"So do bribes."
"We call them 'incentives,'" Connor corrects."Luke!Finally.Tell Alex he can’t install a helicopter pad on top of La Famiglia."
“Why would Mac’s restaurant need aerial access?”I ask, sliding into my seat.
“She doesn’t.Alex just wants to play Gotham.”
“It’s downtown.You live downtown.”
“Traffic,” Alex replies solemnly, like it’s a global crisis.
“You live four blocks away,” Connor reminds him.
“I work in Bellevue.”
“Then drive like a normal person,” Grayson mutters.“With tinted windows if your soul demands it.”
“Driving is for people without helicopters.”
"Where’s Callum?"I ask before this spirals into tax law and aviation codes.
"Running late," Connor replies."Said he’s bringing a plus-one."
"Taking bets on Karina or his therapist," Grayson adds.
“Why would he bring his therapist?”Alex frowns.
“Because we’re exhausting,” Connor says.“And someone should be documenting our descent.”
“Speak for yourself,” Grayson says.“I’m perfectly adjusted.”
“You tried to algorithm your way into a wife,” Connor fires back.
“And it worked!”
“After she fell for your terrible jokes.”
“My jokes are elite,” Grayson grunts, scandalized.
Before I can weigh in on that blatant lie, our very own Scottish duke-adjacent Callum appears—copper-haired and sharp in a three-piece suit that’s tailored within an inch of his life.And he’s not alone.
Beside him stands a dark-haired man in an Armani suit.He looks familiar, but the catalogue of my brain can’t quite place him.His amber eyes flick across the table with predatory calm.
“Lads,” Callum says, “meet Killian Greer.Killian, these are the idiots I warned you about.”
“Charming intro,” Killian drawls, his voice low and dry with an East Coast edge—Boston Brahmin laced with just enough Irish rebellion to hint at bar fights in Harvard Square.“Though accurate, based on what I’ve heard.”
"Killian's my final groomsman," Callum explains."Replacing my ass of a brother Richard for obvious embezzlement-related reasons."
"Greer," Connor says thoughtfully."As in Greer Hospitality International?"
"Guilty."Killian takes a seat with the controlled grace of someone who's never made an awkward movement in his life.“Lately, the press seems to prefer calling me ‘Seattle’s Most Ineligible CEO.’Divorce does wonders for your Q score.”
“Divorce, you say?”Grayson asks with the morbid curiosity of someone who built a dating empire on failed relationships.
“Twenty years of marriage dissolved in six months of legal warfare,” Killian says, lifting his drink—the bartender already knew what he wanted, which tells you everything about his membership status here.“She got the Aspen house.I kept the business.The art collection we split fifty-fifty.Very biblical.”
"Twenty years," Alex repeats."That's..."
