Page 16 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Ten

Tristan should be feeling good. The tour was off to a great start, and while there was a competitor, he felt confident that he’d be able to run Sophie out of town, so to speak, in no time.

He had the power of the internet on his side, and he knew how to turn a viral moment into ticket sales.

He’d already remixed some of the video of Sophie yelling at him in the street and turned it into a sponsored ad.

See what all the fuss is about! Have a Ghouls Night Out in Boneyard Key!

The ad ended with a slo-mo clip of him tipping his hat.

He was already sold out for the next three weekends.

But despite all this, Tristan felt like the world’s biggest shit-heel.

Because when Eric had checked in this afternoon with the latest sales numbers and projections, every time he went over the Boneyard Key script to prepare for the next weekend’s tours, all Tristan could think of was Sophie’s face the night they’d met.

Those big brown eyes, that smile. Her bright sunny nature as she led her ghost tour, a disposition that outshone the moon above them.

He remembered the way they’d leaned into each other, sitting together at the bar at The Haunt.

She’d absolutely captivated him, and he’d wanted to know more. He’d wanted to know everything.

And then he remembered her face the day before, sitting across the table from him at Hallowed Grounds.

She looked disgusted, as though he was something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe.

And beneath that, she looked betrayed. Sad.

It had taken every single trick he’d learned in every single acting class he’d ever taken to look unconcerned.

To look like shutting her down was his primary goal.

Making her look that sad was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

But if he was going to show his father that he could run a successful business, he had to see this through.

It didn’t mean he had to do it completely on his own, though, he reasoned as he pulled up his father’s number on his phone.

Asshole or not, Sebastian Martin was a genius when it came to business.

Maybe he’d have a solution for navigating this tricky ethical dilemma.

Tristan had forgotten. His dad didn’t give a shit about ethics.

“This is great news!” Tristan could count on one hand the number of times that his father had sounded pleased with him, and he would still have enough fingers to flip off said father.

But tonight, all he’d had to do was call and let dear old Dad know that he was on the verge of crushing a competing small business.

“Yeah, it really is.” He imbued as much enthusiasm into his voice as he could. All he had to do was not think about Sophie’s stricken face when he suggested she close up shop. “I’m totally going to crush her.” Nope. Impossible. How could he not think about Sophie?

Meanwhile, Sebastian Martin couldn’t sound happier.

“That’s my boy. So what’s the plan?” But he kept speaking, even as Tristan took a breath to answer.

“Here’s what you do. First, make sure you set up a shared spreadsheet, so you can both enter in your numbers each week.

That way, you can keep track of how she’s doing.

Then, it’s time to cut prices on your tour.

Whatever she charges? Charge five dollars less.

Not forever, of course. But you want to undercut her for now.

Even that little bit will make people more likely to take your tour than hers.

Bump up your advertising too. Florida during spring break is one of the peak tourist seasons, so you opened at just the right time. ”

“Huh,” Tristan said dryly. “Almost like I planned it that way.”

The sarcasm flew right over his head. “Then once you’ve established yourself and run her out of town, you can raise your prices ten dollars. Increase the profit margin.”

Yeah, his father had been the exact wrong person to call to discuss ethics. Tristan fought against a sigh. This phone call had been a mistake. He wanted to hang up. Throw his phone into the Gulf of Mexico. Call the whole thing off, see if he could take Sophie to dinner instead.

“And while you’re at it, see if you can run into her again.”

Tristan started. “What?” Had his dad read his mind through the phone?

But no. He wasn’t talking about Tristan taking Sophie out. “I’m not fully on board with all that social media stuff. But it seems to be the way the next generation does business, and I’m not going to sneeze at that. You said that first video went viral? A second one should do the same, right?”

“Sometimes. Not always.” Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose; here came the headache again. “You can’t force something to go viral. People can smell a staged moment a mile away.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll leave that to you. It sounds like you have a good plan. Better than this other person, anyway.”

