Here we go,Charlie thought. His dad was standing by the sliding-glass doors, no doubt about to throw Charlie to the wolves. He had a vivid memory of his father’s voice yelling, “Sinkor swim, son!” after chucking him into the deep end of the community pool. Like it was a question of willpower, and if Charlie didn’t want to drown, he’d figure it out. Luckily, Mugsy had been there to grab him by the rash guard and haul him to the ladder.
“There he is,” his dad said.
“Who?”
“The brains behind this entire operation.” He clearly expected Charlie to be bowled over with amazement, as if turning their home into a fairground was a good thing. “Smithson is a natural leader.”
That must mean Smithson was the one Charlie had noticed before, still doing all the talking… wait. “Did you saySmithson?”
“Yes.” His father’s chin lifted, indicating the mouthy blond outside. “Smithson Barrett.”
“Smithson Barrett,” Charlie repeated.
“Do you have an ear infection? Smithson Barrett, like I said.” He checked to be sure no one was in hearing range before gesturing at Charlie to bend down. “Our rebranding consultant.”
Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and counted to three before opening them again, but the mirage didn’t dissolve. Smithson Barrett, Jean’s high school nemesis. The jerk who let her take the rap for his crimes.She was right about the hair,he thought, squinting at the back of Smithson’s head. It was hard to be certain with all the gel, but Charlie strongly suspected it was thinning, just as Jean had predicted.
Hard to believeSmithsonwas standing in Charlie’s backyard. “What are the odds?”
“It was more about persistence. I gave him the full-court press.”
As usual, Charlie and his father were speaking at cross-purposes. “Why?”
“Because we needed his magic touch.” His eyes took on a faraway look. You would have thought he was bragging to a casual acquaintance about his son, instead of the reverse.
“Did you check his references?”
His father huffed at the ridiculousness of the question. “Smithson has done wonders for his family’s business.”
“If he’s that great, don’t they need him back at Barrett’s?”
“He works with a very limited outside clientele. This is a real W for us, convincing Smithson to come on board. You could learn a lot from him, Charles. Take a page from his book.”
“No thanks.” He wasn’t looking for lessons on how to be a weasel. No offense to weasels.
His father glanced at his watch. “We’ll table that for later. I’ve got another surprise for you.”
“That’s nice,” Charlie said, unconvincingly.
“Don’t frown, son. It looks like you’re worried.” He hitched up his pants, elbows and toes angled outward in a stance that was probably supposed to telegraph confidence, even though it looked to Charlie like his dad’s underwear might be riding up.
“You’ll like this,” his father promised. “It’s a girl. Your kind of person.”
It was anyone’s guess what that meant. Glasses, most likely. Limited athletic ability. Not good at schmoozing.
“Can’t wait,” Charlie lied.
Chapter 17
As the cloud of dust kicked up by the Jeep’s tires faded to a haze, Jean studied the scene in front of them. The iron gates and fully staffed security booth at the end of the private drive had set the expected hoity-toity tone, but between here and there, they seemed to have teleported to a different world.
“What the fuck, Hildy? I’m getting major dude-ranch vibes.” It would be hard not to, what with the hay bales and hats, not to mention the red bandanas tied around every other neck.
Hildy pressed her lips together,hmming thoughtfully as a man in a checked shirt and painted-on Wranglers twirled his lasso for an older couple, who clapped when he finished the trick. “It is a bit frontiercore. Possibly my intel was a teensy bit faulty, regarding the theme.”
“You think?” Jean glanced down at her midriff-baring bustier, barely covered by the fringe of her vest. “This ensemble does not say cattle drive. I look like a total imposter.”
“You’re from Wisconsin. They have lots of cows there.”
