“Wewerechildren when you taught us to drink coffee.” Breck waves a hand dismissively. “We were fourteen.”
“Old enough to know better.” She hands me a cup, then settles into her chair. “So, Remy. Tell me how you’re finding Jacobs Security.”
The guys walk away, giving Sadie and me some time to speak privately.
“Challenging. Rewarding.” I take a sip. The coffee is perfect. “Your grandsons run a tight ship.”
“They’d better. I didn’t raise them to be mediocre.” She studies me over her cup. “But that’s not what I asked. I want to know how you’re doing. Really.”
The question catches me off guard. “I’m good. Better than I’ve been in a long time, actually.”
Sadie’s smile is knowing. “Good. You’ve been through a difficult period. The boys told me about Damon’s behavior.”
My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry about that. I never meant to bring drama to the company.”
“Stop.” She’s gentle but firm. “Damon’s behavior is his responsibility, not yours. And my grandsons are more than capable of handling him.” She glances at the triplets, who are engaged in some private conversation by the window.
Enzo looks over at that moment, catching my eye. A flash of Montana passes between us, and I remember waking up in his arms, before I look away.
Sadie doesn’t miss it. Her eyes sharpen. “Tell me, Remy. What do you know about these three when they were young?”
“Not much. I know they started building the company their dad left behind before he died.”
“Hmm. So just the information that’s available publicly.” Sadie leans back in her chair, eyes distant with memory. “Did they tell you about the time they tried to hack into the school’s grading system?”
Ansel’s warning comes from across the room. “Gran?—”
I smirk. So, they are notonlyfocused on their private conversation.
Ears like hawks, this family.
“Oh, hush. Remy should know what she’s working with.” Sadie’s smile turns mischievous. “They were sixteen. Ansel convinced his brothers it was to ‘test the security,’ but really, they wanted to change Enzo’s chemistry grade.”
“The teacher gave me a completely unacceptable grade,” Enzo mutters from his spot by the window.
“You blew up half the lab,” Breck reminds him.
Blew up the lab?I have questions.
“It was a controlled explosion.”
I laugh, trying to picture these polished executives as teenage troublemakers. “What happened?”
Sadie shakes her head. “They got caught, of course. Ansel took full responsibility and said it was his idea. Enzo insisted he’d done it alone. And Breck tried to charm the principal into forgetting the whole thing.”
“Did it work?” I ask.
“Not even a little.” She looks at them with affection.
“Shocking!” I interject, and Sadie laughs before continuing.
“They spent the rest of the semester in detention, writing code for the school’s new security system.” She looks at them with obvious affection.
The stories continue—the time they built a robot that accidentally terrorized the neighbor’s cat, when they convinced their grandmother to invest in their company with her retirement savings, and how they turned their grandmother’s garage into a server farm at fifteen.
Sadie’s expression shifts, growing more serious. “Their parents would be so proud. Michael and Connie. They were brilliant, both of them. Michael was the dreamer, always two steps ahead of everyone else. Connie kept him grounded and made sure his dreams had solid foundations.”
I glance at the triplets. They’ve gone quiet, listening.
