“Okay, good job for today,” I declare with a coach-worthy clap of my hands. “Next time, you two do this in private, away from the park. Now if you’ll excuse us, we do need to get back to our check-ins so that everything is perfect tomorrow.” I don’t want to push them any further when this small set of admissions was as difficult as it was. And we really do have a major event in less than twenty-four hours.

  Ben looks shocked at being dismissed, as if it’s never happened to him before. Maybe it hasn’t? He is the boss, after all. But he blinks away the wrinkle in his brow and takes Izzy’s hand. “See you later, Son.”

  Carson nods. “Yeah, Dad.”

  With that, Izzy and Ben walk off. Toni leans toward Carson, holding her hand up to speak behind though she whispers loud enough for me to hear, “I like her. You should see what she thinks about butt-munches.”

  Carson sighs as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Toni, please. Not now.”

  She shrugs, smiling easily as if the uncomfortable situation between her brother and father didn’t just happen. Though I guess she might be used to it by now? “I’m going to go find Kyleigh and see if I can help her at all. Jazmyn Starr and King’s Krossing . . . you did good, Bro.”

  She skips off . . . literally skipping and waving at various people here and there, who smile and wave back. She’s comfortable here, I realize. She’ll probably end up on the Americana Land team too someday. Alone, Carson looks at me with thunderous fury in his eyes. I can feel it coming, bubbling up inside him and ready to be unleashed on me. He licks his lips, the words right on the tip of his tongue.

  I’m ready, my defenses solidly in place. I know what comes next—lashing out at the person who’s trying to help. I’ve had other clients do it more than once. It’s painful and ugly, but I can take it. No one can get past my walls.

  Except Carson already has.

  But he doesn’t say a word. He simply . . . walks away.

  CHAPTER 17

  CARSON

  I hold the hurtful words back behind an iron-set jaw and pressed together lips. How dare Jayme light the fuse on my relationship with my dad and then stand back and wait for the fireworks to start? What’s she playing at?

  Having years of practice of stuffing words down is the only thing that saves me. Saves her.

  I spin on my heel and stalk off, destination unknown. I simply need to get away from Jayme until I can get a handle on myself, my thoughts, and most importantly, my mouth. Unfortunately, I hear the click of her heels behind me, chasing as she calls out, “Carson, wait.”

  I want to whirl on Jayme, push her up against the nearest wall, and demand that she explain herself. But I force my feet to keep moving and grit my teeth so hard that sharp pain shoots through my entire skull. I can’t do this . . . not now and not here. If anything, I’ve learned that the hard way through the Abby Burks incident.

  Awareness of my surroundings, and of the eyes watching Jayme chase after me right now, keep me moving. This is bad enough, but if I speak to her now, with the way I’m feeling, it’ll be even worse. I snort, the realization that she’s changed me for the good bitter in contrast to what she just did. I need to be alone, and I know one place I can do that.

  I beeline for the From Sea to Shining Sea Ferris Wheel. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid, allowing me to feel free and floating, but in reality, be safe and secure. Sometimes, I would ride with Archer and we would come up with these fantastical stories of how we were superheroes scanning the people below for villains who needed to be taken out, or pilots fighting against the wind to make a smooth landing. Other times, especially later, after Mom left and I was in a tense situation with Dad and Izzy, I would ride alone as a way to get away from everything and everyone. It gave me space to process, to rage, and once or twice, to cry where no one would see me.

  It's exactly what I need right now.

  “Hey, James, I need a minute. Will you hold me at the top until I call down?”

  The ride operator dips his head. It’s been a long time since I’ve made this request, but he knows how important it is when I do. Thankfully, there’s no one in line so my ride won’t cause anyone to wait unnecessarily. That’d be another image problem I can’t afford.

  Entitled brat, Carson Steen, makes people wait indefinitely while chilling on the Ferris Wheel.

  But no matter, the Ferris Wheel isn’t cool any longer . . . kind of like how Americana Land was, I suppose.

