One Bossy Dare: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

My lips curl in amusement as I stare at the message on my phone between the break in longwinded panels.

I can’t believe you’re doing this, Lump. My brew wasn’t good enough for an undiscerning charity function, so you’re taking it to a conference now?

I laugh. It’s the tenth time Miss Angelo has texted me this morning, ever since she caught wind of the upcoming event and my travel schedule.

I’m probably enjoying her reaction more than I should be.

I reply, After considerable thought, I prefer Commander Coffee over the unflattering Lump. That does a disservice to my weekly jogging routine and the way it keeps me in shape.

That earns me a string of red faces with $!~# over their mouths.

Eliza: Lump. As in Lump of Cole, you lunk.

Cole: Regardless, you need to calm down. This is the perfect place to judge the new product. No one at this conference will mince words.

Eliza: …that’s what I’m worried about.

Cole: I’m confident they’ll love it. And if they don’t, I’ll just keep paying you to experiment until you produce a drink they’ll adore. I’m not sure what you’re worried about.

I watch the dots at the bottom of the screen indicating she’s typing stop and start again. Several times.

Eliza: Maybe I just hate disappointing my boss. He’s rude as hell and gets scary when he’s mad.

Cole: He also hired you at a premium after a stormy altercation and provided ample direction. If you fucked up, he has no one to blame but himself.

That must catch her off guard.

I don’t get another text for half an hour as I return to reading over Troy Clement’s latest sourcing report about our Brazilian facilities.

When my phone pings again, I look down, expecting another text from Eliza.

It’s Destiny this time. She’s sent me a picture of the first slide of her presentation that goes with the paper. It’s eye-bleed purple and decorated with animated coffee beans that make me bite my tongue.

“Let’s hope the content is better than the style,” I mutter.

The center of the page reads, “Bean Business: The Science Behind An Empire.”

Well, the title has a nice ring to it.

I forward it to Miss Angelo before I can second guess, adding Destiny seems to have enjoyed her time in Development. Thank you again.

She immediately responds with a smiling cat emoji. You’re welcome. And the text you sent before this—the one where you took responsibility—that’s one thing I never expected.

I glare at my phone with my face overheating, scratching my beard.

There’s no need for such heavy words when this conference is nothing special. It’s the same as every other networking booster ever invented for men and women with net worths exceeding eight figures.

Corporate. Stiff. Droll.

Barely two hours in and I’m restless as hell.

Maybe it’s because I’m in a hurry to finish, press a few hands, and go home so I can pay a personal visit to the R & D team. It’s been almost a week since I sparred with my sassy new lab dork in person.

I sit through another panel, only half listening as some advertising mogul from Chicago named Heron drones on about his company’s success. The few mentions of how he found peace for his family and his company vaguely catch my attention.

I’m glad when it’s over, ready to grab a water for my parched throat.

I’m walking by the table that has the beverages when a tall man approaches. It takes me a second to put a face to the name.

Brock Winthrope?

I’ve only met him once, but he’s a whale among big fish, and heir to the international Winthrope luxury hotel brand. So when he wants to talk, I make time to listen.

He might be a bit of a young hothead from what I’ve heard, but what he lacks in age, he makes up for with that last name of his, which always wins respect. He’s also running more of the brand ever since his grandfather moved into the background after the grand opening of their Chicago jewel a couple years ago.

“Mr. Lancaster. I had to come over and tell you how otherworldly this coffee is. I love it,” he says, tapping the side of a complimentary cup with my brand logo on it.

“Thank you. We’ve been working on the latest line for a while. We’re testing it now for a launch late this year.”

He brings his nose to the cup and inhales sharply.

Damn. I can tell he’s not just faking it, which shocks me.

If the drinks are good enough to satisfy a billionaire’s palate, imagine the blowout this could be with everyone else.

“Delicious. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.” He pauses reverently before he says, “We just opened two new Hawaiian resorts. One on Lanai, and the other on the big island. I’ve been searching high and low for extras to stand out. Everything from volcanic spa soaps to bamboo tree houses. I’m involved with approving the menus in our restaurants personally. And the minute I tasted this, it hit me like a truck. This coffee could elevate every meal we serve.”

Two Hawaiian hotels? Shit, the Winthropes never stop.

He stares at me like he’s making an offer I’d be a certified lunatic to refuse. I wonder how many deals those hawkish eyes alone have sealed.

“Are you looking for exclusivity?” I ask, turning over what this means. The scorched drinks are a critical part of Wired Cup’s new vision for the public. I can’t just abandon that. However, a deal with Brock Winthrope could be ridiculously lucrative.

“What do you think?” He cocks his head, his face set like a mask.

Damn. No wonder he’s been on the Forbes Thirty Under Thirty list for most of the last decade.

“Listen, I’d love to do business with you, but I have to think about this. These drinks are slated for our new product launch next quarter. If you’re asking for these recipes, exclusively, I can’t promise that.”

The way he looks at me says I’m making a big mistake. It also tells me he hasn’t been turned down much—if at all—before.

