“We show her the upside,” Rett says simply. “The resources. The... access.”
“And if she says no?” Diego asks, his voice barely a whisper.
A heavy silence fills the room. The roaring of the static in my own skull seems to amplify like a vicious reminder of what’s at stake.
“She won’t,” Rett says finally, but the words are a prayer, not a certainty.
The next few hours pass in a blur. Diego disappears into the kitchen, stress-baking as usual. Dane retreats to the gym for round two with the punching bag. I flip through channels without really watching anything, and Rett holes up in his office, presumably to rearrange his schedule for tomorrow’s dinner.
It’s nearly six when Rett reappears, looking slightly less tense than before.
“I moved three meetings and a conference call,” he announces, dropping into the chair across from me. “Tomorrow night is clear.”
I’m about to make a joke about his legendary micromanagement when his phone chimes. He pulls it out, his eyebrows shooting up.
“What?” Diego asks, poking his head out from where he’s crouched behind the kitchen island.
Rett reads the message aloud: “‘Change of plans. Dinner’s tonight. 8 PM. The Anchor. Wear something uncomfortable.’”
“Tonight?” Diego repeats, his eyes wide. “As in, two hours from now?”
“The Anchor?” I ask, equally surprised. “Isn’t that the dive bar down by the waterfront? The one with the fishnets on the ceiling and the questionable health inspection record?”
Rett nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “That’s the one.”
“Why would she change it to tonight?” Diego wonders. “And why there, of all places?”
Dane, who has appeared silently in the doorway, suddenly straightens. “Something’s wrong.”
We all look at him. Dane doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it’s usually worth listening to.
“What do you mean?” Rett asks.
“The sudden change. The location. ‘Wear something uncomfortable.’”Dane ticks the points off on his fingers. “She’s throwing us off balance.”
“Or maybe she just couldn’t wait to see us again,” I suggest, but even I don’t believe it.
“No,” Rett says slowly. “Dane’s right. This feels... like she’s preparing for a fight.”
“But why?” Diego looks genuinely confused. “What changed between her text a few hours ago and now?”
None of us has an answer for that.
“It doesn’t matter,” Rett finally says, pocketing his phone. “We’ll be there. All of us.”
“Wearing something uncomfortable, apparently,” I mutter.
“What does that even mean?” Diego wonders aloud.
“It means she’s trying to throw us off our game,” Rett says. “So we show up ready to play.”
Dane nods once, decisive. “I’ll bring the planner.”
“And I’ll bring my charming personality,” I add, grinning.
“Maybe leave that at home,” Diego suggests dryly.
“Very funny.”
