Clover laughs, links arms with me, and leads me to what is sure to be a festival to remember.
“We’ve made$7500 from the entrance fees alone,” Pops says, cutting my line and not caring who he pisses off. “You’re doin’ real good, Madi. I’m proud of you.”
“Come on, Pops. Don’t make me cry. They’re still taking pictures, and the last thing I want to do is wake up to a picture of me ugly crying.”
He reaches over the booth and pats my hand. “You could never be ugly, Madi, inside or out. You’re a beauty.” He leans closer. “How are the hairy dicks treating ya? You need a break?”
Paparazzi will forever be known as hairy dicks around here thanks to Old Man Cracken.
I soften my gaze for my grandfather—he’s a little ball of menace and chaos, but so full of love he’s bursting at the seams. I wouldn’t be who I am without him.
“Nah, Pops. I’m good. In case you haven’t noticed the two secret service-looking guys on either side of my booth, they’re not letting anyone give me a hard time. Plus, I have the beefed-up Sage back here helping me make the drinks.”
“Beefed up,” Sage snorts. “I lifted two times—I wouldn’t exactly call it beefed up.” He chuckles but flashes a wicked smile too. He’s not wearing his eyeliner today, and he’s dressed head to toe in football swag he got from the team. He’s as happy as I’ve ever seen him.
“Good. Good,” Pops says, dragging me back to reality. “I’m goin’ to sit with Blissy. She’s all up in a tizzy over your Dirty Matcha thingamajig. People are asking her for it, and she ain’t got the recipe.”
“Aw, poor Blissy. Tell her I’ll happily give her our recipe…after the festival.”
“Good girl.” Pops turns to the crowd of annoyed paparazzi who are surprisingly waiting patiently in line. “You give her any shit, and you’re going to deal with me. Got it?”
As soon as he steps out of the way, another camera greets me. I take a deep breath and try not to look constipated as he clicks and clicks and clicks.
“Thanks, Madi. Can you tell me how you met Braxton Reyes?”
“He rolled into town looking for happiness, and he found me.” It’s my canned response for that question.
The next guy asks, “Will there be a prenup?”
“We haven’t been engaged long. We have a lot to work out.”
The guy after that is the one who throws me off my game.
“What do you think about Braxton firing everyone at Montgomery Media and taking a suspected $15 to $20 million loss.” The guy is more smarmy than the others, and he returns to snapping pictures when he realizes he was the one to put me off balance.
Sage crouches down to get something from under the bar top I’m standing behind. “Remember,” he whispers. “If that’s true, twenty mil is like a trip to Disney for them. It doesn’t hold the same value when you have more zeros behind your name than you can count.”
He squeezes my ankle, stands, and returns to his drink station—he’s such a great kid. As much as all those zeros make me uncomfortable, he’s probably right, so I plaster that plastic smile back on my face.
“I’m sure whatever he did was for the betterment of the world. He and Grey have a vision for their company, and I think it’s safe to say that anything or anyone that doesn’t meet that vision will be cut loose.”
The gross guy chuckles darkly. “Are you speaking for him now?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” I jump up and down trying to see over the heads of photographers because I know that voice. “She is my fiancée, after all.”
Braxton’s head finally appears, followed by the rest of him, and I’m so happy I nearly collapse right there.
Instead, I duck under the booth, almost knocking over our display, then run and jump into his arms.
“You’re home,” I say, peppering his handsome face with kisses.
The flash of cameras is blinding and never-ending as he holds me up by my thighs and walks us behind the booth.
“Give us five minutes, and we’ll be back to answer all of your questions,” he calls over his shoulder just before we disappear from view.
The men and women standing in that line are so greedy for photos, they don’t make a peep.
“So that’s how you do it?” I say, grinning against his lips.
