“And a personal tackle by yours truly? The full Abby Burks experience?”

  I thought we were solid on a concert, but she’s pulling no punches, and I’m concerned that she might be backing out of the whole thing. Even with the promise of DJ Amalfo.

  “You don’t like Abby Burks, do you?” Jayme says, moving into the line of fire of the bullets Jazmyn is shooting at me with her eyes. I’m not sure what she’s getting that. Everything I’m getting is saying that Jazmyn is trying to stand in solidarity with her influencer sister. But I trust Jayme’s assessment. She’s either seeing something I don’t or her background research revealed something I missed.

  Jazmyn crosses her arms, glaring at Jayme. “She’s whatever.”

  “You’ve brought her up twice and our food isn’t even here yet. She got a lot of publicity at the cost of Americana Land and Carson Steen. But this festival is going to be big—every blog, Instagram, Twitch, Discord, even mainstream media—all with your name as the headliner. Potentially . . .” Jayme’s voice trails off as though she’s the one considering whether Jazmyn is worthy of leading this festival.

  Damn, that’s good. She’s a pro at turning the tables, especially when people think they’re running them.

  “Wait.” Jazmyn says sharply.

  Steve leans forward, his elbows on the table, putting himself between Jayme and Jazmyn. It’s like we’re all hungry hippos going after the same marble in the middle of the table—in and out, back and forth. “We want to do the concert. I’ll put that out there.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I ask Steve, “So, what do you want?”

  It’s just the right amount of take no shit Alpha to push Steve and Jazmyn into talking. For the rest of our meal, we talk through our visions for the festival, and though she denies it, I can see the excitement growing in Jazmyn’s eyes. She even makes a couple of suggestions that Jayme writes down in her leather notebook.

  By the time we finish our brunch, which is surprisingly good, the thread of an idea has grown, knitting into something greater. “We’ll share this with our project leads and make sure it’s all in place for the festival.”

  “Even the dancers?” Jazmyn says, her hands pressed together in a pleading move that doesn’t seem like her, but rather a much younger, sweeter, and more innocent version of her. In a surprise move I’m still reeling over, Jazmyn’s main request is that we fly in a group of kids who did the TikTok famous dance to her biggest song. They’re a dance troupe from an inner-city studio who’ve never had a chance to perform on a stage like this. And she wants them to get a VIP treatment park visit too.

  “I can’t make promises that they’ll be there yet, but I will contact them and see what I can do.”

  “I think that’s everything,” Steve says, a broad smile on his face. He knows as well as I do that this meeting will lead to big things for all of us. This festival is truly a win-win situation for Americana Land, me, Jazmyn, the other performers, and even the dancing kids. Though I’d bet Steve is happiest about the financial gains Jazmyn, and therefore he, will get from their percentage of profits.

  “I misjudged you,” Jazmyn says suddenly, garnering our attention. “My bad.”

  She’s looking me boldly in the eye, offering her ring-covered hand for a shake. “Uhm, thank you?” I stutter, confused at the semi-apology. But I shake her hand. “I hope to keep that up.”

  “Fuck knows, people judge the hell out of me. I get a kick out of it most of the time, you know? Even fuck around with them for shits and giggles. But you seem like an okay person, Carson. And not the type to enjoy being center stage. I bet this whole thing has had you clenching your tighty whities so hard that they’re nearly a butt plug at this point.” There’s a small delay of shock and then Jazmyn laughs heartily.

  “I’ll say that if I never see my name in the press again, I’d be completely fine with that,” I offer. “Not going to discuss my underwear situation, though.”

  “Jazmyn,” Steve says in warning. I bet he has a hell of a time keeping her wrangled in, but he seems to be managing okay with it. For now. I just hope he can keep her on target for the festival.

  As the waiter returns with the check, he sets down four small glasses of green liquid so bright it almost matches Jazmyn’s eyeliner.

  “What’s that? It looks like antifreeze,” I ask in slight disgust. My stomach’s already revolting at the idea of anything that color being edible.

