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“Then you go whip him and hang with his out-of-town buds. That won’t get messy.”

I leaned back and stretched my legs. “Nope. They’ll get too over-excited by meeting an all-female crew. It’ll be embarrassing. For them, not us.”

“They think we don’t know one end of a screwdriver from the other.”

“Eddie had a different screw in mind when he invited us to join.”

Tambi snorted her thoughts on that concept, her gaze on the contract, squinting at a line of text.

Darius arrived with a tray, huge mugs of hot chocolate piled with cream and marshmallows already melting, tequila shots riding on the side. “Good evening, ladies. Looking gorgeous as ever.”

“Just serve the drinks,” Tambi muttered.

Darius’s grin widened. “Naturally. Cass, I adore you, but if you get any of that ship resin on my leather, you’re paying to have it cleaned, baby girl.”

I tucked my hands under my armpits. “I may not look it, but I’m so clean I squeak.”

He winked at me. “You smell divine, honey bun. Like rotting apples.”

“That’s... gross.”

“Good rot. New perfume?” He set down our drinks. Four of each, since we always came as a pack.

“Same old stink,” I said.

“Perfect stink. Will the others be joining for dinner or just boozy times?”

“They should be off the clock by now.” Tambi arched an eyebrow at me. “Where are they? You know my thoughts on overtime.”

“Overtime is time spent dying in a job and not living a fucking beautiful life.” I grinned at her. “Doc is running the final med checks on the Solath retrofit that’s about to go out. It’s a motherfucker of a ship to take apart, and she was swearing at a pile of glowing cabling last time I checked in. Monica was burning off steam in the gym.”

Darius flipped his notepad. “Specials are southern fried chicken or hot wings. Sides are the usual greens in sautéed butter, regular fries, sweet potato cayenne fries, and rice or bread.”

“Two of each main. Also, sweet potato fries, regular fries, and throw some greens on there so I can cancel out the fried,” Tambi said. “And leave the whipped cream.”

“What makes you think I’m carrying?” Darius tucked his notepad away, a perfectly groomed and dyed eyebrow shifting up.

“That bulge in your pocket isn’t because Eddie took a shower this evening before rolling in here,” I said.

“Ha! It would take more than Eddie showering to make him my type. But you know me so well, dollface.” He placed the can on the table, winked again, and strode off.

“Look at this.” Tambi turned her laptop around.

I read the number at the top and whistled low. “They misplace a decimal when putting the budget together?”

“That’s not a typo. I checked with the owner.” Tambi stole the mug with the most cream and slurped it off the top. “Two point six million. For one ship. However long it takes to fix whatever’s wrong with it. We get her going smooth and the captain bonded to her, and that amount is ours.”

“What did I miss?” Doc, Laney Osei, but we all called her Doc, dropped into the seat beside me, stealing the second mug of hot chocolate and a shot of tequila.

She still had a bandage taped over one forearm from a yard incident with an out-of-control jackhammer, and she smelled like antiseptic and luxury coffee in a way that somehow worked. Her short hair was currently as red as the lowering sun, her nose covered in cute freckles.

“We ordered,” I said.

“Good. I’m about to chew my arm off.” She lifted her chin toward the laptop. “What’s the new job that’s got Tambi drooling like a teenage boy about to get his first blowjob?”

“Take a peek,” Tambi said. “It’ll give you a hard-on too.”

Doc read the details and smacked her lips together like she’d tasted the finest red wine straight from an Italian vineyard. “Holy potato. What’s the ship?”