Page 3

Three

T he swing’s frayed rope roughed Carson’s palms. He could smooth talk any situation, but Julia Stone threw him off his game. Always had.

When he was a teen, his sports-agent mom had insisted charisma and looks were just as important as his athletic ability.

College scouts—and eventually MLB scouts—would make him an offer over equally talented players if he was likable.

So he’d adopted an overconfident persona ’til he became that guy.

The adulation from his buddies and girls proved he was the clever, funny, handsome ballplayer his mom pushed him to be.

Not Julia, though. She hadn’t fallen for any of it.

She’d been hired as his English tutor when his grades teetered on the edge of student-athlete GPA requirements.

So he couldn’t exactly pretend to be a genius.

And when he’d cracked tried-and-true jokes other girls had said were hilarious , Julia ignored him and continued quizzing him on the English Romantic poets he’d constantly mixed up.

As for handsome? Julia hadn’t seemed to notice.

So he’d settled into just being himself instead of the jock everyone expected him to be. He’d liked that guy better, looked forward to their afternoons together. Enjoyed them more than time on his own because her company kept him out of his head.

Still no love from her, though. Eventually, her cool detachment drove him wild.

Sitting with her tonight was bizarre. She was a time machine to his younger, asshat self.

A time machine who’d said nothing to him in the last hour.

Instead she coolly sipped on the cocktail he’d designed for the party this evening, while he sat here with nerves pinging around his body like he’d shotgunned Mentos and Pepsi.

“Hope you like the Perfect Pear. I figured you for a champagne girl.”

“Woman. Champagne doesn’t agree with me. I usually partake of crisp white wine or the fruitiest drink possible for events like these.” She held up her enormous glass. “Voilà.”

Their swings groaned under them.

Over the past ten years, he’d learned that if he wasn’t sure what to say, keeping his trap shut was the better choice. Otherwise, he’d spew something he’d regret.

Julia sighed. “Here’s the thing, Carson Miller. I don’t like you.”

Wow, she was direct. “I get that, but—”

“This is a good time for you to listen.” As she glared at him, the light from inside the house caught her helix earrings.

“I don’t like you , but I love my mother and Jim seems nice.

You and I live on opposite coasts, so it’ll be easy for us to keep our distance.

I’d rather family events not be hella awkward. ”

He blew out a breath. “We can agree on that.”

“Good. Then let’s be honest. You and your richie-rich friends were jerks to me. What did I ever do to you besides help you with your English papers?”

The stiff rope fibers dug into his fingers.

She’d done nothing wrong. It had all been him.

Her moxie, her humor, her superhuman ability to cut through bullshit…

Julia was tantalizing, always had been. But she hadn’t been the type of girl he’d normally have asked out in high school.

Her family had no money, she’d dressed in granny-style vintage clothes, and she’d been a studious ballbuster.

There was also the small matter of him never being sure she’d actually liked him.

For example, out of the blue one day, when he was talking about the epic party his buddy Caleb had thrown over winter break, she’d said his friends were clout-chasing fakes.

That makes me one, too , he’d said. ’Cause I’m just like them.

She’d shaken her head. No, there’s more to you. Something vulnerable you hide.

When he’d laughed, she’d said his circle would drop him like a dead ball if he wasn’t Bronson Alcott High School’s golden boy.

That had frozen him cold. She couldn’t have known that was his number two fear.

His number one? That his mom loved that he was a star center fielder more than she loved him.

So again, he’d laughed. But that August, he’d found out how right she was.

“Carson?” she asked. “Hello?”

“You did nothing,” he said. “It was all me, and I’m sorry. I was an insecure asshole. I zeroed in on you, said your glasses were too big, your clothes came from thrift stores, harped on you for going to dances with friends instead of—”

“Okay, okay.” She held up a hand. “I was there. No need to list the grim details.”

The ruby, sapphire, and diamond tattoos inside her forearm were vivid against her pale softness. What was the story there? She had no other visible ink.

