The penthouse was alive with laughter and the clink of glasses when Nala and I stepped through the door. The late-afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the open-plan living room in warm gold. The city skyline glittered beyond. The air smelled of vanilla and fresh-baked cake—Jasmine's doing, no doubt. It had to be. She really was a good cook.
Jasmine, Kim, and Tessa were already at the dining table, a massive slab of black marble that could seat twelve. A three-tiered chocolate cake sat in the center, frosted with glossy ganache, topped with edible gold flakes and a single sparkler fizzing away. The girls spotted us and erupted.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Jasmine led, her grin wide, hands high. Kim and Tessa joined in, whooping like we'd just won the Super Bowl.
"CEO Nolin in the house!" Kim shouted, pumping a fist.
Tessa stood on her chair, mock-bowing. "All hail the queen!"
