Think Outside the Boss - Olivia Hayle Page 0,27

a cotton candy stand.

Yes, this was a good idea.

“We have security at the entrance with the lists of names,” Reece says at my side. Fifteen years my senior, Exciteur’s event planner had been less than pleased at receiving instructions from three trainees. I’d given her as much power as I could to counteract that, and accepted every single one of her suggestions.

“That’s excellent.”

“Everything should go smoothly now,” she says. Her phone dings, and she glances down. “Except someone forgot to put up the private hire sign by the exit, and now there’s a line. Damn it…” She disappears down the path at a determined stride.

Luke rocks on his heels beside me. He’s a trainee in the sales department, and his grin is as wide as he is tall. “I can’t believe we pulled this off.”

“I never thought they would go for it in the first place,” William says. “Who knew all these people had kids?”

“How do they do it? I worked until nine every evening last week,” Luke says. “The others in my department were right there along with me.”

I re-tie the waistband of my coat, pulling it tighter around myself. There’s no warmth in the late November air. “It’s a good thing the company is doing this, then. Giving them time to have fun.”

I scan the crowd, amazed at the number of people. Does Exciteur really employee this many people? When we’re all stacked upon one another in the high-storied building on the Upper West Side, there’s no telling.

My gaze snags on a tall figure. He’s wearing a navy coat over his suit, a gray scarf around his neck. His thick hair is pushed back, the scruff of a few days of not shaving accentuating the square of his jaw.

I can still hear his deep voice in my ear. Feel the weight of his body against mine.

“Freddie?”

“Sorry?”

Luke grins at me. “You were completely lost there for a moment. Are you excited for the bar later?”

“Um, yeah. Absolutely.” I tuck my hands into my coat pocket. “I’ll make a lap, make sure everything’s in order. Talk to you guys later.”

I weave my way through the half-empty fair, trying to spot him again. Pass by Toby and Quentin bantering by the ring toss and smile to myself. Tristan’s tall enough to stand out… should be here somewhere.

I turn the corner at a carnival game and there he is.

Tristan Conway, leaning against the counter of a game booth. He has his hand on the shoulder of a dark-haired boy. I blink, but the image doesn’t go away.

“Can I try, Dad?” the boy asks.

Tristan hands him a set of darts. “Keep your elbow steady and aim for the balloons.”

“I know,” the boy says.

A smile flashes across Tristan’s face. “Of course you do.”

His son, because he has a son, takes aim and throws the first dart. That’s when Tristan looks over his shoulder. Our eyes meet.

I’m busted.

“Hello,” he says.

I swallow. “Hi. Didn’t mean to ambush the two of you like this.”

“That’s not a problem.” Tristan glances down at the boy, but he’s deep in concentration. “Good job on the fair.”

“Thank you. All I did was book it, though.” I give a crooked smile, my mind still running on overdrive. Tristan Conway is a father.

“Take the credit,” he advises me.

“Okay.”

The boy turns around. “I didn’t hit a single one.”

“Try again,” Tristan says, extending a new set of darts. “Really focus on aiming.”

The boy pushes back a dark curl that’s fallen over his brow. I’d peg him at nine, ten. “I’ll get one this time.”

“Of course you will, kid.” Tristan must see my curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything, just runs a hand over his neck. His jaw is tense.

His son sees me and gives me a little wave, darts clasped in his hand. “Hello.”

“Hi there,” I say.

Tristan gestures at me. “This is Frederica. She works for me.”

“I’m Joshua,” his son says politely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Are you playing darts?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to hit the balloons. If you hit three of them, you win a prize.”

“What’s the prize?”

He turns to the booth. The girl who runs it is off to the side, her eyes glued to her phone. But the ceiling is covered in stuffed animals dangling from ropes. “I’m not sure.”

Tristan points at a sign on the wall. “Three hits and you get to choose any stuffed animal.”

“Which one would you choose?” I ask, stepping up beside him. My hand goes to my wallet, looking for quarters.