He grins. "Working on it. Right. Because nothing says swept off her feet like a man who's working on the ring two months out."
I glance at him and see him watching me intently. Gone is the laid-back friend, he’s watching me for a tell. "It's not that kind of marriage," I remind him yet again.
"Yeah, I know what kind of marriage it is." He takes a drink. "You okay with it?"
I give him a look.
"That's not an answer," he says.
"It's the answer I'm giving you."
He tips his glass toward me like he's acknowledging the point and lets it go, because that's the thing about Tempest. He knows when to push and when to leave something the fuck alone. Most people don't have that read. Thankfully, he does.
"Arranged marriage," he says eventually. "I always figured you'd have a lot more time. I thought you’d have waited until you were in your thirties."
"That was the plan."
"What changed?"
"The Syndicate fell apart, and my father decided bloodlines were the solution."
"You need to explain this to me. I’m pissed as hell you didn’t tell me there was a change of plan. I get a wedding invite for a chick called Daire, only to receive an updated invite with a different name.”
I don’t say anything, just let him speak. He’s not finished yet. “I looked into the name, she’s the Delaney's youngest," he says. "Wasn't the original plan her sister?"
I take another sip of my drink. "Yes."
"And the sister is now...?"
"Marrying someone else. Also having his baby."
He lets out a low whistle. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Someone has a death wish. So you're getting the backup plan?"
"We're each other's backup plan," I say, which is the most honest way I've found to describe it. "She knows what she's walking into."
"That's either going to make things easier or more complicated."
"Probably both."
He looks at me for a second like he's deciding whether to say something else on that topic, and then he decides not to, which is another thing I appreciate about him.
"So why are we here?" he asks. "Not that I'm not always happy to shoot the shit with you and catch up, but you have a specific look on you tonight. One that tells me that someone has pissed you the fuck off, I want to know if I’m burying someone with you?"
My lips carve into a smile. “Not yet.” I set my glass down. "But, I've got a problem."
"Business problem or personal problem?" he asks with a raised brow.
"Business."
"Alright." He leans forward slightly, wanting not to be overheard. "Talk."
"Six weeks ago, I moved on a logistics route," I say. "New territory, not established, something we'd been working on quietly for three months. By the time we were ready to finalize, someone else had already moved."
Tempest's eyebrows go up slightly. "Someone just happened to find the same route?"
"Same route, same timeline, same structure. The kind of specificity you don't get by accident."
"That's unlucky."