“Sorry. I wanted to prove I know what I did wrong. Rest assured, I’m a changed man.”

For a woman with eyes the color of molten-chocolate-lava cake, Julia’s gaze sure was icy.

“I’d love to believe that.” She sipped the Perfect Pear. “Fool me once, and all that jazz. I have another question.”

He braced himself. “Yeah?”

Julia twisted toward him. If he wasn’t slightly terrified, he’d have salivated at the way her ponytail curled against her breast.

“When our parents started dating…did you know Michelle was my mother?”

Ah, hell. He’d hoped this wouldn’t come up. From her tense shoulders to her twisted red lips, he suspected Julia wanted the rawest truth possible.

Yeah, he knew.

When he met Michelle, her eyes lit up like diamonds when she talked about her daughters, Alex and Julia.

Upon hearing the names, he thought…maybe?

Michelle’s last name was different, though, so he didn’t put two and two together until he saw a pic of Julia and Alex.

By the time he did, his dad was happier than he’d been in years.

So, to not mess things up for his father, he said…

“No, I didn’t. Not until later.”

There—that was honest enough.

She sipped her drink again. “I take it, then, you didn’t tell our parents we have history.”

“No,” he said.

“Good.”

The atmosphere around them shifted, calmed. A light breeze carried the evening primrose’s scent. For the umpteenth time that evening, Carson noticed Julia’s naked shoulders.

“Do you want my jacket? It’s chilly.”

A giggle bubbled from her. “Chilly? It’s in the sixties.”

“Which is chilly.”

“Not when you’re coming from Ithaca, New York.” She gestured toward the night. “People are still wearing shorts and sundresses back home.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I don’t accept it when former Californians change regions and then make fun of those of us who are still acclimated to the weather here.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Not my fault you’re soft.”

He was anything but soft, but he’d let it slide.

“You’re in Ithaca for school, right?” He gestured toward her now-empty glass. “May I?”

She handed him the empty, and he sat it on a rung of the fort’s ladder.

“I was. In Ithaca for grad school, I mean. But I graduated in May.” She shrugged. “Now I’m job-hunting. Soon as I land a job at a five-star resort, I’ll move.”

“What’s the holdup?”

She pointed at him. “That is information reserved for friends and family. You’re neither.”

“Yet.”

She nodded. “Yet.”

“So,” he said. “About planning our parents’ wedding. Shall we partner up?”

Another laugh escaped her. This one was less bubbly but more sarcastic.

Could laughter be sarcastic?

“Uh, I’m not sure if you heard, but my mother’s super-excited to throw cash at her unemployed daughter. Not you, her soon-to-be husband’s hotshot son.”

“Hotshot?” he asked.

“I’m guessing.” She flourished her fingers at him. “You have hotshot vibes.”

He wrinkled his forehead. “Events are what I do for a living.”

“Hospitality is what I’m trained to do, and that includes events. I can handle this. You’re welcome to punch out. Besides I grew up in Belize. What do you know about the country?”

“Not much, but—”

“I rest my case.” She pushed back and off the ground. As she sailed past him, her skirt fluttered around her legs.

“Let me help,” he said. “Pulling this off will be tough.”

“No. I can’t trust you. People don’t change.”

Ouch, but he didn’t blame her.

No, what he’d like to do is go back in time to kick his own ass.

After spring break senior year, he’d been tired of wrestling with his unrequited crush on her. His buddies were doing the promposal thing, so he’d figured, fuck it. He’d ask Julia to prom. Hell, she’d probably be so delighted she’d fall backward with joy and open her legs in gratitude.

But she’d turned him down, and his hurt pride had morphed into something ugly.

Boneheaded negging, ghosting, and a smear campaign. Classic tactics to fool himself into thinking he still had the upper hand. To force her to keep her distance so he wouldn’t be reminded that she saw him, the real him, and had rejected him all the same.

And it worked like gangbusters. Was still working, since she didn’t want his help.