  “Plant shots. Pureed seaweed, lemongrass, phytonutrients, B12, CBD, turmeric, maca, and basil. It helps with digestion.” Jazmyn picks hers up, holding it high. “Cheers, bitches.” And without clinking against anyone’s glass, she downs it in one go. “Ahh.”

  I blink, not believing what I’m seeing. “You did not just drink that,” I murmur.

  “It’s good for you, old man. Keeps the pipes clean. Definitely better than bourbon if that’s really what you drink,” she answers, showing that she was listening earlier. Plus, there’s a dare laced through her words.

  Steve picks his up, apparently used to these ground-up weed smoothies, and then Jayme does the same. They look at me, waiting, but I just look at Jazmyn in amused shock. “Did you just call me . . . old?” I ask, trying not to be offended.

  She shrugs.

  “Well, in that case,” I say, raising my glass. Feeling the pressure, I pick it up and take a sniff. It smells like . . . a freshly mowed lawn. Not exactly a scent that makes me think ‘yum.’

  “Chug, chug, chug,” Jazmyn chants, getting into it.

  Just do it, man. It can’t be that bad.

  Without warning, Jayme and Steve both turn it back on cue, leaving me the lone holdout.

  Jayme’s tongue slips out to lick her lip and then she smiles. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

  It gives me the courage I need, and I tilt my head back and pour the stuff down as quickly as I can.

  “Ugh! Ma gawd, thut’s aw-ful,” I gasp, smacking my lips to try and get my throat to open up again.

  Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I swallow thickly again, trying to lose the taste but no dice. Coughing deeply, I look over at Jazmyn, who’s giggling. “Not bad.”

  “Sir, are you okay? Do you need some seltzer, perhaps?” the waiter asks, popping up at my side out of nowhere. All I can see in my mind is something out of an old slapstick comedy movie, with the waiter spraying me in the face with a seltzer bottle, which makes me laugh. That makes me cough anew.

  “Shit,” I hiss, reaching for my mimosa. I take a swig of that, but orange juice, champagne, and yard clippings don’t taste good together either, so I resort to chugging what’s left of my water. Somehow, I manage to choke on that too. I thought spring water was supposed to be all smooth and natural?

  “I think he’s going to die,” Jazmyn stage-whispers.

  “You said it wasn’t that bad,” I accuse Jayme.

  She shakes her head. “No, I said it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. It was worse.”

  I’m reeling from that gross taste and the betrayal, but her vibrant laugh helps me relax a bit. “I’ll get you for that,” I warn, not meaning it in the slightest.

  “I’m not sure LA is right for you, Carson,” Steve taunts.

  “I think I’m ready to eat delivery pizza and drink a bourbon in my plant-free home,” I answer. Though when I glance to Jayme, there are several other things I’d like to do at home too.

  CHAPTER 14

  JAYME

  “I have a surprise for you,” I tease as we walk out of Green Goddess into the sunshine of an LA afternoon. I can’t believe how that meeting went, careening from disaster to success to comedy seemingly minute by minute, but I’m glad Jazmyn is completely sold on the festival idea. The signed contract in my bag is a relief of epic proportions.

  There’s still more to today, though.

  “A surprise?” Carson repeats hotly, his gentlemanly hand on my back moving to my hip and squeezing suggestively.

  I slip him a coy smile. “I think you’ll like it.”

  A groan rumbles in his chest as he pushes me toward the waiting car. “I need to kiss you after that amazing performance in there, but I know I can’t do that here. Get in.”

  I nod at Carlo as I dip into the car, and Carson follows me, closing the door behind himself. Pressed up against me, thigh to thigh, he cups my jaw. Before a single word can be said or the car gets started, his lips find mine as he kisses the hell out of me.

  Which is amazing until . . .

  “Ugh . . . you taste awful,” he mutters. “Grass clippings.”

  I stick my tongue out, running it on my teeth in a failed attempt to get the grossness off. “Plant shot.”

