Risky Business

I can’t contain the smile that steals my face. “She is. She’s meeting me here because she knew I needed to be onsite early.”

Dad hums agreeably as he takes a sip of wine. We return to overlooking the party in companionable silence. I’ll admit that I’m scanning for Jayme, looking for her blonde hair and inviting smile. But that is not who I find.

“Motherfucker.”

“What’s wrong?” Dad responds quickly, following my line of vision and spying my brother. He sighs heavily, and for the first time, I feel the sadness that resides beneath the disappointment I’d always seen. “Did you invite your brother?”

I glare at Dad incredulously. “Of course not. I’m just getting over an image issue. The last thing I need is to remind people who I’m related to. Or that he’s associated with Americana Land.”

“I’ll take care of it.” With a straight back and a clenched jaw that looks vaguely familiar to the one I’ve seen in the mirror, he takes two steps toward Archer.

I catch up to his side. “We’ll take care of this. Together.”

Across the garden, Archer is smiling gregariously, looking like the epitome of a rich playboy as he laughs at something Mrs. Stephens, the billion-dollar grand dame heiress, just said. He’s wearing a nice suit, though it’s gray instead of the standard black, but it at least looks well-fitted.

“Archer. Mrs. Stephens.” Dad interrupts their conversation without apology. Before Archer can say something, he smoothly tells Mrs. Stephens, “I believe I saw Delilah Jones over by the bartender getting a gimlet. Have you seen her lately?”

He knows that’s a dangling carrot she will not be able to resist. Those two have been frenemies for at least a decade, smiley face to face while clearly trying to one-up each other in terms of fashion extravagance or other ostentatious displays of wealth. Hopefully, that means each of them ponying up huge donations tonight.

“Oh! I haven’t seen her in ages!” Mrs. Stephens leans to look around Dad toward the bar. “Ooh! She looks amazing!” she raves. “I need to see what new secrets she’s discovered. If you’ll excuse me, boys.”

She pats Archer’s arm to excuse herself and wanders off. While I’m sure that their conversation will be sugary sweet while also laced with arsenic, I know they won’t cause a scene.

Personally, I don’t think Delilah Jones has done anything other than pull her hair back a bit tighter and had an expert makeup application, but what do I know? Hopefully, she’ll share whatever tricks she’s got with Mrs. Stephens, or at the least be flattered that she looks so good that people think she’s had work done.

Either way, Dad got what he wanted—a moment alone with Archer.

I force a smile to my face, knowing it’s more of a feral grimace than anything welcoming. “Archer, what are you doing here?”

He grins easily, taking a healthy swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. Scotch, by the smell of it. Dammit, I should have checked. Most of the permanent Americana Land staff know that Archer Steen is not to be given anything stronger than a Sprite. But he’s been out of the picture so long, that lesson might have been ignored or forgotten. “Thought I’d come see what the family’s up to. These parties were always so much fun. Remember?”

His eyes cut from Dad to me, measuring the impact of every word, every second. Rather than letting Dad get going, I grunt, “I do remember.”

I’m thinking of the time Archer and I were working the party, acting as teenage representatives of Steen Amusements, Americana Land, and Dad, and instead of sticking to the party line of ‘watch for the fresh, new rides and fun, Broadway-level shows’, Archer had gone completely off-script . . .

“Great? I guess if you call decades-old, county fair-quality rides ‘great’, then sure, that’s how things are going.”

“Archer, tell Mr. Richardson that you’re kidding,” I say, trying to mitigate the damage my brother can do in one sentence. When Archer’s quiet, I speak for him. “He’s joking. He just has a bad sense of humor.” When he doesn’t immediately agree, I bump him with my shoulder, trying to encourage him to get his shit straight.

Meanwhile, Mr. Richardson doesn’t look convinced, and Archer smirks at me like the favored child who was gifted a pony for his birthday while I received a plastic horse cowboy toy from the dollar store.

Still trying to undo Archer’s work, I add, “Dad’s updated our classics, like the Founding Fathers Carousel, because they’re the favorites people return to time and time again. Those rides hold their families’ history along with the history of Americana Land. But we’re also adding new attractions, like the Baked Alaska, our seasonal sledding hill with a firepit and s’mores station at the base. And the upcoming show, ‘One If By Land, Two If By Sea’.”