We have weddings to plan. Projects that can’t stall, because her fiancé is always out of town. Winter wants to start some humanitarian organization, and I know Kai’s family has connections abroad who can help.

Not to mention Banks. We need everything nicely set up for my plans for her, and it’s past time to get started. I’ll need help getting her on board.

And keeping Kai out of my way about it.

And, of course, there’s Will.

“Pithom,” she says.

I meet her eyes, a smile spreading across my lips. Michael’s family’s yacht. Not a bad location. No need for locked doors, because there’s no escape at sea.

I nod.

Someone enters the room, and I look up to see Misha walk in, Winter holding onto the other girl’s arm.

“I need to talk to you,” he says to Rika.

She slides off the stool. “Right,” she says, like they had a conversation I interrupted when I showed up. “I’m sorry.”

I take Winter’s hand and guide her over to me, locking eyes for a moment with the chick who brought her in.

“Who is she?” I ask.

But Misha takes the woman’s arm and slides her behind him, out of my view.

I snort. “I just wanted to say hi,” I tease. “I mean, we’ll all run into each other a lot. She may as well get to know me.”

If his dad is dating Rika’s mother, and they possibly get married, we’ll all have to get really friendly.

Winter chimes in. “His bite is worse than his bark, but he only bites me,” she assures the new kids. “Don’t worry.” And then she arches up on her toes to kiss my jaw. “Get along, please.”

Misha’s snotty little glare rests on me, because he wouldn’t know a good time if it sat on his face. The girl is cute, though.

He finally turns his eyes to Rika. “When was the last time you heard from Will?”

My stomach coils at the mention. Will is rarely in touch these days, but he is adamant that he needs to do what he needs to do. I left him once, after all. If he could wait me out, I can do the same for him.

“He texts,” Rika answers.

“He texts you?”

“Well, his parents,” Rika replies. “They say he’s on a retreat. Doing humanitarian stuff in Asia.”

Misha shakes his head. “They’re lying.”

“How do you know?” I chime in.

“Because I know them,” he shoots back. “His mother nods a lot when she’s saying things that aren’t true.”

Rika looks at me. “Rehab?”

Possibly. They could be getting him sober and keeping it quiet.

But it’s Misha who responds. “They would tell us, because they know Will would anyway once he got out.”

“They might not want us looking for him, though,” Rika suggests.

“Well, I think we should,” Misha tells her.