  We look at each other, noses screwed up in distaste, but at the same time, it’s funny in a gross sort of way. Somehow, the kiss seems to have reactivated the blech of the Green Goddess’s lawn drink. I reach for the bottled water in the door and Carson does the same. I guzzle the liquid down until I have to gasp for air. The water dribbles down my chin, and I swipe at it with my hand but realize Carson is continuing to chug even though water is running down his chin in rivulets, dripping to his shirt.

  I laugh. “God, that shot was awful.”

  Carson’s bottle is empty, and I think he’d drink mine too if I weren’t clutching it tightly. “Fucking disgusting,” he agrees. “I’m all for eating healthy and all that, but . . . damn.”

  We collapse back against the seat, panting and laughing.

  “Ms. Rice?” Carlo says carefully. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Stop two?”

  “Yes, please,” I answer.

  When I turn back, Carson is assessing me with interest. “You really do have a surprise for me? You didn’t mean making out in the car on the way back to the airport?”

  I try to decipher the look on his face. There’s surprise, but something deeper layered beneath it that I can’t define. “I do. I knew the meeting with Jazmyn and Steve would take a bit, but I planned a little something extra for us when I arranged everything.”

  “Thank you. Nobody’s ever done anything like this,” Carson says quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

  I grin. “You don’t even know what it is yet. What if it’s another plant shot? Or something worse?”

  He shrugs, totally relaxed. “I trust you.”

  It’s then that I realize what I’m seeing . . . the little boy who just wanted to feel loved and wanted. For someone to love him enough to do something just for his enjoyment. My heart breaks a little for Teen Carson and what he went through with his parents and Izzy. In a divorce situation, a lot of siblings turn to each other for comfort, but Carson couldn’t even do that with his brother. He was alone and an afterthought, or worse, a pawn.

  “Do you want me to tell you where we’re going?” I offer.

  Carson shakes his head vehemently. “No, I like the surprise.”

  He relaxes back into the seat, his arm outstretched in welcome for me to snuggle into his side. It feels nice to slow down for a moment and enjoy the victory of today. We’re going to make the festival happen and it’s going to be amazing. We deserve a small break to recharge.

  Carlo pulls up to the gated entry and types in the code Taya gave me. The black metal gates swing open slowly.

  Carson looks around, confusion knitting his brows. “Where are we?”

  “A friend’s place,” I answer, teasing him with a wink that says I’ve got secrets.

  As the house comes into view, Carson whistles. “You’ve got some fancy friends.”

  I do, but Taya isn’t one of them. Her house, however, is one of her flashiest expenses, with white rope columns, tiled archways, and lush green grass, even in California. Inside, there are more bedrooms and bathrooms than she could ever need or use, but to Taya, it’s a reaffirming sign that she’s made it and will never be the struggling artist dreaming of her big break she once was.

  Carlo parks in front of the huge double doors and we get out. But we’re not going in the house, even though the warm wood and black iron scrollwork seem welcoming. “The kitchen’s inside to the left, Carlo. Help yourself to anything. If I had to guess, the fridge is stocked with sodas and the pantry with sweets.”

  He dips his chin gratefully and then taps his watch to remind me that we are on a schedule, which I appreciate.

  Slipping my hand into Carson’s, I pull him away from the front door toward a pathway leading around the side of the house. “Come on.”

  He smiles eagerly, still looking around in shock. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see.” I’m excited too. I haven’t been here in a long time with Taya’s touring schedule being as crazy busy as it is, but I spent many days and nights here when I was on assignment with her. It’s quiet and peaceful, something I think Carson could benefit from.

  Behind the house is a large pool and deck area, but I bypass those too.

  “Nice,” Carson deadpans, one brow raised in appreciation for the area.

  I stop at another gate at the back of the property, making practiced work of the lock there. Stepping through, I reveal the reason for our being here, the private beach stretching out in front of us, the Pacific Ocean crashing on the sand a hundred feet away.

  “Maybe I do want to know what friend,” Carson says in curious awe. “Is this a male or female friend? Or someone I need to be concerned about either way?”

