His fingers moved to fuss with the knot. “Thanks. It’s vintage. Givenchy.”
“Stop dressing better than me, Sam.”
That earned me a full-on grin. “That’s the ultimate compliment coming from a guy with a personal stylist.”
“A stylist who is currently annoyed with me.”
“Why is he annoyed?”
“Because I haven’t expressed an interest in anything from the spring lines.”
“Poor Nolan . . . facing the wrath of Jacques Andres.” His lips twitched. “He’ll probably put you in lime-green gingham to teach you a lesson.”
“Don’t even joke about that.” I shuddered. “So is there anything else?”
Sam fiddled with his tie again. “Yes. It’s about your Lund Cares Community Outreach project. Have you come up with an idea yet?”
I fought a groan for many reasons, the biggest one being that my mother—one of the three Lund matriarchs—had asked me this exact same question yesterday at brunch. “Who called to get you to nag me about this?”
“Your aunt Priscilla. First thing this morning. Fair warning, boss. She said if you don’t have a solid plan delivered to the LCCO office by tomorrow, she’s setting up a bachelor auction for next month.”
Fair warning, my ass. That was straight-up a threat. I had half a mind to tell her to go ahead and do it. See if she’d really force the last two single Lund men—including her son Ash—into strutting our stuff for charity.
Sam held up his hand to silence my retort. “All joking aside, sir, a bachelor auction might’ve been all the rage in the 1990s, but now it’d be seen as LCCO being woefully out of touch.”
“As I’m aware, Sam.”
“Which is why I have a new idea. If you’re interested in hearing it.”
“Of course I am.” I gestured to his fingers, still messing with his tie. “Stop fussing. I’m not that goddamn scary to bounce ideas off of.”
He smiled. “True. But my idea for your project is a bit unconventional and maybe controversial.”
“Hit me with it.”
“An event for LGBTQ youth. It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a fund-raiser, but more along the lines of a mixer for LGBTQ kids from various schools in the Twin Cities.”
That immediately piqued my interest. “What age group are you thinking?”
“It’d be geared toward high school students.”
“Where would we hold the event? Would there be a group activity?”
“Jax’s bowling alley was the first place that popped into my head. The activity would be team bowling, with the teams of four drawn randomly to truly make it a mixer. We could kick around the idea of adding a speaker, but then the event becomes less normalized, if that makes sense.” He blew out a breath. “While attitudes toward LGBTQ kids have come a long way, this would be another avenue to show support.”
“Sam. That is a grand idea.” I grinned. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re saving me from being bachelor number two.”
“You really think so? I mean, I was worried you’d think I was creating a personal platform—”
“Which you are, but not in a bad way. This is how community outreach is supposed to work—funding great ideas, promoting them and getting involved.” I rubbed my hands together. “Turn on the answering service and come into my office so we can get this started.”
* * *
* * *
The last place I wanted to go at nine P.M. on a Monday was Lakeside, the ice rink Jax owned. But he’d left the paperwork for renting the bowling alley for my LCCO project on his desk and I needed physical proof to turn in tomorrow morning that I actually had an event lined up.
I timed it so I could briefly pop into Jax’s office, grab the envelope and go, since Margene, the rink manager, usually closed up on Mondays.
But Margene’s car wasn’t parked up front. Instead I saw Gabi’s Toyota Tundra.
Gabi—“the” Gabriella Welk, Olympic athlete, superstar women’s pro hockey player—who coached at Lakeside. The woman I’d (mistakenly) accused of having a crush on my brother, which turned out to be totally untrue, which made me look like a complete dick.
Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t Gabi’s favorite person. She called me Mr. Fancy Pants. If there weren’t students around, she’d slip up and call me dickhead.
I, in turn, called her by her full name—Gabriella. I knew it annoyed her, but hey, it was her name.
As I sat in my car, debating on whether to just go home and stop back in the morning, another vehicle zipped past me and parked near the front entrance. A guy jumped out and strode into the building.
Although I’d never officially met him, I recognized him as Gabriella’s boyfriend. His appearance would distract her, so while they played grab-ass or whatever, I’d sneak in, get what I needed and get out.
As soon as I walked in, I knew there’d be no quick grab and go. An angry voice echoed down the hallway, from her office, which I’d have to walk past to reach Jax’s office.
Her tone immediately put me on alert when she yelled, “Jesus. You scared the piss out of me.”
I could see his shadow, just inside the doorway. He said, “I need to talk to you.”
“And you think now is a good time? Dammit, Tyson. You can’t just show up where I work—”
“You’ve left me no choice but to track you down since you’re not returning my calls.”
“Because I’m busy.”
“It’s an excuse. Avoidance. Whatever. This can’t go on any longer.”
Not good. I didn’t want to listen in on what sounded like a serious conversation, but Gabriella was here alone with her pissed-off boyfriend and I wouldn’t let her fend for herself.
“Fine. Spit it out,” she retorted.
“I’m in love with your sister,” he blurted. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did.”
Silence.
“Say something,” Tyson demanded.
“If you and Dani are in love, why isn’t she here with you right now sharing the happy news?”
“Because she’s scared of you, Gabi.”
“She should be. How long have the two of you been sneaking around behind my back?”
“It’s not like that,” Tyson protested.