Lake rolls his eyes from his stall. “You’re such a weirdo.”
Miller cups his ear. “What did you say? Miller is such a friendly, outgoing, interesting guy? Why, yes, I am.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Lake mutters, then gives us a chin nod and says, “See you on the plane.”
Once he’s gone, Miller spins around, looking at me, then Riggs, then Ivan. “I say we kidnap him and make him play once we land.”
“Team bonding now involves kidnapping?” I ask as I grab my suit jacket and put it back on.
“I’m in,” Ivan says, since he’s always game.
The thing is, so am I. I can’t resist a little trouble. Fucking with my teammates is too fun. “It’s on.”
“You got a plan?” Riggs asks.
I tap my temple. “Course I do.”
The plan that’s forming requires input from Mabel. She did say she knew the best bakeries in any city. That’s absolutely the only reason I text her once we board the team plane.
Corbin: Got a favorite cupcake shop in Santa Monica?
Mabel: Are you ready for us to make our first acquisition? We haven’t even opened yet. Sheesh.
Corbin: Think big, Mabel, think big.
Mabel: How big, Corbin?
She ends her message with emojis of eyeballs, and I’m pretty sure she’s not talking about the size of dreams or ambitions.
Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t you dare engage.
I settle into my cushy seat in the second row next to Riggs. He seems pretty engrossed in his own text exchange, so I write back to Mabel.
Corbin: Very.
Fine, I engaged a little. But I quickly add another text.
Corbin: Now, do I need to rely on Google, or are you the best market researcher in the bakery world? Like you said you were.
Mabel: Obviously, I am the best. I would go to Sweet Cheeks.
I snort-laugh.
Corbin: Is that name for real?
Mabel: Google it.
I do, then I place the order as the plane takes off, leaving the desert behind and hurtling toward the coast. After I set my phone down, I grab my tablet, so I can work on recipes, when I catch a stupid grin on Riggs’s face.
I know what kind of grin that is. I’d bet good money he’s texting a woman.
And since he’s not bothering to hide his phone, I do what I must—ignore my tablet and check out his screen. The message saysI’m so excited to meet you in person too!!!with triple exclamation points courtesy of the sender. This is like a wide-open net and nothing but ice.
I clear my throat. “How much did you bribe theRomance Beachhostess for that meeting?”
He flips the phone over, smirks, then makes an O with his thumb and forefinger. “Zero. I used my brain,” he says, tapping his temple. “I sent a gift to her—well, to her PR team—along with a card. She has a thing for otters, and I found an otter necklace.”
I stand corrected. “Holy shit. I was messing with you. But you’re really talking to her?”
