Risky Business, page 23
Actually, maybe that’s a good idea. We’re two men who’ve never been good at communicating, so maybe grunts and stick figures are the way to go.
“I didn’t mean . . . uh, to offend . . . either of you. I’m sorry.” He stumbles to find the words in his confusion, but his apology is simple and sincere, and I believe him, given the way he’s continued looking back and forth between us like we’re explaining quantum physics and he’s stuck on the page-one intro in the textbook.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “But it’s a definite sign that we’ve got some work to do.” We both know I’m not talking about whatever emails are piling up in our inbox, but rather some personal work to improve our relationship.
Jayme dips her chin at Dad deferentially, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, Ben. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
He snorts out a self-deprecating laugh, truthfully stating, “I somehow doubt that.”
“You were right about one thing.” The tease catches both of their attention. I lock eyes with Jayme, and she lifts a brow, her smirk giving me permission for what I’m about to say. “Jayme and I do work well together.”
With that, I drop my arm over her shoulder in a familiar move and she scoots closer to my side.
Dad snaps his fingers and points at us victoriously. “I knew it! Like father, like son. Sometimes, it hits you in strangest places.”
A few weeks ago, I would’ve been murderous for him to say I’m like him in the slightest. Now, begrudgingly, I admit that it’s true in more ways than one. And if Jayme and I are half as happy as he and Izzy have been after their taboo workplace romance, we’ll be lucky as hell.
“Does that mean we’ll see you at the charity event?” Dad inquires curiously.
Jayme grins. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
CHAPTER 23
JAYME
“Hey, Mom!” I say as I answer the door. She’s sipping on an iced coffee from Starbucks and holding an extra one for me. I take it gratefully, sucking down a healthy amount in one go.
Mom watches with interest, scanning my face carefully. Probably to see if any checked luggage bags have appeared beneath my eyes yet. “Hi, honey. Up late again?”
She’s more curious than accusatory, well aware that my work happens 24/7/365, but always worried that I’m working myself to the bone.
“Up early this time,” I correct with a shrug as she follows me into my apartment and makes herself at home on the other end of the couch from me so we can catch up. “Patrick’s got a new assignment for me.”
“Where are you going this time?” More often than not, Mom knows it all—who I’m working with, where I’m going, and an estimate of how long the assignment will be. Even when I don’t tell Mom who I’m working with, she always knows where I’m at when I travel.
“Nowhere. I can do this one long-distance. All done via Zoom and FaceTime. There’s a time zone difference, though, hence the early morning.”
After updating Patrick about the success of my Americana Land assignment and agreeing that our reputation consultant contract had been fulfilled, I took a few days off to catch up. But before I knew it, I was dealing with another crisis and managing the excitement that comes from figuring out the problem and how best to resolve it. Luckily, other than the early mornings, it’s a pretty painless contract.
“Oh, good! Does that mean you can come to dinner next weekend?”
It’s a completely straightforward question about a perfectly normal activity. Our family gets together for dinner as often as possible, usually once a month, and whoever can come does. My brothers and I are busy people, though, so if someone can’t make it, it’s not a big deal. But something about Mom’s tone is suspect.
I take another sip of my iced coffee, giving Mom a more thorough assessment. She and I resemble each other—the same height, same size, same facial features, though her eyes are hazel compared to the brown ones that I got from my dad. And luckily, that hopefully means in a few decades I’m still going to be turning heads when I want to the way Mom does.
She’s wearing slim-fit jeans, a button-up pink shirt with a popped collar, and designer flats. Her jewelry are all pieces I’ve seen before, her make-up is classic, and her hair is the same blonde it’s been for years. Of course, that’s because she gets it colored every four weeks to prevent any grays from popping through.
“Did you get a haircut?” I ask, realizing it’s not only styled differently but a few inches shorter.
Mom fusses with the locks at the nape of her neck. “I did! Theresa talked me into trying something a bit edgier. Is it too much?”
She makes it sound as though Theresa hacked into her hair and gave her something trendy like Jazmyn’s shaggy mullet. It’s nothing like that. It’s simple layers that she’s currently styled into cute flips. “It looks great!” I reassure her.
“Thanks! I’ve got to keep up with that handsome stud I’m married to, you know,” she teases.
Mom and Dad celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary last year and are as ridiculously, grotesquely in love with each other as the day they married. Dad would never so much as look at another woman. Hell, I don’t think he knows they exist. Even in their sixties, we’ve caught Dad giving Mom’s butt an affectionate pat when she walks by. It’s horrifying and adorable, and probably the reason they have five children. That, and Mom wanted to keep trying for a girl. All in all, my parents set up all of us kids for an uphill battle with relationships because we’ve seen the real deal and won’t settle for anything less.
“Yeah, ’cuz Dad notices your hair so much,” I counter. She beams, knowing I’m right. As affectionate as Dad is, checking out Mom’s hair is not high on his to-do list.
“What about dinner, though? Between you and me, I think Joel is going to have some big news for us.” Her eyes are big with excitement as she baits me into asking for details.