Tristan had to snort at that. “That’s not too hard.” He hit the speaker button and left the phone on the kitchen counter, crossing to the fridge to get a beer. “She doesn’t seem to have a plan. I had no idea she was here.”

“I thought you did your research first? You always—”

“I did.” He popped the cap, letting it clatter into the sink, and took a swig.

“You can’t find her on the internet anywhere.

The guy at the coffee shop writes down a list of people who want to take her tour.

Then she shows up on a Friday night and people just hand her cash.

She could be doing so much better if she had some kind of business plan.

But operating like this…it’s like she’s self-sabotaging.

” Something about that frustrated him. Like an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t quite reach.

“From the sounds of things, you won’t have to deal with her much longer.

” His father sounded positively gleeful at the prospect.

“Once you’ve run her out of business, I bet she’ll change her mind about working for you.

” His father was still talking. “And you’ll be in a position of power at that point.

Offer her twenty percent less than you were originally going to. What choice will she have?”

“Right.” Tristan felt about as gleeful as if he were at a funeral. After hanging up with his father, the condo was quiet. Way too quiet. He leaned his elbows on the counter and picked at the label on his beer bottle.

He hated to admit it, but his father had a point.

The best thing Tristan could do, business-wise, was stage another confrontation.

Sophie was super sensitive (oh wow, he didn’t like that his brain instantly wondered what else she might be sensitive about, or where else she might be sensitive…

nope, not going there), so if he could time it so their tours collided again, she would easily take the bait.

It would be so easy to goad her into another confrontation. Another viral moment.

But God, the idea was depressing. Depressing, and unnecessary.

This whole competition thing was already like shooting fish in a barrel.

All he had to do was stick to his business plan, the one that he and Eric had started way back on that living room floor in the fraternity house.

That was what worked. He didn’t need to cheat.

As the weeks went by, Tristan’s early-morning runs happened earlier and earlier.

Once spring break was over and late spring in Florida turned tourist traffic into a trickle, he was setting his alarm clock earlier than he’d ever thought humanly possible.

But one of the first things he’d learned was that if he wanted to get a decent run in, he’d have to be winding down by the time the sun was fully up.

It was still dark when he laced up his sneakers, the faux gas lamps winking out around him as he jogged up Beachside Drive toward the fishing pier.

He let his feet take him up almost to the highway, hooking right at the last possible moment onto a side street and heading back toward the downtown historic district.

Another right at the Supernatural Market and down that street, past Simpson Investigations (who needed a private detective in a town this small?) and the crystal shop on his left (good time for a sprint, he thought as he remembered that weird glow in the upper window that one night) and Spooky Brew on his right, and he was back on Beachside again.

A couple laps of this section of town added up to a 5K, which was plenty this early in the morning.

He ended his run at the fishing pier, slowing to a jog as he hit the wooden boards, then to a walk when he got to the end.

The sun was up by now, watery rays of early-morning sunlight reflecting off the water.

He bent at the waist, catching his breath, before mopping his forehead, his face, with the bottom of his shirt.

The sun was already prickling his scalp and gently burning his arms. Time to head home.

The walk back to the condo was meant to be a pleasant cooldown from the morning’s run, but he hadn’t counted on being accosted right there at the edge of the pier.

“Got a bone to pick with you, boy.”

Tristan froze at the deep, rumbling voice that seemed to come out of nowhere, and his mind scrambled.

What ghost stories had Sophie told at the pier?

Was this one of them now, come to life to yell at him?

Despite all these years running ghost tours, Tristan had never believed in ghosts.

But now, standing on this pier, cold sweat making his shirt stick to his back, he wondered if maybe he should.

A couple frantic heartbeats later, he saw the old guy leaning against the side of the bait shack. Jimmy’s was painted not far above his head, apparently sometime in the last century. Not a ghost, then.

Tristan tried on a pleasant smile, though his heart was still hammering against his ribs. “Jimmy, I take it?”