He’s standing near the entrance, surveying the festival with that calculated look I know too well. Expensive suit. Slicked hair. An expression that says he’s already figured out how to tear this all down.
My hands start to shake.
I fumble for my phone, pulling up my texts with Ryan.
Me: Marcus is here.
Three dots appear immediately.
Ryan: Where?
Me: Main entrance. Near the welcome booth.
Ryan: Stay put. I’m coming to you.
But I don’t stay put. Because this is my event. My town now. My life he’s invading.
I cross the festival grounds with purpose, my tennis shoes pounding on the pavement like a war drum.
Marcus spots me and smirks. “Ember. This is... quaint.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to see what you’ve been wasting your time on instead of fighting for what’s back in Atlanta.” He gestures dismissively at the festival. “Playing small-town event planner instead of running an actual business.”
My voice is steel. “This is my personal business. Not yours. Not anymore.”
“Those contracts are company property?—”
“No, Marcus. Those clients worked with me. They trusted me. And you know what? When I told them I was leaving, every single one asked to come with me.” I step closer. “Because unlike you, I care about people. Not just profit margins.”
His jaw tightens. “You think you can make it here? In this backwater town? You’re throwing away everything we built?—”
“EverythingIbuilt.” I cut him off. “You managed details. I created experiences. There’s a difference, and we both know it. I made the money that built the business.”
“This small-town fantasy won’t last?—”
“You’re wrong.” Ryan’s voice behind me makes my heart leap. “And you’re not welcome here. I believe there is a restraining order.”
I turn to find him flanked by Blake, Romeo, Holden, and half the fire crew. They look like a wall of protective muscle and authority. Marcus’s face goes pale.
“Ember asked you to leave,” Ryan continues, his captain voice in full effect. “That’s your cue.”
Marcus looks between us, calculating his options. “This isn’t over?—”
“Yes, it is.” I’m surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “Patricia will finalize the buyout. You’ll get what remains of thecompany in the buyout. I don’t want it anymore. I want this.” I gesture at the festival, at the surrounding community. “I want to build something that matters.”
“You’ll regret this,” Marcus starts, but Blake steps forward.
“She asked you to leave. Nicely.” Blake crosses his arms. “Want us to make it less nice?”
Marcus looks at the assembled firefighters, his hands flex next to his legs.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he mutters, but he’s already backing away.
“Yes, it is,” I call after him. “Don’t contact me again. Everything goes through the lawyers, or I’ll have you arrested for breach of the restraining order along with the text threats already received and logged.”
He disappears into the parking lot, and I realize I’m shaking.
