She ran her fingers through her blond hair, laughing at something Cole said as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“Mara,” Brooke called out in a bright, cheery voice as she pushed open the patio door.

“We brought the updated press releases for the birthday gala.”

“The invitations went out this morning,” I said, staying by the door frame.

“Oh, these aren’t for the guests,” Brooke said, putting the heavy ledger bag down on the wooden terrace table.

“These are for the commercial trade journals.”

She took a thick navy folder out of the top pocket of Cole’s bag.