Brayden
The hardwood floors creaked under my feet as I made my way toward the boardroom at BAM. I stopped by the main desk, smiling at Lynn.
“How’s it going?”
She smiled in return, handing me a stack of files. “Good. How was the workout?”
I groaned. “Uncle Aiden was in fine form. I swear he’s in better shape in his fifties than any of us are in our twenties.”
“Speak for yourself.” I was hip checked by a lanky brunette as she went by. “I can run circles around you, Brayden Riley.”
I chuckled. The ball of fire known as Ava to us all could bring any of us—her triplet brothers included—to their knees. Aiden, her father, made sure she was as tough as her brothers, if not tougher, physically. She was feisty, strong, and one of the best people I knew. I adored her.
I rolled my shoulders, and Lynn grinned, handing me some Tylenol and a bottle of water. “You’re gonna need this.”
“Yeah, my body took a beating.”
“So will your head this afternoon. The agenda’s been added to.”
I swallowed the pills. “Oh god. She didn’t. Another ‘vision’?”
Lynn smirked. “Like father, like daughter. They’re both on a roll.”
“God help me.”
“Go defend your budgets.”
I laughed and gathered up the files, heading to the conference room.
At the end of the table, the Callaghan triplets—Ronan, Paul, and Jeremy—were poring over a set of blueprints. Large cups of coffee were in their massive paws. An empty plate scattered with the crumbs of what I assumed were Danishes sat on the large wooden table. They looked up as I walked in, their faces breaking into large grins. They looked like Aiden, except none of them had his different-colored eyes. They were tall, muscular, with dark curly hair and their mother’s green eyes. That seemed to be the only thing they had inherited from Cami. They were big, loud, with boisterous voices and booming laughs.
And all brilliant in architecture and design. A huge asset to the company. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be here. Family or not.
A figure rushed past, and the scent of coffee hit me. I grinned at the woman who settled into the chair beside mine, her laptop open, her hands already busy as she waited for the meeting to start.
“Heather VanRyan, is that any way to say hello?”
She glanced up, a small frown on her face. I tried not to laugh at the smudges of color on her cheeks, no doubt from the many felt pens she was always using.
“Hey, Bray.” She looked back to her laptop. “I had an idea for a mural in the lobby of the new condo tower. Gotta get it out.”
I flicked her hair. “Wasn’t your hair hot pink on the weekend?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was told cornflower blue suited my eyes.”
Reed Morrison peered over the edge of the two laptops in front of him. “It does. Totally hot, babe.”
“Not at the office, Reed. Keep it in your pants.”
He chuckled, going back to his screen.
“Not what you said last night.”
I tried not to laugh at the two of them. Heather and Reed loved to spar. It was their thing. It drove Gracie VanRyan, Heather’s sister, crazy. She was the quiet one, suited to her chosen profession of the law. Unflappable and intelligent, she looked like her mother, with dark hair and blue eyes, while Heather had inherited her father’s hazel eyes, the color shifting according to her mood.
Gracie attended the University of Toronto, finishing her degree in corporate law. She planned to come to work at ABC full time once she had completed her internship. Richard often bemoaned that both his eldest daughters were here in Toronto and not in BC, but everyone knew he was pleased for them to be working with us.
Their parents, especially Richard, visited often to check on “his girls” and spend time with my dad. The two of them were the best of friends.
I grabbed a cinnamon bun and bit into it, then poured some black coffee from the carafe, sipping with appreciation. I settled into my seat, wondering what the latest addition would be to the lineup.
I took my laptop from my bag, purposely dropping the empty satchel on the floor beside me.
The distinct sound of stilettos approaching made me smile. The steps were measured, a steady rhythm to the sharp snaps of the heels against wood. The firm steps belonged to someone larger-than-life, whose presence commanded respect.
The person who entered the room did command respect, but not for her tall stature. The golden-haired woman was tiny, her bright hair gleaming in the light. Intense blue eyes swept through the room, in control. She radiated poise. Power. The stern expression on her face suggested an unbending will and lack of humor. She appeared rigid. Unfeeling.
Looks could be deceiving.
A large travel mug landed on the table beside me. An amused voice, low and husky, spoke close to my ear.