“Stella. Please,” Jewel said. “Control yourself.”

“Why?” Stella laughed.

“Because we have a schedule to keep and you’re very distracting,” Jewel said. “I want you all to meet someone. Player six?”

“Francis.” He walked in from the door directly behind Jewel, taking the empty chair on her right. “My name is Francis. Not player six.”

Nicole had an unparalleled skill for first impressions, and there were a lot of buts about him. His eyes, large and dark brown, were almost too big for his face, but somehow suited him. He had tanned skin and features that made her think he could’ve been Black, but probably wasn’t. His thick but wiry black hair had been cut short on the sides and curled loosely on the top of his head. Their voices had a similar rasp, but his had a deeper tone and a harsher edge than hers.

“Do you use Golden Rule?” Luna asked. “Your profile wasn’t on the home page with ours.”

“Nope,” he said.

“I asked Francis to join the game as a favor,” Jewel said. “We’re friends.”

“We’re not.”

Luna exchanged a look with Alex, who then asked Francis, “So if you don’t use Golden Rule and you’re not friends, then how do you two know each other?”

“Ethan,” Francis said, clearly eyeing Jewel. “No story. Just him.”

Cute, but probably an asshole.

“Yikes,” Harlow whispered.

“Fine.” Jewel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I tried to be nice, but since you’re dead set on being a pain in my ass, let’s move on. Who’s hungry?”

A small squad of staff in their stylized flight attendant uniforms filed in through the doorway directly behind Jewel with carts full of food. Their formation split into two—one for each side of the room—some wearing a pantsuit variant of the uniform.

Someone was saying something. Nicole heard the muffled tones of it, but the entirety of her being had hyperfocused on the creamy hollandaise sauce on the plate of eggs Benedict on the cart behind Stella.

Jewel had included a food survey with the GWX paperwork. The questions asked for food allergies, favorite dishes, and foods to avoid. It hadn’t occurred to Nicole that she could have asked for eggs Benedict.

She should’ve asked for eggs Benedict.

Hunger pains cut through her stomach. She’d been up since four and hadn’t eaten since before her flight. Ignoring hunger was a skill she’d mastered out of necessity, but it only worked for so long.

An arm reached around Nicole—she looked up, reading the name Prince before seeing his face. He placed a plate of the fluffiest french toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and raspberries, and the most perfect pieces of bacon she’d ever seen, in front of her. It looked so amazing it could have been in a commercial for a restaurant.

“Would you like syrup?” he asked softly.