  I laugh at the streak of jealousy. “Female, and absolutely worthy of worry. But not in the way you mean. She’s my best friend, and if ever there were a reason I’d end up needing bail money . . . it’s her. You talk about liking danger and risk, like motorcycles and gambling. Her version of a Tuesday is tequila, tacos, and taking a bitch down a peg or two.”

  Carson chuckles, thinking I’m kidding, but Taya did once throw hands at a Mexican food taco truck with some woman who thought she was gonna do something. She didn’t realize that Taya stays ready and her ‘supposed life story of growing up rough’ was the fairytale version we told the press. The truth was worse, much worse, and Taya’s read of a situation and reflexes are always on point.

  On the other side of the gate, I bend down and slip off my heels. Wiggling my toes in the soft sand, I sigh in relief. These shoes are my good luck heels, but they are not my most comfortable pair for sure. “I figured we could use a break, at least for a few minutes.”

  “I didn’t exactly wear my clam-digging gear today,” Carson grunts as he gestures to his business attire. But he slips off his shoes and socks, tucking them carefully next to the fence beside mine. He left his jacket in the car, so it’s easy for him to roll his sleeves up a few turns too, showing off his ropey forearms. After a moment, he bends and does the same to his slacks. He looks ridiculous and sexy as hell at the same time.

  Of course, I’m also wearing a silk blouse and a white skirt, not exactly a beach outfit either, but there’s only so much planning I could do. If I’d told Carson to bring a change of clothes, he would’ve thought it was for something else entirely.

  “Now what?” he demands.

  “Now, we walk. And breathe. And relax.” Carson’s eyes widen as though I suggested riding dolphins like water skis or something equally outrageous. “It’ll be good for you.”

  “Sounds awful.” His grumble of disagreement is ruined by the smile that flashes immediately after, and I know how he really feels about it.

  We hit the beach, walking slowly, hand in hand. The sand is soft and giving beneath our feet, and the waves run in, getting closer and closer. Wind whips through my hair, and after a moment of trying to wrangle it, I let it fly on the breeze. Knots be damned.

  Staring at the water, I remember the first time I swam here. “I’ve always been a swimmer. I told you how competitive I was as a teen. So I’m comfortable in the water. But when I came here, I was drowning. Not literally in the water, but in my head. I had a client I couldn’t reach, but she really needed my help, and I couldn’t figure out how to get her to listen to me.” The desperate frustration of those days comes back to me as fresh as it was then.

  Quietly, Carson asks, “What did you do?”

  “I came out here to swim and bawled my eyes out,” I confess. “I figured the salt water and my tears would mix and no one would be the wiser. But she was smarter than I gave her credit for, and when I came back to the beach, she was sitting here waiting on me. She asked, ‘You done with me yet?’ and I wanted to say yes so fucking badly. I could go back to the office and have a new assignment by the next morning, someone who actually wanted my help. But she . . . needed it. So I said no.”

  Carson smiles sadly, understanding my reasoning as well as I do. “You couldn’t admit defeat, least of all to yourself.”

  “That day, we talked about everything and nothing. It started slow, with stupid stuff and silly stories, and then finally, she told me why she was sabotaging herself. She cuts people off before they can get close enough to hurt her, a response she developed from being disappointed in people time after time. That was when we started actually working together and when we became friends. More importantly, it’s when I became me. I learned a lot in school and had a fantastic mentor who trained me. But right here on this beach is where I left behind my could’a, should’a, would’a thoughts, expectations, and comparisons. I decided to be . . .”

  “A badass?” he suggests when I search for the right word.

  I grin. “A badass,” I repeat. I wouldn’t have put it that way, but it feels right. In helping Taya, she helped me find myself, and that was when I started doing my best work, though I’m still a work in progress. “I thought walking here might . . . I don’t know . . . maybe help you find yourself too.”

  I hadn’t even realized that’s what I was doing, but it’s plain as day now that we’re here.

  Carson is a man who wants the best of himself at all times. And there’s nothing wrong with that if it’s to satisfy your own sense of self. But he worries about his father too much, pushing himself to meet an ideal that doesn’t even exist. He deserves better than that. He deserves happiness on his own terms.