Risky Business

“My feeling exactly,” he answers, laughing at my concise summary.

Ben Steen leans back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests and his hands steepled in front of his mouth as he considers Carson. “A party? This is your grand idea to fix the Americana Land image?”

He sounds uncertain, but not harsh. To me, at least. Carson seems to feel differently.

“Yes. A ‘party’, as you called it, otherwise known as a festival, that will be a social media buzz loud enough to drown out any other storylines while creating an improved image for Americana Land as a vacation destination for not only families with young children or older people but targeting a different demographic in an innovative manner.”

It’s nearly verbatim what Carson and I discussed before approaching his dad, delivered with considerably more bite. Ben’s eyes go hard, returning Carson’s determined glare. Two bulls preparing to charge one another without realizing they could get so much more done if they worked together.

Using a soothing tone, I echo Carson’s pitch. “This will be a way to reach a new demographic, which happens to be the Abby Burks generation. A festival will be a direct rebuttal to her drama, creating a positive social media presence around the Americana Land name.”

“Hmm,” Ben says thoughtfully, his gaze turning to me. It’s my job to read people and situations, but Ben Steen is not only a closed book, but rather, one with a lock securely fastening any thoughts or emotions inside. I don’t know if he’s going to laugh at me or agree. Or maybe yell? There’s no telling. “And you want carte blanche to run with this?”

That definitely does not sound promising.

“Yes,” Carson answers immediately, taking Ben’s attention back.

“What about the timing? We have the charity event coming up soon too, you know. It’s a big deal for the local children’s hospital. We can’t interfere with that.”

The annual charity event at Americana Land has been a staple on the philanthropy social calendar for over ten years. The funds go to a local hospital to help pay for uninsured children’s care so that their families aren’t wiped out during an already difficult time. I would never suggest anything that would compromise that. But before I can tell Ben that, Carson jumps in.

“I’m aware,” Carson grits out, his frustration with his father’s reminder apparent. “This would actually be completed before the charity event and the concert series kick off. There’s no timing conflict, and that project has its own dedicated team, as it has since it began. Mike was already aware of the proposed dates of the new concert series, and since we’re consolidating to a single date, it actually makes things less congested on the calendar.”

Tense silence stretches between the two men, and though I’m in the middle of this whole thing, I feel on the outside of whatever quiet conversation is happening in their posturing and mental games. This has been going on for a long time and won’t be solved in one conversation. Especially one had during a professional and personal crisis.

“Done.” Ben Steen’s decision is as easy as that. One word.

There’s still more to unravel here, but I can take that one step at a time. First, I need to fix the image issues, then I can help Carson figure out how to communicate with his dad. For now? The focus has to be on this massive undertaking of a project. I have faith that Carson and I can do it together. With his team, of course. And maybe then I can work on helping the two men find some common ground to settle their shit.

CHAPTER 13

CARSON

“Los Angeles,” I note, looking out the window of the chartered private plane. “Or Van Nuys, technically, I guess.”

Dad would never have approved anything other than flying business class, but after Jayme worked some of her negotiation magic with a local pilot for hire, we proved that it was actually more cost effective for us to fly out on a private plane this morning for our meeting with Jazmyn Starr and then fly back tonight. If we’d flown one of the major airlines, the next flight home would’ve required an overnight stay, and while I would’ve been more than okay with a night alone with Jayme, the hotels are expensive and booked solid for some convention plus an award ceremony that’s in town.

“Same difference,” Jayme quips, glancing out her own window.

She’s had her nose buried in her notebook since we left, not impressed with the sunrise from our vantage point or the view of the Hollywood Hills as we fly in. But it’s given me time to study her covertly.

When she stepped out of her sleek black Lexus this morning, my eyes nearly popped out of my skull like one of those cartoon cats when they see a sexy kitten strutting by. Her white suit is pristine and fits her as though it were custom-tailored for her body, and the red high heels are the perfect touch of badass boss. I’d honestly developed an instant fantasy of joining the Mile High Club and writing our names in the sky, but Jayme was all business.