  “Thanks, man.” He’s stopped the ride, which spins even when empty as an enticement to get riders, and opens the door of one of the cars. The cars are painted to look like big hot air balloons, with brown wicker baskets below and red, white, and blue flag balloons above. Of course, it’s all metal, but the painted illusion gives it that sense of floating.

  I sit down on one section of the round bench, spreading my arms along the back and letting my head fall back against the metal railing. Closing my eyes, I wait out the short ride to the top and then the slight swinging as James pushes the stop button below.

  Only then do I let my guard fall.

  “What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. I wish there were an answer on the wind, but none comes. Jayme had no right to get into the quagmire of my relationship with my dad. She’s here for image repair, not as some sort of family therapist. What was she thinking?

  I’ve only been here in the silence of my whirling mind for a few minutes when the car starts moving again. I look around in confusion and then call out, “Hey, James, a few more minutes?”

  He doesn’t answer and the car keeps moving.

  As I get low enough to see James, I throw my hands out. “What the hell, man?”

  He shrugs sheepishly. “The lady pays.”

  “What—” I start to ask what he means, but as I go a little lower, I can see for myself. Jayme is standing on a step near the operator’s area, her arms crossed over her chest as she shoots a hostile glare my way.

  What the hell is she mad about? I’m the one who’s mad. She should be apologizing to me!

  As I come even with the platform, she steps forward, and I realize she intends to get into the car with me. I stand in preparation to exit, but when James unlatches the door, he blocks my way, allowing Jayme to duck under his arm and climb in. He quickly slams the door shut again, latching it from the outside.

  “James!” I shout.

  “Sorry, man. I need my job, you know I do, but she promised me VIP passes for the festival tomorrow, and my wife is going to go crazy when I tell her. I’m looking forward to her ‘thank you, honey.’” He grins like a total hound dog, one who loves his wife.

  He steps back and pushes the button to start the wheel spinning again. I lose my balance for a second at the sudden jolt but grab onto the railing to steady myself. Jayme doesn’t fare as well and stumbles in her heels.

  “Whoooaah!” she yells. Tumbling to the floor, she hisses. “Shit! That hurt.”

  I look down to see her legs askew and her head against the hard metal. I can’t leave her on the ground, no matter how furious I am.

  “Dammit!” I carefully step forward and offer my hand. Jayme takes it gratefully and I help her stand. Once she gets to a low squat, she sits back onto the bench, rubbing her head. “You okay?”

  She scowls at me like it’s my fault she bumped her head. “Fine.”

  I fall back to the bench myself, sitting opposite Jayme. We sit in silence as the cart lifts higher into the air. James must hit the button because we stop at the top, still glaring at each other.

  “Well?” I prompt finally.

  “What do you mean, ‘well?’” Her brows drop down low in confusion.

  A sour smile curls my lips. “Aren’t you going to apologize for that shitshow? That’s the play, right? Fuck things up, apologize with feigned regret so everyone forgives you, then move on as if it never happened?”

  She recoils as if I’ve slapped her. “Is that what you think I do? What I was doing back there?” She snaps as she points toward the garden below. “I was doing that for you.”

  Incredulous, I demand, “That’s what you consider help?”

  “Yes!” She nods vehemently. “I was trying to get Ben to see that he’s not this perfect god who created this flawless park. I literally said that Americana Land is outdated, and he has you to thank for pulling it, kicking and screaming, into the Twenty-First Century.”

  She did say that. And reluctantly, I have to admit she was right. But that’s not all she said.

  “You’re conveniently forgetting the part where you forced him into begrudgingly admitting that he’s proud of me.” I huff out a sigh of disbelief. Dad isn’t proud of me, but he knows when he’s cornered. If a few simple words let him walk away with his pride, he’d sound off like an auctioneer. It doesn’t mean that he meant a bit of it.

  “Or maybe he is!” she shouts loudly enough for James to hear.

  “You two okay up there?” comes from below.

  “No. Bring us down,” I answer.

