I definitely make a noise this time, and she flicks a dismissive finger in my direction. “There isn’t an adorable bone in that sad little man’s body.”
This pulls a rare smile from Drea. “That makes way more sense. We all know Wy’s got no game.”
“No game at all,” Becks says solemnly.
I groan and drop my head in my hands as CJ starts pulling an army of pins from her hair.
“Blisssssss,” she croons, unraveling the braid and digging her hands into the dark mass to shake it out. “Jonesy got all the game and left none for his big bro. Such a tragedy.”
“His name is Hollis. And as fun as these comparisons are,” I say to my sisters through clenched teeth, “we need the room. Get out.”
“We need the room,” CJ repeats in a gruff voice as she rummages through her bag. “Get out. And please, everybody in town calls him Jonesy.”
Becks, the traitor, laughs while CJ does some kind of complicated hair flip and starts brushing it while upside down, looking up at me from between the long waves. “You can’t kick them out, Wyatt. We both bribed our way in here fair and square, and I’m inviting them to stay.” After a glare to make sure I’m not going to argue, she resumes her long strokes. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re doing tonight.”
I hesitate, not sure I should lay everything out until I know what she’s up to too.
“I think,” I begin slowly, “that I’m doing the same thing you are.”
“And what’s that?” She blinks up at me, all sweetness and light, but I’m not fooled for a second.
“Let’s see…” I tick my list off on my fingers as I talk. “Between the two of us, there’s a polka band out there butchering ‘Santa, Baby,’ you’re in the kitchen tampering with the food, everyone but the VIPs are arriving late thanks to Liv’s invitations, the only thing to drink is Rumple Minze, a bunch of chickens are about to be released into the ballroom, and Howard’s table smells like an old gym bag somebody used to transport swamp water. That last one has CJ written all over it.”
“Aww, you recognized my signature scent.” She flips her head upright and slaps a hand to her chest. “So the tuba and gross alcohol and waterfowl are you, right? You’re torturing Howard with the literal twelve days of Christmas?”
I shoot her my smuggest smile. “And there’s so much more to come.”
“Because…” She raises her brows and waits.
I inhale courage and exhale a confession. “Because I’m taking Howard down.”
Okay. It’s out there. And CJ immediately joins me.
“Same,” she says. “Because I want his IPO to fail.”
I’m surprised she offered that much, and now I’m curious if this is simple payback or if she knows more than she’s letting on.
“Any other reason?” I ask, our gazes still locked, as if one of us is waiting for the other to crack and say it first. But she missed so much during that first audit, I doubt she’ll have uncovered what I have.
“You mean the fact that ol’ Howie’s dirty as hell and stealing from your clients?”
Okay then. The air between us thickens with the weight of our history as I say, “Yes. That.”
“Boooommmmmm,” Drea breathes, and to be honest, I forgot the girls were still here.
Apparently CJ did too because she’s slow to pull her gaze away from me. When she does, she sees two teenagers watching our back-and-forth like it’s a Ping-Pong match.
“Can we go back to the food thing for a sec?” Becks asks. “Because I’m allergic to sardines.”
CJ laughs. “No sardines. But Chef Samson has created a hot pepper menu for one.”
A bark of laughter escapes my lips, and I want to claw it back when all three women look at me in surprise.
“It’s not that weird to hear me laughing,” I mumble, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Agree to disagree.” CJ sounds almost sad when she says it, and I wonder if she’s thinking about how much I laughed the night we met. Then she turns back to the girls. “Ignore your grumpy brother so you can revel in my genius.”
They nod eagerly, and CJ launches into an explanation.
