vision before announcing, "This is getting interesting."
I push open my door to find my apartment transformed into what can only be described as a blanket fortress designed by adults with questionable structural engineering skills.
"Surprise!Sister summit emergency session!""My younger sister Susanna’s head pops out from between two precariously draped sheets, her expressive eyes crinkling in delight.
She’s already donned her signature look, her dark hair twisted into two messy buns with streaks of lavender peeking out—this week’s bold color choice.
My older sister Viktoria emerges from my kitchen, wine bottle in one hand, three glasses in the other.
As always, she's flawless in a sleek navy lounge set that somehow still looks like it belongs in a designer catalog.Her dark hair is cut in the sharp bob that never dares move out of place, and her golden-brown eyes zero in on me like a heat-seeking missile.
Even here, in my living room at 11 PM, she wears delicate minimalist gold bracelets that whisper ‘I paid too much for these’ rather than shout it.
"You're late," she sing-songs.
"I wasn't aware I was expected," I say, dropping my bag and kicking off my heels."What's the emergency?"
"You spent four hours in a private cybersecurity session with Callum Abernathy and didn't immediately call us with details after Vik left the two of you alone,” Susanna says, crawling out of the fort.