  At the same time, Jayme yells, “Yes, we’re fine.”

  The car doesn’t move. Fucking James and this fucking Ferris Wheel.

  Quieter, she repeats, “Maybe he is proud of you but is just shitty at communicating it. You two have this big thing in between you that neither of you knows how to get around. I’d say it’s your mom, or the divorce, but maybe your brother? I don’t know, but it seems like both of you are coming from a place of insecurity. You ever think of that?”

  I don’t respond. After a moment, Jayme continues.

  “I mean, for fuck’s sake, you’re a grown ass, functional, independent adult who handles his own shit, who went to extremes to help his own people. Who shows up to work every day to carry on the family legacy. Who also has balls big enough to go up against me, and to be clear, not many do. Did you think of any of that?”

  I’m reminded of that first day, when we were arguing, when she was so passionate and fiery. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, her breath fast enough to cause her breasts to rise and fall rapidly. Except then, she called me an arrogant asshole. Now, though she’s spitting fire, it’s . . . with compliments?

  Confusion wars with the anger I’ve been stoking. I try to form a coherent thought, but what comes out of my mouth is, “What?”

  Gentler, she repeats, “You’re a good guy, Carson. I keep telling you that. I don’t care about this whole image your dad thinks you’ve got that he doesn’t approve of. I mean, seriously . . . a motorcycle? Ooh . . .” She holds her hands out, wobbling them and her head to show how ridiculous she thinks that is. “I know dentists and priests who ride motorcycles, gambling on sports with discretional money while maintaining good credit. Unbelievable!” She throws her hand to her head, as if that’s catastrophic, and then rolls her eyes. “Hell, I wouldn’t care if you’d been fucking your friend on the deck of that boat. People have done worse.”

  Before I can correct that one, she keeps ranting.

  “You show up, do your best, are a good leader, have creative ideas, and listen to others, and as evidenced by the sand burns on my knees, you’re willing to take risks when warranted. I see all that and more in you. But you have to see it in yourself.”

  I’ve never been put in my place quite so well, especially with praise.

  “Is that how you see me?” I ask cautiously. There’s something beginning to bloom inside me that’s much more powerful than a desire to make my dad proud. A desire to make Jayme proud. And a pride in myself.

  If asked a few weeks ago, I would’ve confessed to a bit of an ego. I’m more than satisfied with myself and my work, happy to brag about the good things my department has accomplished under my leadership, and smugly assume that I’m better than my dad, given that I’ve never had a relationship fail as spectacularly as he did.

  But the truth is, maybe I’m not as confident as I’d like to portray. On some level, deep under a lot of layers, I’m still that teen who felt like he wasn’t enough, whose dad had to go out and get another family to be happy. And I’m holding a grudge, punishing him for it, but also, punishing myself.

  Jayme scoots over to my side, taking my hand and holding it firmly between both of hers. “I see an amazing man who’s accomplished so much and is set to do even more. You are a success . . .”

  I look up from our hands to her, finding her looking at me earnestly. She’s talking my language and she knows it.

  “Of both your father’s making, and your own,” she finishes.

  I take a big breath, her words settling into cracks I thought I’d long ago sealed over. “You’re kind of amazing yourself,” I admit. My feathers are still ruffled, but she’s steadily soothing them.

  “And a bitch. I know,” she offers with a smile, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Therapy is a side gig of this job, an uncomfortable one since I’m not a trained shrink. Though maybe that’s what makes me so effective,” she humbly brags. She pauses for a second as if trying to decide whether she should say more. Tentatively, she adds, “I truly think you and your dad could be better if you’d talk a little. I think what you take as judgment from him is more than likely his way of tiptoeing around you. Or whatever this thing between you is. For years, he’s been putting one foot in front of the other, never knowing when he’s going to step on a landmine.”

  “You think we’re salvageable?” I ask, feeling better despite things not being perfect with Dad.