So what? Is the man shocked and appalled that someone might actually pass on becoming part of a Winthrope hotel’s magic?

“Wired Cup is a highly successful regional chain. Why the change up?” he asks slowly.

I open my mouth, but before I can get a word out, he snaps his fingers.

“Oh, wait! Are you trying to go national? I know people who can help with that.”

I clear my throat. “No, not exactly. We’ve had ample opportunities for that, but I have better quality control sticking to the West Coast. We’d have to refine new drinks for Midwestern and East Coast tastes, and that means Wired Cup becomes another Green Mermaid knockoff. Perish the fucking thought,” I growl under my breath.

That wins me a rough laugh.

“Tell us how you really feel! So why the new direction then? Hasn’t Wired Cup stood by its legacy flavors for decades? You’re obviously after something special with the new drinks,” he says pointedly.

I brace for a backhanded insult.

If he calls my coffee reliable, there’s no goddamned chance he gets a campfire roast in any of his resorts. No matter how much money he showers on me.

“And what do you think that legacy is?”

“Bold, consistent flavors, right?” He cocks his head. “A taste everybody knows and remembers.”

I’ll let that consistent comment slide.

“I might be able to work out a deal with exclusivity based on the new beverage line—if you’re really interested,” I say with a nod.

The thumbs-up he gives me comes with a wolfish smile.

“Damn right I am. There’s one big catch—everything at the resorts is locally sourced. We’re pushing sustainability hard for the green crowd, and I’m a man of my word. That coffee can’t be sourced from anywhere outside the islands.”

Fuck.

That gives me serious pause.

Pure Kona coffee is expensive and in short supply, even if I do own significant farms there. And our common Hawaiian blends are at least thirty percent Kona bean mixed with others, unlike many others with the label that have far less Kona bean.

Then again, if Winthrope wants to pay out the ass for pure Kona coffee, this could be lucrative.

“I can do that,” I say. “Though I’m sure you’re aware that pure Kona blends don’t come cheap?” I hope my eyes aren’t full of dollar signs.

“That’s part of the charm, isn’t it? Fortunately, the average Winthrope guest puts experience over price. If their day begins with a fourteen-dollar coffee drink pressed exclusively from the best Kona beans, they’ll pony up.”

As a man who’s life-deep in the coffee business, he’s right. High-end Kona blends are worth the hype. It would be hard for even the most unsophisticated palette not to know the difference between a pure Hawaiian blend and your run of the mill mix.

I need to think this through, though. Taking on a project like this while I’m in the middle of a big launch could stretch us paper thin.

“My card,” Winthrope says, pushing a hefty piece of aluminum into my hands. “Just scan the QR code for my contact.”

There’s a crowd flowing around us now. A few other people butt in, complimenting the new coffee before the next session starts. When I look back, there’s no sign of Brock Winthrope.

Once I’m back in my seat with a water, I take out my phone and text Eliza. Everyone loves the new campfire drinks. Congratulations.

Eliza: Told ya. I know my bean juice.

I snort at the screen. Could she pick a less elegant way to describe what we do? Still, a smile fights its way across my face.

Cole: We need to talk when I get back.

Eliza: You can’t. I retired.

Cole: Retired? Bull. You’ve only worked a month and you’re twenty-six years old.

Eliza: I’m saving myself the trouble. Nothing good ever comes from any variation of “we need to talk.”

Drama Queen. I stab the send button.

Eliza: Only when I’m dealing with you.

I chuckle so loudly a woman in designer heels passing by almost loses her balance.

Cole: Has anyone ever called you high-maintenance, Miss Angelo?

Eliza: Not really.

Cole: Not really—that’s a yes, right?

Eliza: Nope. That’s me informing you that I don’t normally deal with cavemen.

Cole: Are you calling me a goddamned Neanderthal? That’s no way to talk to your boss.

Eliza: My bad, Lump. Try not to dwell on it all day.

Damn her to hell.

It’s like she knows how much mental space she already occupies, and how helpless I am to evict her.

I dwell, all right. I think about Eliza’s mouth and other parts of her through the rest of this glorified ego trip disguised as a business conference.

Especially every last primal act of savagery I’d like to do to her.

It’s after seven o’clock, and I find Eliza in the lab alone.

“You’ve got three hours before the lab closes to all staff. New policy.”

“Don’t remind me.” She looks up from a spread of familiar Wired Cup pastries, plus a few new ones I don’t recognize. “You just got back?”

“I’ve been back for an hour, but I had some cleanup to do before I came to talk,” I say.

“So should I clean out my desk?”

“Why would you?” I tilt my head, unsure what the hell she’s getting at.

“Like I said, when people want to ‘talk’ it’s always bad news…”

“You have a strange sense of humor, Miss Angelo.” I eye her spread, desperate to keep my gaze off her body. “Also, I believe your sweet tooth could put a saber tooth tiger to shame.”

