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POISON THE POTATO SALAD
Mikayla
“Where are you?” Julissa’s voice, typically melodic and steady, was now shrill enough to make a car alarm flinch.
“I’ll be there in ten,” I assured my cousin as I merged to the middle lane on the coastal highway with a single-mindedness that would impress a Formula One driver. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” She chirped a little too brightly, revealing something was definitely wrong.
“Jules?”
“Everything's great. The ranch is gorgeous, the weather's perfect, and I haven't murdered anyone. Yet.”
“Always a promising start to a wedding weekend.”
“Just text me when you get here, okay? I need to talk to you.”
“About?” I prompted.
“Nothing. It's not a big deal.”
Julissa was a terrible liar. Always had been. When we were kids, she'd confessed to breaking my mother's favorite vase before anyone realized it was missing.
“Is Rob okay?” I questioned, hoping the groom hadn’t done anything stupid.
“Yes.”
“Your mom?” My Auntie Cherise could be a handful.
“Fine.”
“The wedding?”
“Still happening.”
“Then what—”
“Love you! Drive safe!”
The call disconnected, leaving me with a sick feeling of dread in my stomach, but there was nothing I could do about it in the car. I’d find out soon enough. Her abrupt end to the call left me with zero doubt that whatever had combusted at Lockhart Ranch was of the nuclear variety.
My cousin wasn’t a bridezilla, not even a drama queen. She was the emotional thermostat in our family: never too hot, never too cold, always sensibly regulated. If she was panicking, something had gone spectacularly wrong. And since I'd spent the better part of a year helping her plan this wedding, spectacularly wrong was not on my approved itinerary.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
I could handle a crisis. Handling crises was practically my job description.
As CEO of St. Claire Global, I oversaw three divisions—hotels, vineyards, and an airline—which meant that on any given day, something somewhere was on fire.
Sometimes literally.
I'd spent the last two years dragging the company toward the twenty-first century, implementing sustainability initiatives, expanded parental leave, childcare benefits, tuition assistance, and flexible work schedules.
I'd even introduced four-day workweeks in departments where they made sense. You would've thought I'd suggested sacrificing shareholders to the gods of socialism. The board had nearly stroked out.
But the changes were working. Employee retention was up. Productivity had improved. Profits were strong.