  Her laugh is a surprise, bright and infectious. “Hell, you’re not even on my top twenty of worst clients. You two just need a couple of beers and a manly ugly cry or two.” She throws her voice, mimicking a drunk frat boy, “I luv you, man!” She finishes with a fake hiccup and a smug grin.

  “A manly ugly cry?” I repeat incredulously. “Do you realize that we don’t even have tear ducts?”

  The tease is easy and good-natured, an olive branch after our argument. I lay my arm around her shoulders and she curls into me.

  “Not even in your top twenty worst clients?” I question. “Guess we’ll have to up our game.”

  “You’d be surprised at what happens behind the scenes,” she hints without offering any details. “But I am sorry I shared things you told me in confidence. Secrets shared are secrets risked. And telling your dad what you’d said was wrong, even though I did it with the best of intentions.”

  On the surface, her apology feels genuine, but there’s an undercurrent I don’t understand. I know she has secrets of her own, like being best friends with Taya, but her job requires that. I can understand the need for an NDA with clients like hers.

  “Someone once told me to gamble on her, and I did. So far, it’s been a damn good risk.” It’s more than an acceptance of her apology. It’s an admission that despite my initial reaction, maybe she did the right thing by me.

  I feel Jayme smile against my shoulder. “She sounds like a smart cookie.”

  She’s quiet for a moment and then suddenly sits upright. “Cookies! We should sell cookies tomorrow. How did I not think of that sooner? Shit.”

  She stands up, leaning into the metal railing. “Hey, James? Can we come down now?”

  “Sure thing, Jayme!” comes the quick response, making me wonder how much James could hear of the louder portions of our argument. The cart jolts back into movement, and Jayme stumbles a little, but I’m right here to steady her this time.

  “Do you think we could get cookies by tomorrow morning?” she mutters, her mind working behind her eyes. “Something fun like iced ones with sprinkles? Or Dunkaroos? Oh! I know! Rainbow swirl ones!”

  Her rambling spiel turns to delight with the idea. I can’t help but grin at her excitement, but realistically, there’s no way.

  “Will you go for a ride with me tonight?” I ask.

  She stops in the middle of a list of possible bakeries that would pull an all-nighter for a custom order. “What?”

  I cup her face in my hands, my nose mere inches from her. “We’ve done everything we can. The team has done everything they can. We’re ready, the park is ready. Let’s go for a night ride, take a minute to relax and breathe so we can tackle tomorrow together.”

  I can feel her energy centering as I speak slowly and hypnotically. She starts to speak, and I can feel her need to argue. She’s as much a perfectionist as I am, and she wants to spend this last evening going over every list, every possible thing that could go wrong to either prevent it or pre-plan a solution.

  I press a hard kiss to her lips, prying my way into her mouth to taste her deeply. Every stroke of my tongue against hers is a counter argument.

  We’re ready. The festival is going to be great.

  I need you. I want tonight to just be us.

  I feel the moment she falls into me, under my spell. Mid-kiss, she murmurs her agreement.

  And just in time because James opens the door. “Oh! Uh, sorry . . . you said . . .” he stutters.

  “All good, man. Thanks for the ride.”

  Holding Jayme’s hand, I help her to the platform. She pins James with a look. “Remember our deal?”

  “I didn’t see nothing, hear nothing, and don’t know nothing,” he quotes.

  “Good man,” she praises him with a wink. “I’ll have your tickets at the front gate in the morning.”

  Fuck, she’s slick as hell and thinks of everything, and that is so damn sexy.

  CHAPTER 18

  CARSON

  After a quick stop in my office to grab my helmet, I rush us downstairs.

  “Have a good night, you two,” Ellie calls out as we scurry through the lobby. I toss a conspiratorial smile her way, and she makes a lip-zipping motion.

  I’m sure Jayme would prefer to stay here, working on preparations for tomorrow and obsessing over every little detail until her eyeballs burn and she’s pulled every blonde strand from her head in stress. But we’ve done what we can and I trust my team. I’ll still text Spencer to check in before crashing tonight, but for now, we can leave guilt-free.