"I’ll buff out the dents, ma'am," Jax promises.
She nods once and sweeps away.
I let out a breath.
"That went well," Jax says. "She didn't even threaten to sue me."
"Progress," I agree.
"Hey." Jax nudges me. "Target acquired. Ten o'clock."
I follow his gaze.
In the corner, comfortably ensconced near the VIP bar, are Alistair and Preston.
It is a tableau of pure, unadulterated York rebellion.
Alistair is holding a tumbler of scotch, looking like a king surveying his slightly disappointing kingdom. Beside him is Preston. My little brother is wearing a tuxedo, but over it, he is wearing a brand-new, stiff leather motorcycle jacket. He is also wearing sunglasses. Inside. At night.
"Oh god," I groan. "He looks like a failed audition forThe Matrix."
"He looks cool," Jax corrects, grinning. "Let’s go say hi."
We walk over. Alistair sees us coming and raises his glass.
"Ah," Alistair booms, his voice carrying over the string quartet. "The conquering heroes return! And look, O'Connell, you’re wearing the boots! Excellent. Very 'revolutionary chic.'"
"Good evening, Alistair," Jax says. "Preston. Nice jacket."
"Preston," I say, eyeing his sunglasses and the stiff leather motorcycle jacket he has chosen to wear over his tuxedo. "It is 8:00 PM. We are indoors. Are you suffering from a migraine, or just a lack of fashion sense?"
Preston ignores the insult entirely.
"I’m incognito," Preston says, lowering the glasses to wink at Jax. "Mother is on the warpath. She’s trying to set me up with the debutante daughter of the Zinc Mining CEO. I need an extract plan."
He looks at Jax with sudden intensity.
"You have the Jeep, right? It’s parked out front?"
"Valet has it," Jax says, sipping his champagne. "Why?"
"I need you to stage a kidnapping," Preston says seriously. "Just grab me, throw me over your shoulder, and yell something about 'National Security.' Alistair will cover the legal fees."
Alistair nods in agreement, looking delighted. "I would pay to see that. It would ruin the debutante's evening, which is a bonus."
"I can't kidnap you, kid," Jax laughs. "I’m pretty sure that violates my Hippocratic Oath. Or at least the hospital bylaws."
"Fine," Preston sighs, sliding his glasses back up. "Then teach me how to hotwire the Mayor's limo later. It’s the long black one. I think I can fit through the sunroof."
"Preston," I warn.
"Relax, Maxwell." Preston shrugs. He runs a hand down his leather lapel. "And about the jacket... Father says it disrupts the visual harmony of the event. It’s a statement piece."
"The statement being 'I am eighteen and have a trust fund,'" I point out.
"The statement being 'I have a lock-pick set in the inner pocket,'" Preston counters, grinning at Jax. "Thanks for the tip on the tension wrench, Jax. I broke into the wine cellar this afternoon."
"Preston!" I snap.
