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“No problem at all, Myles.”
“No, Gabe—fuck.” There’s a rustling over the line as Myla pulls her phone out and unmutes the group call. “I didn’t get the badge.”
August spins on the spot. On the other side of the crowd is Gabe, headed for the door.
“Fuck it, I’ll get it,” August says into her phone, and she snatches up the nearest bowl of batter and plows straight toward him.
In the crush of bodies, it’s easy to play the last few steps into a stumble—right into Gabe’s chest, pancake batter splattering everywhere, up his neck and into his hair, soaking his Members Only jacket.
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry!” August shouts over the crowd. Gabe holds his hands out in shock, and she pulls a towel from her apron and start sopping up the batter. “I’m a disaster, oh my God.”
“This jacket is vintage,” he hisses.
And that’s all it takes—concern over his stupid jacket—for him not to notice when she slides her hand under the towel and unclips the badge from his lanyard.
“I’m so sorry,” August repeats. She slides the card into her back pocket. “I—I can give you my Venmo and you can charge me for the dry cleaning.”
He sighs heavily. “Don’t worry about it.”
He storms away and August waves apologetically after him, then leans back into the phone in her front pocket. “Got it.”
“That’s my girl,” Jane replies.
“Oh, thank God,” comes Myla’s voice. “I thought I was gonna have to vape some lamb vindaloo.”
“No crimes against nature tonight,” August says. “Except for the big one, I guess. Meet me in the bathroom, Niko?”
“Be there with bells on.”
“Okay, Jane,” August says. “I’m gonna end the call, but I should be there in ten. Just—just stay where you are.”
“I think I can manage,” Jane says, and August disconnects.
She passes the ID to Niko, and he gives her a vague salute and heads off. He’ll meet Myla near the control room once everyone is in place. Just one more step—setting up the diversion.
“You ready?” August asks Wes, sidling up beside him at the trash can.
He smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Ready to commit arson at a loud party? This is what I was born to do.”
“Okay,” August says, untying her apron. “I’ll give you the signal when we get over the bridge. I’m gonna—”
“Where have you been?” says Lucie’s voice from behind her. Fuck. She sounds like she’s about to start spitting curses in Czech. August spins around to find her glaring, a bottle of maple syrup clutched in her hand like a grenade. “These people. Nightmare. I need help.”
“I—” How the fuck is she going to get out of this? “I’m sorry, I—”
“She had the most genius idea,” says another familiar voice, and there’s Annie Depressant herself, bewigged and costumed, a stack of stuffed pancakes balanced atop her head. “I’m gonna take over for her.” She points to the tip jar. “I can double that in fifteen minutes.”
Lucie looks between Annie and August, eyes narrowed. August tries to look like she’s in on it.
“Fine,” Lucie says. “We try for half an hour.” She jabs August’s shoulder with one of her pointy acrylics. “Then you are back on shift.”
“Sure, no problem,” August says. Lucie stalks off, and August whips back to Annie, who’s casually buffing her nails on her fake tits. “How did you—”
“You think I’m stupid?” she says. “Like it’s not obvious to anyone who knows y’all that something’s going on. Look at Wes. He’s sweating like a fucking hard cheese on the A train. I don’t need to know what you’re doing, but, you know, I can help.”
Wes stares at Annie for a full five seconds, and says, “Oh Jesus Christ, I’m in love with you.”
Annie blinks. “Can you say that without looking like you’re gonna throw up?”
