I see Sierra has already beaten me at that game.
But I need Pam to see that me and Sierra, working together—it ain’t gonna work.
Unfortunately, Sierra sees me dump the coffee and smirks at me as I approach. “Something wrong with that coffee, Mason?” She wears a short white tennis skirt that flutters around her creamy thighs in the breeze.
“Just finished it,” I mutter. I take a sip of my coffee as my gaze skims her perky cleavage in the skimpy, strappy yoga top she chose to wear for this meeting.
Savage. The woman is savage.
I guess whatever kindness she showed last night was a one-time thing.
Maybe she was just drunk again.
“Good morning, Mason,” Pam says briskly. She’s holding a loaded clipboard, and her three-year-old son is driving a toy dump truck up and down her leg, so she gets right to it. “I was just bringing Sierra up to speed about the festival, explaining how visitors will walk in under the big banner where Cherry Way meets Water Street. They’ll smell the barbecue, hear music from the stage, see kids making chalk art along the sidewalks. The vibe is community spirit and family fun, but we all know the real draw to Sunshine Fest is the food.”
“And the drink, of course.” Sierra slurps her smoothie.
“Right,” Pam says. “And our key concern is maintaining flow between the various entertainment zones and the food service areas. Main stage. Farmers’ market. Family fun zone. Food trucks. Barbecue pit. And both of your places.”
“About that,” I say. “Considering that we’re essentially in competition, professionally, right now, I’m not sure that Sierra and I can ethically work together, so—”
“Oh, I have no problem working with Mason,” Sierra says, not even looking at me.
Pam looks from her to me.
I grind my molars, then grit out, “Great. Just checking. I have no problem with it, either.” Because no way am I letting her winthispower struggle. I am not letting her make me look like the bad guy here.
“Okay ... Now that that’s settled,” Pam says, “here’s the issue we still need to resolve. We need to rethink our food service layout, now that Sea Haven isn’t running the pop-up at the pier like we thought it would be. Instead, we have a smoothie bar.”
“Oh. How does that change things?” Sierra asks.
“Well,” I fill her in, “maybe because where we were expecting to offer people actual food, now they only get liquid fruit.”
Sierra’s light-green eyes fix on me, ridiculously beautiful in the morning sun. “I don’t see a problem. My smoothies are packed with nutrients. They’re way more nutritious than pub grub.”
“Excuse me, ‘pub grub’? Is that what you’re calling the food in my establishment?”
The unflinching look in her eyes says,You waged war on me, buddy. Take it like a man.
“I’m adapting my menu to highlight local ingredients during the festival,” she says pleasantly, kissing up to Pam. “And I’m happy to share my patio area with vendors who can provide ‘actual food.’”
“Great,” I say. “Because you have the most visible spot. So, you won’t mind if my bar serves food on your patio.”
She snorts. “I don’t think so.”
“Look,” Pam interrupts. “I already have four kids of my own and fires to put out elsewhere. So, I’m gonna let you two kids work this out.” And with that, she shoves the clipboard at me, answers her buzzing phone, and she’s gone, three-year-old in tow.
“Way to go. You pissed off Pam.” Sierra sips her smoothie and gazes at me innocently. “She’s a busy mom, you know.”
“You need to be flexible here. This isn’t even your town.”
She rolls her eyes. “We are not serving food fromyourbar onmypatio. It makes no sense. I’m happy to partner with one of the food trucks. Or the community barbecue pit that Pam mentioned. You have your whole parking lot for the beer and cider garden. Don’t be greedy, Mason.”
“I’mbeing greedy?”
“Why don’t you keep to your own establishment, I’ll keep to mine, and we’ll just see what people prefer,” she says coolly.
“What are you proposing? Some childish contest?”