“People grow,” he said as she arced past him. “Mature. Their priorities change.”

“What are your priorities these days?” she asked. “Torturing kittens?”

“Work hard, play hard, laugh hard.” It was his company’s tagline, stolen from his frat’s informal motto. “Mostly, I like to make people around me happy.”

“On that, we can agree.”

“So you’ll let me help?”

“Hard pass,” she said. Her dress fluttered as she curved through the air. The smooth plane of her thigh flashed him.

He chewed the inside of his lip. “Why?”

“Because, Carson Miller, life—especially you—gave me a bunch of lemons, and I learned to make lemonade. I don’t need your help. I operate best flying solo.”

He didn’t like being compared to tart fruit. “I hate that saying. It’s disingenuous.”

“How so?”

“Without sugar, you can’t make lemonade. Otherwise, you’re making lemon juice.”

She sailed past him again. “Buzzkill.”

He leaned back against the ropes as irritation prickled his scalp.

His whole deal was making sure people had a good time.

He’d invented six legendary cocktails that were still in rotation at Phi Gamma Titan.

At last count, twenty-three marriages could be traced back to parties he’d thrown during his tenure as social chair.

“The last thing I am is a buzzkill. I literally have industry awards for my parties.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” She pumped her legs again. “I was enjoying a light buzz, you came out here, and bam . Buzz killed.”

This conversation was going nowhere. Time to swing for the fences with an offer she couldn’t blow off.

“I have a counteroffer.”

“You can’t counter offer,” she said. “There is no offer.”

Once again, the tantalizing glimpse of her thighs under the rippling fabric distracted him. Negotiations went better when he wasn’t distracted by supple flesh.

“Could you stop for a second?”

“Nope.” She glanced backward. “It’s in physics’ hands.”

He tightened his grip on the swing’s ropes. “I have contacts in LA, Vegas, New York, the Riviera, and Cabo San Lucas.”

She dragged her toes through the grass. “I’m listening.”

“If you agree to work with me, I’ll put you in touch with my hotelier network. You’re guaranteed to land a job with one if I put in a good word.”

She searched his gaze.

“ Why wouldn’t you make those professional connections since I’m your future stepsister? You owe me one. Scratch that—you owe me, like, six.”

Easy. He wanted to spend time with her. To give him a chance to make amends for the bastard he’d been.

Bonus, he’d also be able to exorcise her from his imagination.

She’d gotten under his skin all those years ago, and he’d liked the guy he was during those tutoring sessions with her.

Ever since, despite never even having kissed Julia, he’d compared his— relationships was too strong a word…

situationships ?—to the dynamic he’d had with her.

“I never make professional recommendations unless I have direct experience with the individual. I can’t risk tarnishing my reputation.”

That had the benefit of being true. Like a month ago, when his aunt Charlotte had asked him to serve as a job reference for his cousin Danny for a job. Instead, he’d offered Danny a probationary gig with Limitless Events so he could vouch for him in good faith.

“How dare you?” Julia spluttered. “I graduated with honors from the top-ranked hospitality management master’s program in the country.”

He lifted a shoulder. “That doesn’t make my original point untrue. I can’t make recommendations without working with you.”

She hopped from the swing, then lasered her glittering gaze on him. “Fine. We’ll work together. If you meet my one demand.”

With her hands on her hips, dress fluttering in the breeze behind her, she gave off superhero vibes. This view of her standing over him was one he could get used to.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You’ll put in as much blood, sweat, and tears as me. Deal?”

She stuck out her hand.

Carson rose from the swing, then wrapped his grip around her extended palm. A jolt rocketed through him, lighting up his brain, his heart, and dove straight to his cock.

Oh no, no, no.

That flame of attraction should never show up at a family party. Working closely with Julia was dangerous. He’d back out. Right the fuck now. Graciously give her the gig and hope for the best for their parents’ wedding.

Instead, he heard himself say, “Deal.”