Chapter 8 Bro-gramming Session #2
My team is already scattered throughout the space, looking remarkably comfortable in their borrowed formalwear.
Kenji gives me a thumbs up from where he's setting up what looks like camera equipment but is actually our primary router.
"Luke!"
I turn to find Sage bearing down on me, now wearing a simple black dress that makes her look dangerously professional. "The ceremony's starting. You need to sit."
"I need to supervise—"
"You need to blend." She grabs my arm again, steering me toward a chair. "Smile. Look happy. Pretend you believe in love."
I snort. “What makes you think I don’t believe in love?”
"Really?" She stops, looking up at me with those green eyes. “Have you seen your face when you noticed the tulle? Be honest. When's the last time you were in love?"
The question hits like a sucker punch.
Veronica's face flashes through my mind—not the woman who betrayed me, but the one I married.
The one I thought I knew.
Before everything went to shit.
"That's what I thought," Sage says softly, then shakes her head. "Sorry. That was... just sit. Please. I need to go make sure the goat doesn't escape."
"The goat?"
"Buttercup's the ring bearer." She says this like it's perfectly normal. "The bride thought it would be 'rustic charm.'"
She disappears before I can process this information, leaving me in a sea of strangers while wearing an uncomfortable tuxedo and pretending to care about someone's nuptials.
"You must be Lucas!"
I turn to find a woman approximately my grandmother's age beaming at me with the intensity of a lighthouse. "I'm Aunt Meredith. Sage told me all about you."
"She did?"
"Oh yes. Said you're in computers?" She leans in conspiratorially. "My grandson's in computers too. Makes those video games where people shoot things. Very lucrative."
"That's... nice."
"You know, I always thought Sage needed a man with stability. After that whole Derek situation." She shakes her head. "Terrible business. Running off with that young thing. But you seem much more reliable."
I open my mouth to correct her assumption about Sage and me, but the music starts and everyone turns toward the back of the room.
The next hour passes in a blur of vows, readings, and Buttercup the goat somehow managing to eat half the ring pillow before anyone notices.
I catch glimpses of my team working around the edges—Kenji behind the "DJ booth," two others "adjusting lighting" while actually installing sensors.
Sage flits around like a hummingbird on espresso, managing crises with the kind of efficiency that would make Fortune 500 CEOs weep.
She prevents the groom's mother from making an inappropriate toast, redirects a lost flower girl, and somehow produces a replacement ring pillow from thin air.
"She's something, isn't she?"
I look over to find an elderly woman sitting beside me, wearing what appears to be an entire jewelry store.
"I'm sorry?"
"Sage." She nods toward where Sage is now helping bustle the bride's train. "Girl never stops moving. Been that way since her grandmother passed."
"You knew her grandmother?"
"Rose? Everyone knew Rose. Built that inn from nothing, she did. Sage is trying so hard to save it." The woman sighs. "Too proud to ask for help, though. Just like her grandmother."
Before I can respond, the ceremony ends and chaos erupts. Guests flow toward the reception area, and I spot my opening.
"Kenji," I murmur into my earpiece. "Status?"
"Main routers are in. We can start the server installation once they move outside for cocktails."
"Roger that."
I'm making my way toward the back office when a hand lands on my shoulder.
"Lucas! There you are!" It's the groom's mother, and she's listing slightly to starboard. "I need a dance partner!"
"I don't—"
"Nonsense! Everyone dances at weddings!" She's already dragging me toward where a small dance floor has been set up. "You're Sage's boyfriend, right? So handsome!"
"We're not—"
But the music starts, and I'm trapped in the world's most awkward slow dance with a woman who smells like champagne and keeps trying to lead.
Over her shoulder, I see Sage watching from the doorway. She's trying not to laugh, I can tell, but her shoulders are shaking with the effort.
'Help me,' I mouth.
She shakes her head, grinning now.
'Please,' I try again.
She considers for a moment, then crosses the room with purpose.
"Mrs. Johnson! The photographer needs you for family photos!"
"Oh!" Mrs. Johnson releases me, patting my cheek with more force than necessary. "We'll continue this later, handsome."
She weaves away, and I turn to Sage. "Thank you."
"You looked terrified." She's definitely laughing now. "Big bad tech CEO, brought down by a tipsy mother-of-the-groom."
"She kept trying to dip me."
"I noticed." She glances around, then lowers her voice. "Your team's doing great, by the way. Very stealthy."
"We're professionals."
"Professional wedding crashers, maybe." She straightens my bow tie, which has gone askew during the dance. "You know, you're not bad at this whole pretending-to-be-human thing."
"I am human."
"Jury's still out." But she's smiling as she says it. "Come on, Boss Man. Let's get you some lasagna before the real guests eat it all."
She takes my hand—casually, like it doesn't set off a series of warning bells in my head—and leads me toward the buffet.
I tell myself this is still professional. That the flutter in my chest is just indigestion.
That the way she called me 'boss' with that particular smile doesn't mean anything.
But as she hands me a plate and starts explaining the proper lasagna-to-garlic-bread ratio, I have the sinking feeling that I'm in trouble.
The kind of trouble that has nothing to do with security systems and everything to do with a woman who thinks goats make appropriate ring bearers.
No, I tell myself firmly.
This is business. Just business.
Even if she does look exceptionally good in that dress.
Even if she did save me from Mrs. Johnson.
Even if she keeps calling me 'boss' in a way that makes me want to be very unprofessional indeed.
Business, I repeat silently, like a mantra.
Just business.