Page 2 of The B-Team

“Last time we did karaoke, you told me my singing was great.”

“I was drunk.” A commotion at the bottom of the basement stairs caught her attention, and she grinned. “The triplets have arrived. You know”—she cocked her head to one side—“they look a little like you.”

Now, that was just offensive. “They look nothing like me. I don’t have ginger hair.”

“The build, attitude, jawline…” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned to him. “They’ve even got your swagger. You guys could be related.”

Ryan studied the three young men who worked for Benson Security’s new American office. They were in their early twenties, all around six feet tall with rust-colored hair and broad shoulders, and they had thick Glaswegian accents.

“We’re nothing alike,” he said. “They’re gingernuts from Scotland, whereas I have brown hair and was born and bred right here.”

As he watched, the brothers argued over the breakfast buffet set up against the wall near the stairs.

“Where’s all the pastries?” one of them demanded, his voice rising above the noise in the room.

Ryan scoffed. “Amateurs. Should have come in early if they wanted the good stuff.”

“Oh yeah,” Elle mused, her eyes still on the brothers. “I see definite similarities.”

One of the triplets spotted Elle and whooped loudly. Unlike his more fashionable brothers, this one was dressed in something a Brazilian parrot might puke up after eating its way through a ton of Mardi Gras debris. He barreled across the room like a toddler who’d just learned to walk, bouncing off people and tables until he stopped in front of Elle.

He bowed low. “Queen of the Hackers, I offer my allegiance.”

“So,” Ryan drawled. “I’m guessing this is the hacker triplet.”

“Evan!” Elle gave the younger man a warm hug. “This is Ryan Granger.”

“Dude.” Evan’s eyes went wide. “You survived the Valentine Killer.”

“And a bullet to the head, but I’m not one to boast.”

The other two brothers sauntered up to join them. Unlike Evan, they didn’t trip over everyone in the room to get there.

“Harris MacDonald.” The one who looked like he’d just stepped from the pages ofGQheld out his hand. “And this is my brother Logan.” Dressed from top to toe in black, Logan looked like a carrot-topped cat burglar.

Ryan wiped powdered sugar off his palm onto his jeans before shaking hands.

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Everybody keeps saying that we remind them of you.” He seemed unimpressed by the comparison. Then he spotted the pastries and frowned. “Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

“She taught me that if you aren’t fast, you’re last.” Ryan helped himself to another Danish and took a massive bite.

Evan’s stomach rumbled loudly, and he practically drooled as he watched Ryan chew.

Elle laughed. “This is hilarious. The American team has their very own Ryans. Look”—she elbowed him—“there’s three of you!”

“Figures that it would takethreeof them to replaceoneof me. I amthatawesome.”

Three identical frowning faces glared at him.

As he flashed them a smug smile, a sharp whistle sounded from the front of the room. Heads turned to see Callum McKay, boss of the London team and one of Benson Security’s owning partners, scowling at everyone. He, too, had ginger hair, but it wasn’t as bright as the triplets’. Vaguely, Ryan wondered if orange hair became less luminous as you aged. He foresaw a deep dive into Callum’s childhood photos in his future to see how orange the younger version of him had been.

“Settle down,” Callum bellowed in his rough Scottish accent. “It’s time to get started. The sooner we begin, the sooner this will be over for all of us.”

“Nothing like a warm welcome to get you in the mood for a day of learning,” Harris muttered as the triplets left to find seats.

“They have so much to learn,” Ryan said, watching them go.

“Babies.” Elle flashed a motherly smile. “You should mentor them.”