❝It's not blood that runs through my veins, but vengeance.❞
Tatum Braddock wants to beat her sister at a decades-long search for fortune.
Nathan Drake wants to find his long-lost brother and complete the mission they've dreamed of since childhood...
TATE SMOOTHS THE front of her vest for the fiftieth time with a frown pulling down her lips. The maroon material is flat yet sturdy, stiff against her body since it's brand-new, and her black bowtie feels like it's choking her. She adjusts it again only to find it can't come any further away from her throat. Giving up, she sighs and lets her hands fall to her sides.
A knock raps on the door. "You done in there?"
"Yeah," Tate calls in reply to Sully. She gives herself a final glance in the mirror before exiting the small bathroom in the dressing area of his apartment.
Out in the main room, both men are dressed in elegant black suits pressed to perfection, with not a single wrinkle in sight. Sully's salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed while Nathan's is in its usual gelled style. They look handsome, surely able to fit in with the other guests who will be dressed to the nines. She, on the other hand...
"I look like a movie theater usher," she deadpans.
Tate stands with her arms flat at her sides, her expression blank. With her ironed black slacks, white, long-sleeved blouse, vest, and bowtie, she really does look ready to serve popcorn. Not even her hairdo helps. She'd relaxed her curls and slicked the locks into a tight knot at the back of her head. Her edges are neatly tamed against her temples to avoid frizz. She'd figured that her makeup should be simple yet nice, but not too elegant, so she'd kept the colors neutral while adding a wing of eyeliner and berry-tinted lipstick.
"You look like you'll blend right in," Sully assures her, handing over a name tag that reads Emily.
Tate gives him a look. "Really? You had to pick the most basic white bitch name ever?"
"Do you have to voice your opinion about everything?" he retorts. Then, he passes something to Nathan. "You asked for that."
"Thank you." Nathan slides what Tate recognizes to be metal cutters into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. Because men's pockets may as well fit the entire continent of Asia into them, there's no sign of the tool from the outside.
"And what's with the cat?"
He looks toward a nearby sofa, where Tate notices a beautiful ragdoll cat for the first time, laying in a bread loaf position on the velvet material. Its pale blue eyes observe the trio with a judgmental expression.
