Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
I don’t have to fake this happiness because I love my sister so much. I channel that joy into a wide smile I wear like it’s my number one fashion accessory because fuck you, Brady. You don’t deserve to see me sad.
Moments later, Charlotte rejoins Leo at the head of the table, and this time, she whispers something to him. His smile is pure delight. He clinks a fork against a glass to get everyone’s attention, and then Charlotte clasps her hands. “We don’t want to wait to get married,” the bride declares. “We want to have a Christmas Eve wedding at Wilder’s cabins. And we want all of you to be there. It’ll be a big destination wedding, and in the days leading up to it, we can bring our families together for the annual Christmas games.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brady catching Iris’s gaze and mouthing, Want to be my date?
And if I’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong.
4
SUIT NUMBER ONE
Wilder
“Do you have everything?”
Mac cuts me a did you really ask me that look in the sleek foyer as she hoists her backpack onto her shoulders. “Dad, I think the question is—do you have everything?”
I gaze up at the minimalist chandelier hanging from the ceiling of my home in Cow Hollow. It’s hardly minimalist anymore. Mac insisted on decorating it with icicle lights. “The sass. Dear god, the sass from you, Mackenzie Elizabeth Blaine.”
“Well. Do you?” my daughter asks again, her hands parked on her hips. “You have a meeting this morning with your designer. Did you remember to review the five tips for talking to creatives that I sent you the other night?”
A cackle echoes from the nearby kitchen. It carries, reverberating across the sunken living room, to where we’re standing. “I wonder where she gets it from,” Bibi calls out.
“You, Bibi. You,” I say to her, then return my focus to Mac. She has her holiday recital rehearsal with her mom, so I need to get her to the Abernathy School even earlier than usual. “Bibi’s driver is waiting.”
I nod to the door. But my daughter is undeterred from her goal. “Dad. Did you read it? It’s really important that you interact with all your employees with an open mind about what they do. That’s why I sent it to you. But you can read it in the car too,” she says, then nibbles on her lip as she taps on her phone, presumably hunting for the list of tips.
Before I can even tell her that I read it mere seconds after she sent it, she brightens. “Oh, here it is!” She swivels her screen my way.
There’s a list on it so I read it out loud. “One: new instant camera. Two: that Pegasus series with the sprayed edges. Three: a secret door?”
Oh, I know what this is. And when I look up with an arched brow, Mac oh-so innocently says, “My bad. That’s my Christmas list. But I’ll send it to you so you can review it later anyway.”
“I’ll give it my full attention. What kind of secret door do you have in mind, Mac?”
She waves a hand airily. “Oh, any kind, really. Something that’s a portal to another dimension or leads to a secret room. I’m not picky in the secret door department,” she says, like the variety of secret doors is akin to picking Cosmic Crisp or Gala apples at the grocery store. “Anyway, did you read the list for your meeting?”
“Of course. It was helpful,” I say. I would never not read something my daughter sent to me. Also, I am familiar with how to run a damn corporation. I’ve done it for nearly two decades and have the track record to prove I’m good at it. No, make that excellent, especially these last couple years as I’ve expanded Blaine Enterprises into new business areas. And yet, my own daughter is not convinced.
“Good. Because the world is changing, Dad. You have to make sure you meet people where they are.” Mac is intensely serious as she doles out advice. “Don’t point out mistakes. Welcome…opportunities. Don’t laugh at them. Laugh with them.”
“Someone has Future Director of HR written all over her.” Bibi emerges from the pristine kitchen, her low heels clicking across the tiled floor. She has a dark red Santa hat with silver snowflakes perched atop her head and her travel mug in her hand.
“More like future boss of me,” I mutter.
Bibi smiles at Mac and hands her a small pencil bag shaped like a long cat. “But as someone reminding her dad to take things to work, it seems you forgot your colored pens.”
“Oops,” Mac says, a little chagrined as she takes them and stuffs them into her backpack.
“Do you have everything you need for this morning’s dress rehearsal?” I’m pretty sure she missed something when I asked her the same question earlier.