Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(5)

After everyone left, including my dad, who slipped out the front door before we handed out the last check, I made my way back to Ben’s office.

In the calm silence, I fired off a group email to my three sisters and Hannah about the bar’s anniversary event, formally enlisting the help of Invitation Only. Since Kiki was the artistic one who’d actually been the drive behind Loading Zone’s industrial-grunge vibe, I asked her to create and send out the invitations. I outlined all the details we’d just discussed at the bar’s employee meeting and suggested to Hannah to use them as inspiration for the cake.

After I sent it, I smiled, wondering what Hannah was doing. Probably icing a batch of cupcakes. I imagined her with colored flecks of frosting on her arms and that ruffled apron over her tiny T-shirt and short shorts. I took a deep breath, clearing my head. If I didn’t concentrate on something other than Hannah, I’d never get anything else done. I’d race over to her shop, kidnap her away from work, and we’d dive back into her bed. And then neither would she.

I scanned through the several dozen emails in my inbox that had come in since Friday and began replying to them from the top down. A handful were late congratulations to me on my recent graduation from the Wharton MBA program. A couple were from Kristen related to early event bookings in the fall. And the alcohol distributor we used for both the bar and for scheduled Invitation Only events had sent us order confirmations.

Then I reached an email that had been sent four hours ago from another key vendor regarding a high school graduation party scheduled for next week.

“What the f*ck?”

Confused as hell, I read it through again. It talked about the forfeiting of our substantial deposit. I grabbed my phone. I sure as shit wasn’t about to email a reply on such an urgent matter.

He picked up on the third ring. “John. I just read your email and have no idea what you’re talking about. We didn’t cancel.”

A sigh on the other end. “I thought it was strange. You’ve never canceled before.”

“Well, I know I didn’t call you. And I was the one that placed the order. What made you think we’d canceled?”

“One of your sisters called first thing this morning.”

I shook my head. No way in hell. Unless one of them had an aneurism, we didn’t operate on our own. Group decisions were made. Tasks were delegated and carried out. End of story.

“Which sister?”

“I’m not sure. Kristen I think.”

I put him on speaker while I fired off a text to Kristen.



URGENT! Did you cancel tent and furniture rental for next week?



Focusing on damage control, I pinched the bridge of my nose and prayed things hadn’t gotten royally f*cked up. “John, is the order still available?”

Kristen’s text alerted through.



No! That’s what my voicemail was about.



John replied, “Yeah, I haven’t done anything yet.”

I exhaled sharply, remembering Kristen’s indecipherable message. Now her anger threaded through it made sense—we Michaelsons had a touch of Irish fire flowing through our veins.

“Good,” I replied to John. “Book it again. And don’t change a thing unless you hear directly from me. I don’t know what the f*ck is going on, but that wasn’t us who called you.”

“Okay, man. Great to hear.”

Yeah. Because pissing off a vendor at the last minute didn’t lose only a huge deposit—it threatened our reputation with a reliable supplier.

Kristen texted me again.



We good?



I took another deep breath, trying to calm the f*ck down, and typed a reply.



Yeah. Crisis averted.



But had it been? I didn’t believe in coincidence, which is how other people might explain Madison popping into the picture on the same day we got anonymously f*cked with. Growing up together, I’d witnessed rare moments of her manipulation. Never thought I’d be at the receiving end of it. But a stunt like this had her MO written all over it and was typically her weird way of getting attention.

Initially, I hadn’t planned on responding to Madison. But now it was clear that avoiding her wasn’t the answer. Confronting her was.





3


The Benefits of Disclosure


Dinner that night was at my place, like it was every Monday. After a long afternoon of straightening out emails and starting on Loading Zone’s second-year business plan, I walked through the front door.

My mouth watered the moment I inhaled. “Oh my God. What is that?”

Hannah texted an hour ago to say she was heading over to make dinner and wanted it to be a surprise instead of the usual, where I played kitchen assistant to her chef. I dropped the keys to my bike in the front entry bowl and followed the scent.

When I stepped into the kitchen, she glanced up from the stove. A smile lit up her face. “How do you feel about bacon bison barbeque burgers?”

I grinned, walking over to her before wrapping my arms around her. “Like I just fell in love with food without ever tasting it.”

She leaned up and gave me a soft kiss. “Grab a plate. Mase was just about—”

“—to steal all the damned burgers for himself.” My roommate walked in as he interrupted her. “Jesus Christ, Hannah. Are you trying to ruin us for all other food?”