Tristan was prepping snacks in the galley kitchen of the airplane because that’s what he’d seen airplane staff do. GetJets seemed to have stocked the plane with a week’s worth of food for four, presumably in case they crashed on a deserted island somewhere between New Jersey and France and it took a bit for the Coast Guard to find them.
Hell, a deserted island in the middle of the Atlantic might be safe from Mary Varvara Bell’s goons.
Probably not.
He continued warming the puff pastry-covered brie for the charcuterie plate.
A commotion, and Anjali slid to a halt at the entry to the galley, blinking rapidly with her eyebrows lifted. “What the hell?”
Colleen trudged up beside her with her hands crammed in her jeans pockets.
Anjali turned to Colleen and pointed at Tristan. “Him?”
“Yeah,” Colleen sighed.
“Tristan King is TwistyTrader, the King of the Killer Whales?” Anjali whirled and faced him, scowling. “Oh, I see it now. I see how you played us with the name and everything.” She spun back to Colleen. “Meeting him was a very bad idea and against forum rules. It was a very bad idea!”
She stomped away.
Colleen rolled her eyes and followed her friend.
Tristan checked on the brie, which was ready.
Charcuterie could probably smooth this over.
He grabbed another bottle of wine just in case brie and crackers weren’t enough to pacify Anjali.