Page 7

Ken

"Hey man!"

I'm about to get in my car when Ashton's voice stops me. I turn to face him, already knowing what's coming.

"What the fuck was that kiss?"

"You wanted convincing. Your dad was watching."

"I asked you to pretend, not to maul my sister."

"Dude, you asked me for a favor and I do everything I do right. If you wanted some lame pretender who'd give your lie away, you picked the wrong man."

Ashton's jaw clenches. "Just... keep it professional. I’ll be watching."

"Because everyone loves to be micromanaged, right?" I unlock my car. "You should be focusing on prepping me for war, not on being a jealous asshole. Want to help your sister or not?"

"Fine. Tomorrow at Murphy's, 6 PM. We'll go over everything you need to know for the trip."

"Copy that, boss."

Friday morning finds me pulling into the private airstrip, my old Camaro looking decidedly out of place among the luxury vehicles. Through the terminal windows, I can see Matthews holding court with several board members, wearing an Italian suit, clearly tailored to impress Bree’s dad.

"Ken!" Mr. Carmichael waves me over. "Come join us."

"In a minute, sir." I spot Bree near the back of the terminal with Clara and Melissa. "Just want to say hello first."

“Ashton, call me Ashton. I’m not that old.”

Clara's eyes light up when I approach the group of women. "So you're the famous Ken. Bree's told me everything about you." She winks. "Especially your... impressive knowledge of gravitational physics."

Bree chokes on her coffee.

"All good things, I hope?" I press a kiss to Bree's temple, feeling her stiffen.

"Oh, the best things!" she adds with a wink. “I’m Clara Mitchell, PR Director at Carmichael—Bree and I were lab partners in college before I switched to the dark side of corporate. I’m her friend, co-worker and voice of reason. Sometimes.’

“Nice to meet you, Clara.”

The flight attendant announces boarding, and we file onto the private jet. Matthews immediately claims the seat next to Mr. Carmichael, launching into what sounds like a rehearsed speech about quarterly projections.

I settle across the aisle, close enough to hear Matthews tearing into R&D's "wasteful" spending. When he suggests cutting the water treatment program, Bree's shoulders tighten several rows up.

"Actually," I cut in, "I've been reading about that project."

Matthews looks at me like I crawled out of the cargo hold. "Have you now?"

"The ROI’s strong—especially with the tax credits from environmental initiatives. Add the PR boost from helping veteran communities? It's marketing gold. And, you know, basic decency."

He sneers. "Didn’t know you were a chemical engineer."

"I’m not. But I understand numbers." I hold up my phone. "Lead levels are off the charts. This is what Carmichael was built for."

Mr. Carmichael leans forward. "You’ve researched this?"

"Just doing my homework, Ashton. When Bree talks about her work, I listen. Like she does for mine."

Matthews tries to pivot, but I can tell I’ve won this round. And maybe bought Bree’s project some time.

The rest of the flight, he keeps trying to make me look dumb. But Ashton Jr. didn’t just brief me on family dynamics—he made sure I knew the business.

When we land, Mr. Carmichael invites me to join their tennis match tomorrow morning.

"Love to," I say, "but Bree and I have plans to play golf."

"Golf?" He blinks. "Bree plays?"

"Oh yeah, she's been taking lessons. Knows it's useful for informal meetings with investors." I smile. "She works hard at everything she does."

His approval is palpable. Matthews looks like he's swallowed something sour.

"Now if you'll excuse me," I stand, "I should check on Bree."

I find her in the back of the plane, pretending to read something on her tablet.

"Your father's impressed," I say quietly.

"With your performance?" Her voice is acid. "Yeah, you're really earning that Oscar."

"With you, actually. The golf lessons thing? Shows initiative."

She glances up. "There are no golf lessons."

"I know. But tomorrow morning, while they're playing tennis, we'll find a quiet spot on the course to... relax. They’ll never know what kind of game we’re actually playing."

Her cheeks flush. "And when my father asks about our game?"

"Leave that to me." I wink. "I’ll find a caddy who's very good at being discreet."

She studies me for a long moment. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Helping me. With Matthews, with Dad. You could just coast through this all-inclusive vacation, but instead..."

"Maybe I don't like seeing good work dismissed by assholes in expensive suits that think they’re better because they have money."

"Or maybe you're just that good at pretending to care."

I lean closer, close enough to smell her perfume. "Keep telling yourself that, Princess."

Her breath catches, but before she can respond, the plane begins its descent.

Welcome to the Hamptons, where nothing is what it seems .

And I'm starting to wonder if that includes whatever's happening between me and Bree.

Because the way she looked at me when I defended her project?

That wasn't pretend at all.

And that’s a real fucking problem.