Joel is my brother closest in age to me. He’s a research scientist who works in something to do with plastic recycling. I think. Honestly, when he starts talking about his work, it mostly sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me—wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah. He’s got a sense of humor, but you have to be pretty high-brow to understand the chemistry puns he throws out as though they’re knock-knock jokes.
I wave my hand at her, telling her to spill it because I know she wants to. “Well, since you’re twisting my arm,” she says dryly, “Joel and Keilah are taking a trip this weekend to the beach.”
She gives me a pointed look as though I totally know what that means. I wrinkle my brow. “Uh, good for them?”
Mom’s swats at my leg. “Jayme! He’s going to ask her to marry him!” she explains as if a beach vacation automatically translates to wedding bells.
Though she’s probably right. My brother and Keilah have only been dating for a few months, but they’re both analytical and probably decided that marriage made the most sense for their taxes or something logical like that. “You think so? It’s pretty quick.”
“Sometimes, you know instantly,” she says dreamily. “I knew with your father.”
I snort, nearly shooting iced coffee out of my nose as I laugh uproariously. “You did not! You’ve told us the story of how you met him at a party and thought he was a pompous jerk.”
It’s not a story they’ve told often, but I’ve heard it enough times that I know Mom and Dad met at a college party. Dad was the big man on campus, and Mom was a studious library lover. The gregarious business major and the perfect pre-med student . . . not exactly an automatic match made in heaven.
Mom pouts. “Well, he was a bit overconfident. But I knew on our first date when he let me win at mini-golf.”
That I do believe. Dad is an expert golfer, and Mom can barely hit the ball.
“Sounds like you were an easy sell,” I joke. “What about everyone else?”
Keeping up with my brothers, their wives, and kids is a full-time job. We have a group chat without our parents, but we mostly trade memes and tease each other so I’m not always up to date on the real stuff the way Mom is.
“Well, let’s see . . .” She starts at the top with my eldest brother, James, and works her way down through John, Jordan, and she’s already told me about Joel. Yes, five kids and five J names. I don’t know why my parents tortured us that way. It was a constant roll call until they got the name they actually meant to say.
“James and Yuki bought a small property in Hokkaido. Kent wants to snowboard, and Yuki felt like it would be a good way to spend some time in the winter with her family.” I nod along, not wanting to interrupt her, though it’s cool that my nephew will get to spend some time on the mountain in Japan.
“John bought a new chef’s knife. Something about steel quality and handle grip?” Mom shrugs, which is understandable because when John starts talking about his work tools, I glaze over too. A recipe you want to try out? Bring it on. A restaurant you want to visit? I’ll go with you. But discussing the differences pan temperature has on meat, or blade thickness variations, is not exciting dinner conversation. “Sarah and the boys are doing well, mostly focusing on school and lacrosse.”
“Jordan’s waiting on his bar results. They should be in any day now, but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Mom says proudly. She brags on all of us, though, not just those of us with fancy degrees. “He’s continuing his clerkship in the meantime, and Drew got a promotion to lead architect.”
“And then there’s you . . .” Mom trails off, tilting her head in question. Guess it’s my turn to fill her in on what I’ve been so busy with.
“After the music festival, we went over all the stats, and it was a total success. So much so that they actually offered me a job,” I tell her with a laugh. “Obviously, I didn’t take it.”
“Of course not. You’ve worked hard to get where you are at Compass,” she agrees. After a moment, she pries a bit more. “What about the Carson fella you mentioned?”
I smile into my coffee cup. “We’re seeing each other.”
“Oh!” Mom exclaims happily, clasping her hands. Or she would have if her coffee cup weren’t in her way. Instead, she ends up slapping it so hard that the ice rattles wildly. “Oh,” she says again, though in a totally different tone. She sets the mostly empty cup on the coaster on my coffee table. “Tell me everything.”
It takes me a while to go through it all, from our tumultuous first meeting to the fun day riding coasters. As I do, bits and pieces come back to me, creating fresh smiles with every memory.
“You look happy,” Mom summarizes.
“I am.” We grin like giggly schoolgirls bonding over a cute boy asking me to the homecoming dance. Actually . . .
“Hey, Mom, you want to help me pick out a dress for a charity event?” I ask.
Mom’s eyes widen. “Did you really just ask me that?” And in a flash, she’s up and heading for the door. I laugh, not moving, and she prods, “Come on, let’s go!”
“I have dresses, Mom. I don’t need to go shopping. I meant for you to help me pick from my closet.”
She throws me a look of faux-disappointment. “Are you sure you’re even my daughter?” she questions dryly. “Not shopping?”
I head to my bedroom, knowing she’ll be right behind me. “I’m not sure,” I joke. “There’s not much of a resemblance.”
“You look just like me and you know it,” she huffs, pushing me out of the way to get at my closet first. By the time I catch up to her, she’s already lifting the dry-cleaning bags off my special occasion dresses. I have quite a few from recent years, including one that I wore to the Oscars with a client, though I didn’t walk the red carpet. It was strictly behind-the-scenes.
