East's voice carries from down the hall. "Why does it smell feminine in here?" He rounds the corner into the war room doorway, stops dead. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "Is that lace?"
"On my chairs," Malachi says, voice dropping into the register he usually reserves for men who owe him money.
Nash appears behind East, takes one look, and goes completely still. His eyes move from the tablecloths to the tea lights to the vision board, cataloging the damage with the same focus he'd give a crime scene. They filter into the room slowly, but I stay frozen near the doorway.
"They used a glue gun," he says flatly. "On the whiteboard."
"A hot glue gun," East confirms, peeling up a corner of lace. "On leather chairs."
James steps in last. Surveys the room. Nods once, almost impressed. "They went all in. Every surface. Nothing missed."
Laughter detonates from down the hall. Ruby's sharp cackle bounces off walls. Darla's bright, breathless laugh cuts through. Candace's quieter satisfaction runs underneath.
Sloane breaks. Real laughter, quick and bright, bursts out before she can stop it. The sound hits me in the chest. I groan while dragging a hand down my face, torn between annoyance and grudging respect for the level of commitment.
Malachi picks up the Boss Babe mug. Stares at the daisy inside it. Sets it down with the controlled precision of a man deciding not to throw it through the drywall.
"There's a coaster," East says, pointing. "They left him a coaster. It says, 'Slay.'"
Nash picks up the coaster, reads it, sets it back down without a word.
"The vision board has tabs," James says from across the room. He's leaning in, studying it. "Career. Wellness. Personal Growth." He pauses. "Someone wrote 'stop scaring people' under Personal Growth."
"That's for Malachi," East says.
"It's for all of us," Nash mutters.
Malachi drags a hand over his jaw. "They touched my table."
"They also left snacks." James holds up a small basket wrapped in cellophane. "Mini muffins. With a card."
East takes the card. Reads it aloud. "'Fuel your vision, king.' There's a heart."
"There's two hearts," Nash corrects, looking over his shoulder.
I lose it. The laugh scrapes out before I can stop it, low, rough, half-aimed at the ceiling. Sloane catches my eye from thedoorway, grinning so hard her eyes water, and kisses me. Quick, pleased, all teeth and heat, gone before I can deepen it.
"You walked right into it," she says.
"I did not walk into—"
She tugs me by the cut toward the gym. "Later. You can brood later."
Her breathing goes deeper. Strides longer. I walk her to the gym door, squeeze her hand once, and let go. She glances back. I jerk my chin toward the war room.
"Go. I'll be there."
She nods and disappears inside.
The men settle into the war room. Malachi goes to the head of the table by instinct, hands braced, jaw working against the indignity of pastel. East takes the wall, scanning with open disbelief. Nash blocks the doorway. James hangs back, expression unreadable.
"I hate how much effort this took," East says.
"They didn't rush it," James says with a nod.
Nash's mouth twitches. All he says is one word, flat and reverent. "Planned."
Malachi rubs his beard. "This is going too far."
