Page 51 of Stealing Blinds

Zara: Well, fuck.

Tessa: Goner.

Mercy: Feline.

Ryker: Impeccable timing, baby, lol.

Jax: You’d better buy stock in gray joggers. That’s the secret to aloofness, right?

I might have claimed that once.

Me: I’m so aloof, my gray joggers feel snubbed.

Axel: So, we treat her as …

Maddox: Seriously, the ambiguity is going to break the Venn diagram.

Jax: Can you ask Sylvie to send us her version of events?

Mercy: People rarely relay the same story.

Maddox: Truth. Maybe Sylvie was pissed about your dick showing up, but happy to see the ocean because she was melting in the sun, where the friend zone was.

Jax: All the same elements. That’s fucking confusing.

A laugh spills out of me, but half the fun of razzing someone is working them up, so I’ll let them have this, even though I know they’ll make Sylvie feel like a queen.

Me: I hate you all right now.

“Is that your family?” Sylvie side-eyes my phone as the plane rolls to a stop, a hint of nervousness in her tone.

She slept most of the flight and messed with her phone the rest of the time. Between the beach this morning, the stress from fighting with her mom, and the packing, she’s completely wiped out. And yet as stunning as ever. Wide-leg black pants with a belt on the high waist, sporty white sneakers, and a short-sleeved maroon top that looks so good against her dark hair.

I really am a fucking feline.

“Yep.” I tuck my phone into my inner suit jacket pocket, eager to show her the resort. “They’re excited to see you again. Probably rolling out the red carpet.”

“That makes sense.” She scrunches her lips and widens her eyes. “They did accompany you to stalk me, so celebrating your capture aligns.”

“I can’t really defend that.” I tilt my head in concession and turn it back on her. “You know how these things go. They tend to run in the family.”

My car service picks us up at the private airfield and drops us off at La Lune Noire in the owners’ parking garage. I’m surprised but grateful that my family doesn’t bombard us when we arrive. The staff handles the luggage, and I weave my fingers with Sylvie’s to tow her toward the owner entrance.

She scoffs—it’s laced with humor, but still a scoff—so I peer over my shoulder to catch her eyeing our connection.

“Christ, Palmer. Take a breath. I’m holding your hand, not proposing.” I can’t discern whatever the hell kind of expression that provokes, so I tack on, “Or fingering you.”

She bursts out laughing and steals her hand back to feign embarrassment, but it’s really to keep her guard intact. “That would be an interesting way to meet La Lune Noire … I don’t know who I’m meeting right now, I guess. Members? Staff? Do I need to check in somewhere?”

“I told you we take care of our friends. We’re going straight to the penthouse.”

“The penthouse?” she parrots as I scan my iris to gain access to our personal elevator. “I’m staying with you?”

“With my family and me, like how I just stayed with you and your mom.” I glide my hand over the small of her back to nudge her inside when the doors slide open. “Zara and Mercy live there. Well, Mercy, Ryker, and their son, Remy, are there most of the time. They also have a country house. Jax, Axel, and Zara are always there though. And Tessa and Maddox have the apartment below ours, but it can be accessed from the penthouse, so …”

“I guess I pictured staying in my own suite.”

That’s not happening.