A collective gasp echoes across the conference room.

Noah slams a fist on the table. “Those are fighting words.”

“Plus, look at the comments. The likes. Dear God, the likes.” Kingsley emits a long, tortured moan, like she’s Edward Munch’s The Scream and the complete and utter devastation of humanity has set in. She snaps her gaze away as if she can’t bear to look at the number. “But there’s more. It’s worse.”

Kingsley taps the screen one more time, displaying what I can only presume will be the pièce de résistance.

A Twitter post of a chocolate fountain spilling over at the chocolate show. And the words below it? Potato chips don’t make this kind of mess. Just sayin’.

She slams the laptop closed. “And the Twitterinos love it.”

Ginny scrunches her brow. “I don’t think Twitterinos is a thing.”

Kingsley waves a hand, four rings sparkling brightly as they catch the afternoon sun. “Twitteristas, Twitterati, Twitter-schmitter. Whatever. The point is, Frodo’s is eating our lunch. And laughing at us. And do you all know who runs Frodo’s?”

“Your sister runs Frodo’s,” Ginny answers.

“My older sister, Scarlett, who loves to needle me. So I did the only thing I could do.”

“Challenged her to a duel?” Noah asks.

“Poked her till she begged you to stop? That’s what I used to do to my little sister. My daughter tries it with me now, but I always beat her. I’m a champion poker,” Ginny suggests.

“That’s a good one, and I’ll consider it, along with photoshopping a vampire bat on her face and posting that on her LinkedIn profile.”

I fold my arms, groaning silently. Something’s coming. I don’t know what, but Kingsley can’t resist a crazy battle royale with her sister.

One year, she and Scarlett hosted a competitive costume party. The next year, it was a trivia matchup with prizes like movie vouchers and dinners at fancy restaurants, nights on the town and tickets to Broadway shows dangled in front of us.

Lulu looks to me with big, expectant eyes, asking silently, What is it?

“Wait for it,” I whisper.

Kingsley takes a deep breath. “This will be good for us. It’ll be a morale boost. It’ll strengthen our teams. It’ll bond us. It’ll help us roll out the most amazing line of craft chocolate. Better than last year. Better than we’ve ever been before. Let’s not forget, last year the Rising Star line outsold chips at many of our competitors. And I believe we can bring that same spirit to our rollout this year. Because this year . . .” She stops, sweeps her arms out wide like she’s about to launch us into the Hunger Games, and let’s hope she’s not sending us as tributes into the wilds of Manhattan.

I wait, poised on the edge of my seat.

Just because I let Tripp take the lead doesn’t mean I’m not competitive.

Just because I put my brothers first doesn’t mean I don’t care about winning.

I’m where I am today because I’m willing to go for it. Whatever Kingsley has for us, I’ll rise to the occasion. Hell, for the costume contest, Ginny and I competed in the Best Pun category and won as “Green with Envy.” She dressed head to toe in emerald, and I showed up as the letters N and V from Scrabble.

“This year, we are going to take on Frodo’s in a multi-day scavenger hunt. And I bet the Frodo’s CEO that we’d win.”

Lulu’s jaw drops, and she mouths, Is she for real?

I whisper, “We’ve done a few of these in the past. But don’t worry. It’s just for employees.”

Kingsley clears her throat once more. “And this year, since our focus is on teamwork, bonding, and introducing our brand-new partnership with a premiere craft chocolatier, it would be a great honor if Lulu would join us on a multi-day, team-building, bonding extravaganza starting next Wednesday morning.”

My spine straightens.

Shit. She’s going to feel obligated. She’s going to say yes. I should let her know I can help her get out of it if she wants. She’s only a contractor, after all.

But Lulu nods excitedly. “I was hoping you’d ask. I love riddles, and I killed it at hide-and-seek as a kid. I’d love to do a scavenger hunt.”

When the meeting ends and Kingsley’s photographer snaps a photo of Lulu, Kingsley, and me, Lulu’s arm wrapped around my waist, all I can think is after this weekend I’ll be in close quarters with Lulu for the next few days.

And I’m loving that and hating that at the same damn time.

Sort of like how I felt at Lulu’s wedding.

11LEO

Eight Years Ago

I sprawled across the lounge chair in our apartment in Hoboken, late at night. We were finished with cooking school, and I had scored my first corporate job, while Tripp had landed a gig as a sous-chef, and Lulu worked in an entry-level post with a boutique chocolatier.

“Another one. Give me another one,” Lulu demanded from her spot on the leather couch that Tripp’s dad had given him, another show-off gift. Her legs were draped over her soon-to-be-husband’s.

“You’re such a riddle junkie.” He nuzzled her hair, kissing the top of her head. My chest tightened, but I’d learned to live with the ache.

“I’m a junkie, and Leo feeds my fix. It’s that simple.” She stared at me, bug-eyed, wiggling her fingers. “Bring it on.”

I flipped to the next page in the book of riddles I’d bought for her, a pre-wedding gift I’d given her that night. Because I was a glutton for punishment. Because she was a bright, bold, daring person I couldn’t get enough of, even though I shouldn’t be taking any hits of her.

“I lose my head in the morning and gain it at night. What am I?” I looked up as Lulu took a sip of her freshly poured glass of wine, considering the riddle. I chuckled to myself as I read the answer silently.

Tripp scrunched his brow. “A snake? Is it a snake?”

Cracking up, I rolled my eyes. “Do snakes lose their heads? Does your answer even make sense?”

He scoffed. “I bet there’s some snake somewhere that loses its head. I’m sure if you looked in an encyclopedia of snakes, you’d find some weird-ass one that loses its head. Right, Lulu?”

She patted his thigh. “Tripp, I love you, baby, but you need to stop talking about snakes. I hate snakes. Even as an answer to a riddle. But it’s not the answer. And let’s hope there’s not an encyclopedia of snakes anywhere.”

“What’s the answer, then, Miss Smarty Pants?” His hands darted to her waist, and he tickled her ferociously, igniting a flurry of laughter.

It was the full-bodied kind of chuckle that seemed to move through her like a wave, from her shoulders to her belly to her legs. “A pillow, you goofball.”

He held up his hands in the air. “A pillow? A pillow loses its head in the morning?” He paused, then nodded. “Fine, it does. But, seriously. Who thinks of these things?”

“Let’s just be glad someone does. Give me another, Leo.”

“What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?”

Tripp cut in. “Did you get her a dirty book of riddles?”