“You could’ve just emailed, you know. Or sent a smoke signal. Or—gosh—trained a pigeon.”

I walk into his office, swinging Blue’s diaper bag onto the nearest chair. Reo doesn’t even look up from his desk. His fingers hang over a tablet, and his brow is furrowed like the screen personally offended him.

“You’re late,” he mutters.

“No, you’re early,” I counter as I unzip the bag and pull out Blue’s squishy lion toy. “And you’re brooding. Again. How exciting.”

He sighs. “O’Neal, please—”

I raise a brow, already moving toward the table stacked with gala notes. “Nope. Don’t ‘O’Neal’ me today. I brought Blue like you asked. I even wore...