I stop, trying to give myself a second to think.
“It’s okay. I can tell you are,” she says, strong and unflinching. Facing shit head-on.
I need to do the same. “I need to take a step back. Get some balance. Figure my stuff out. I wanted to come here and live a quiet life, not be the center of attention.”
“Because that’s unprofessional,” she says, like a doctor assessing the situation.
“Well, yeah,” I say, since of course it is. “I run a business, and I’m acting like an agent of chaos. I’m ridiculous. Remember how the dog party was ridiculous? But now I’m fucking ridiculous. This isn’t me. It’s not how I do things. It’s not…what I thought I?—”
I stop short of sayingwanted.
She draws a deep breath, her eyes widening, clearly knowing what I was about to say anyway. She lifts her chin. “It’s fine. It’s not like we were together,” she says, then rolls her lips. Takes a few seconds, maybe to collect herself. “But don’t let me down on Saturday night. The fundraiser means a lot to my mom. And to the whole town.”
Her voice breaks, then she walks away.
And I let her.
* * *
I’m home alone with my dog, playing Halo and blasting the Rolling Stones to get out of my own head when my phone pings. It buzzes on the coffee table, the screen lighting up. Dread swirls inside me. I let my character die. Fitting.
When I pick it up, it’s a message from Alexandra saying she’d like to meet tomorrow afternoon. She closes with:It’s important.
And yup, this day just got worse.
36
YOU DICK
SAWYER
Through my morning workout, all I can think isAlexandra is going to cancel the contract for the show. She’s going to be unhappy with how I handled the event. She’s going to say it’s the opposite of what I pitched her.
She’d be right.
And then I’ll have ruined this chance for Chloe. Probably. Possibly. I’m nothing but a block of dread as I run past the horse farm. Alone. I can’t people this morning, so I canceled on Banks to run solo.
The horse whinnies at me. Sounds like it says, “You dick.”
I deserve it.
I finish my run alone. I don’t even listen to music.
* * *
“Dude. This has more views than when Noah slipped on the bar of soap in his own soap store.”
That’s Levi’s assessment as I walk into work later that morning with Mister Dog by my side. I grit my teeth, wanting to just tell them to put their damn phones away. Instead, I say nothing, really leaning into the whole “grumpy guy” role hard now.
“Darling Springs is on the map. Everyone knows our town,” Hazel says.
“And bookings are up,” Zuri adds.
I should be happy, but I didn’t want business to increase this way. Not when I’m probably going to lose a marquee contract. The TV crew is supposed to shoot another scene here next week. I’ve arranged talent waivers with the dog extras. I’ve got everything ready, and now that’s probably not going to happen.
“Isn’t that good?” Zuri asks.
What? “Huh?”
