“Remember when Jack wanted to get a minivan?” Lucky says to Decker.
Decker smiles for the first time all morning. “For his band equipment.”
“That he didn’t have.”
“Didn’t have the bandmates either.”
“Only because you were terrible on the guitar.”
“Youwere terrible on the guitar. I was pretty decent.”
Margie props her cheek on her fist, watching them with a soft smile while they bicker about the band that wasn’t.
The steam off of her tea fogs her glasses, and she wrinkles her nose, one eyeball rolling slightly toward the sky as she does it.
Like she’s not used to having steam off of tea fog up her glasses, and it’s an annoyance she doesn’t want.
A memory flashes so hard and fast, my brain almost cramps.
Hoteliers Association dinner.
My last assignment with Technique Group.
I was tasked with staying close to Imogen Carter, the ancient matriarch of the family who operate Carter International Properties. First time we’d worked for the family in any capacity.
I’d been shocked Xavier gave me the assignment. Figured he would’ve put one of his sons on someone whose family would’ve made great long-term clients, but I started thinking he’d finally figured out I was better than they were. Didn’t realize he was setting me up to fail so that he could blame me for losing business and fire me.
Before things went to shit, though, midway through dinner, some other late middle-aged dude approached Imogen Carter, and whatever he said to her got her so agitated that I had to step in.
But I wasn’t the only one.
While I was leaning over to ask Ms. Carter if she wanted to step outside for air, another guest arrived at the table and intervened so smoothly with the dude that he didn’t realize it was happening.
She made that same nose wrinkle, with one eye rolling upward, right before she got his attention.
I didn’t know if she was an assistant or family member or executive, but I knew I appreciated her enough to look twice.
“Big plans for the day?” Sabrina asks the four of us, pulling my attention away.
“Margie’s never been here before, so I’m gonna take her on a tour,” Lucky says.
“I drove around the lake and saw the train station when I got here,” Margie says. “It’s so quaint and cute. How do you live here every day and not just stare at the mountains?”
“Oh, the people are much more interesting,” Sabrina says. “They?—”
A clatter explodes behind us.
I leap to my feet and spin around.
A young man’s squatting near a table, gathering a tray full of shattered mugs. “Sorry, Sabrina,” he says.
I don’t hear Sabrina answer.
Because Margie’s suddenly next to him, carefully helping pick up the broken porcelain pieces among the liquid all over the floor. “You okay?” she asks the kid.
He flashes an awkward smile. “Oh, I’ve got this, ma’am.”
“Was that my coffee?” someone at a nearby table says. “Dammit, I’ve been waiting for that for ten minutes.”