“What about this one?” Holding up the pale lavender gown, I pose for her consideration.
She shakes her head.
“Hmm, what’s the event for? That’ll help us narrow it down,” she asks.
“The local children’s hospital. It’ll be in the Great Garden at Americana Land, so sort of a garden party?” I flip through a few more dresses, looking for a particular one. “What about a floral one? As a nod to the garden location.”
Mom tilts her head back and forth, considering. “Try it on so we can see.”
I step out into the bedroom and slip on the dress. It’s Wedgwood blue flowers over a cream background, with a hint of a ruffle along the strapless bodice. “I think this might be it. What do you think?”
Mom comes out of the closet holding a garment bag, which she lays on the bed. She twirls her finger in the air, and I spin as instructed. “Good option. Try that one too.”
She points at the bag she laid down and then disappears back into the closet. I predict that I’ll have to try on every formal dress I own before we narrow this down. Even then, Mom is likely to try to talk me into shopping anyway.
The next option is covered in bronze sequins, and while it’s more body consciously fitted, it’s also knee-length with cap sleeves. “Option two,” I call to Mom.
She doesn’t even make it out of the closet doorway before she starts laughing. “Absolutely not. You look like you’re going to a political fundraising party and have to dress matronly.” She squints her eyes as if that’ll help her see me better, though I’m only six feet away. “Uhm, is that a mother of the bride dress, honey? It really looks like it.”
“Mom! I like this dress!”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say it was ugly. It’s perfect for the right event, like your kid’s wedding. Maybe I’ll take that with me and save it for Joel’s wedding?” she suggests as though afraid I might decide to go ahead and wear it to the charity event.
To be clear, I’m never wearing this dress again. Hell, I don’t even remember when I bought it or why! But I can’t get it off fast enough now. I might have to call Taya to see if I can borrow her flamethrower to give it a proper send-off. I’m pretty sure she has one.
“Go with the floral one,” Mom decrees. “It’s the right colors for Americana Land, especially if you pair it with a red lip. Festive without being a Betsey Ross costume. And the flowers are perfect for the garden.”
“That’s what I said thirty minutes ago!” I shout good-naturedly.
Mom doesn’t admit that I was right. Instead, she grabs the sequined dress and shoves it back in the garment bag, telling me, “Well, now you know for sure.”
CHAPTER 24
CARSON
Somewhere, even though there’s a friendly rivalry between our amusement parks, there must be a Disney writer looking out for us. It’s about the most reasonable explanation for today, which dawned with all of the meteorological perfection that only comes from the pen of a staff writer working in conjunction with the guys at The Weather Channel.
I seriously couldn’t imagine a better day if I’d ordered it up like a build-it-your-way burger.
Today, the sun was out and the sky was a perfect cornflower blue, with just enough fluffy cotton ball clouds in the sky to break up the sunbeams from time to time. And now, as the sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, there’s a light breeze blowing, not enough to be ‘windy’ but just enough to set the mood for this evening’s festivities. Even the thermometer’s agreeing, resting at an ideal seventy-three degrees.
Looking out at the crowd that’s assembled for tonight’s event, I change my mind. I don’t think even Disney could have scripted this. No, this is on the level of cheesy Hallmark movie perfection.
The Great Gardens have never looked better. The charity event team definitely took some cues from the success of Freedom Fest, like the chandeliers hanging from the trees in nearly the exact spots the disco balls were. It’s not only the chandeliers that give the Garden a special vibe, though. There are white tablecloth covered buffet tables holding candlelit appetizers, a bartender making custom cocktails, and waiters passing glasses of wine.
Tonight is a big night for Americana Land, and we’ll most definitely get some great PR from this event. But it’s also important for the children’s hospital, and we want everything to set the right tone to open people’s pockets. That’s why we closed the park early and kept all the attention on the Great Garden, which is filled with the richest of the rich from this entire region of the country, all dressed in their swankiest of finery.
“What do you think?” Dad asks from beside me as we both scan the area. “Do people look charitable tonight?”
With a portion of today’s park profits and this evening’s charity event ticket sales, we’ve already raised over one million dollars for the children’s hospital. And that’s before any of the donations our attendees will hand over this evening. That’ll add another million easily. Hopefully, the hospital can use the funds to improve the children’s stays while they receive treatment, or even pay for the care for those who can’t afford it.
“I hope so.” Out of the side of my mouth, I whisper, “You think we’d raise as much money if people didn’t have to get dressed up and eat tiny bites of fish eggs? Like I’d probably pay to not do that.”
Dad chuckles, giving me a look of disbelief as if he were unaware that I have a sense of humor. “That’s funny. But unfortunately, no. The process of dressing up, appearing in public, and networking is what opens their wallets.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, that and their accountants telling them they need a tax write-off.”
I laugh in return. He’s right, but the follow-up to my own cynical joke is a surprise.
We’re trying with each other, but old habits are hard to break. Now, we’re at least able to have a civil conversation, and if I think he’s being an ass, I call him on it. And vice versa. I’d call that progress.
