Page 27 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

My Portland landlord has called twice. I keep meaning to call back. The lease is almost up. I’ve been not calling him back for the same reason I’ve been not calling him back every year except this time I actually don’t know the answer.

I don't know what I'm going to tell any of them.

Chapter eleven

Chapter Eleven—Riley

Iwake up reaching for a body that isn't there.

The sheets are cool on my side, and for one stupid second my hand keeps searching before my brain catches up. I pull it back like I've been burned. Four days since the rooftop, since the hot tub, since the three of them turned every rule I had into ash. Four days since we all agreed it was a mistake and promised it wouldn't happen again.

I roll out of bed and do the only thing that still feels safe: I open my laptop and lose myself in work. I reorganize every client folder on my desktop, color-coding them by urgency, then by mood, then by how much I hate the brand guidelines. It's mindless. It's perfect. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from replaying the way Andrew said my name against my skin or the way Liam's laugh hummed warm in my ear.

By the time I finally look up, sunlight is cutting across the living room. I tell myself I'm ready for whatever today throws at me.

I'm wrong.

At ten we gather around the dining table like professionals who definitely didn't spend one reckless night forgetting every boundary we had. Ethan has the revised Harrington deck already projected on the TV, red annotations crisp and merciless. Andrew sits directly across from me, jaw tight, sleeves rolled like he's bracing for a fight. Liam drops into the chair beside mine, close enough that I feel the heat of his arm without it actually touching.

Nobody says anything for a moment. The hum of the projector fills the silence.

Ethan doesn't waste time. “Connor sent updates overnight. We need alignment before Friday's dinner. Partnership messaging, rezoning timeline, family-values optics. Riley, you're still the anchor on the personal side.”

I keep my voice even. “Got it. Supportive sister, proud of her brother's vision, happy to be here. Light touch.”

Liam leans back, that dangerous grin already forming. “Light touch. Sure. Just don't smile at Harrington the way you smiled at us the other night. Man might propose on the spot.”

Heat flashes up my neck. “I'll try to contain my devastating charm. Wouldn't want to ruin the deal because I accidentally looked approachable.”

Liam taps his pen against the table. “Good plan. Harrington strikes me as the type who'd accidentally fall in love with you and forget to sign the contract.”

Andrew doesn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth shifts like he's trying not to.

Ethan doesn't look up from the screen. “Focus.”

“I'm focusing,” Liam says. “On risk mitigation.”

Andrew's pen stops moving. His eyes lift to mine, dark and unreadable. “We need to be consistent on the Eastside timeline. If they push on delays—”

“They won't,” Ethan cuts in smoothly, “if we don't give them an opening. Stick to the script. No deviations.” His gaze flicks to me, then to Andrew, then back to the screen. “Especially on anything that could be construed as personal.”

I stare at the center of the table. The projector hums.

I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Relax, Ethan. I'm not planning to stand up and announce we all had a very thorough team-building exercise last week.”

Liam laughs under his breath, quick and dry. “Team-building. That's polite.”

Andrew exhales through his nose. “We agreed it was a mistake,” he says, voice stripped down to something flat and gentle. “Let's act like adults who can keep a promise.”

I hear Liam set down his pen.

I meet his eyes across the table. “Then maybe stop looking at me like you're still tasting me, Andrew.”

Liam whistles softly. “Jesus, Riley.”

“Too much?” I ask.

“Not enough,” he mutters.