“I’m just going over flavor profiles, using existing food products to see how well the drinks are holding up as complements. I’ve introduced a few new ones as well.” She picks up a golden cookie with a chocolate bar on top. “Destiny and I made this to go with the S’mores Mocha not too long ago. I just needed to tweak it before I had you taste it.”

“Did I not warn you that you’re not on the food team?” My jaw tightens.

Mischief gleams in her honey-brown eyes.

“Oops. You tell me a lot of things. It’s hard to keep up. Sometimes I really only listen when it makes sense. Here, try less death-glaring and more eating.” She shoves the pastry at my mouth and damn near pushes it in.

I angrily bite off a chunk of her cookie, catching her fingers between my lips in the process.

Fuck.

She falls back a step, her eyes closed, a startled sigh slipping out of her before she moves away. For a hot second, I wish this was more than a botched taste test in my company lab.

I see her in my bed, under me, staring up at me with bright-eyed expectation.

This time, I’m the one pushing my thumb into her mouth. She takes it real sweetly, sucking it nice and slow, a prelude to the way I’ll tame her mouth with something far bigger than a finger.

Goddamn.

I swallow the fantasy like a cactus stuck in my throat.

“I’m not fond of too much sugar…but it’s good,” I say. Not nearly as delectable as the sick thoughts ravaging my head, but it’s definitely quality. “I’m glad you found a way to work my graham cracker in.”

Her lips quirk up in a smile a thousand times more inviting than her cookie.

Then she leans in, slowly and cautiously—like she wants me to slam her against the nearest wall and show her what a real taste test would be like.

Goddammit, woman. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into…

I take a deep, halting breath.

Don’t do anything stupid, Cole.

When she tumbles toward me a second later, I almost think it’s my own searing thoughts that pull her off-balance.

There’s only a split second.

It’s catch her or let her hit the floor—and the second option would be unbelievably cruel.

I lunge forward, diving for Eliza. Her weight falls into my arms and I hold her in this odd tilted position.

I’m right the fuck over her now.

Our mouths, maybe an inch apart at best.

Her lips flutter open in shock.

Is it just shock?

Her gaze is fixed on my lips.

Eliza damn Angelo is breathing so hard it stalls my heart.

She recovers quickly, though, clasping my arms for strength, balance, whatever. Her tiny nails have a charge, soft static electricity against my skin.

I’m tingling?

Bullshit. I never tingle at a woman’s touch.

Only, for the second time tonight, I wish this was happening anywhere besides this stuffy lab.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

She doesn’t say anything, just nods, her silky hair still splashed against my hand. It doesn’t take much to bait my wicked brain.

One flick of my hand and I could have it coiled tight around my fingers, fisted, pulled.

Before I do something monumentally stupid, I push us both up so she’s on her feet and we’re both standing.

Her eyes are wide and glistening. She stares at me in stunned silence.

With her safely upright again, I drop my arms, giving up my hold on her and taking a step back.

I need space. Also, a week’s worth of cold fucking showers.

“Um, sorry. Must be these shoes,” she says breathlessly. “I’m still getting used to the new kicks I had to buy for the safety code here. I didn’t strap them tight enough…”

I smile politely, a total front for the beast inside me, which is howling to drag her against my chest and sniff her mahogany hair.

“You’ll need a more comfortable pair for where we’re going,” I say, enjoying the wonder in her eyes. “Fortunately, we don’t need to talk much. I came to tell you to pack your bags. We’re going to Kona for the next week or two.”

“Kona? As in Kona, Hawaii?” She blinks.

“Is there another Kona I don’t know about with premier acreage for the world’s best coffee?” I say sardonically.

She glowers, her usual shields back up.

“If there were, I’m sure you’d rub it in my face—but why?”

“You’ll get the details by email shortly,” I say, checking the time on my phone.

“So this isn’t just a crazy joke? It’s a real…what, a business trip? To Kona?” Her whole expression shines with disbelief.

I nod firmly. “Yes. Don’t make me repeat myself again, Miss Angelo. Now, I have one more call and arrangements to make with Destiny.”

I turn and start walking, tugging at my shirt collar to release the steam that’s still hissing inside my suit from this encounter.

“Hey, Lump—umm—Cole—” She shakes her head fitfully. “Mr. Lancaster? Will you tell me why we’re going to Hawaii?”

Fair enough. It’s not just the surprise trip to paradise. When I look at her, I can tell she’s as dazed from falling into my arms as I am catching her.

We had a moment.

A mutual effect.

A shared fever.

Regrettably, it doesn’t look like it’ll be cured anytime soon. Part of me already dreads ushering her off to a breezy island where she’ll be showing more skin to stay cool.

Another part of me roars with delight.

Fuck, maybe I should have just kissed her now and gotten it out of my system, consequences be damned.

You dumbass, you’re lucky you didn’t, a panicked voice yells inside me. Stop making death wishes.

“This call is too important. Sorry,” I say, annoyed that I’ve actually lost track of time.

“What call? What bigshot needs your ear this late?” she calls after me, her small voice bouncing around the massive lab.

“That’s confidential,” I yell back. “You’ll have the details soon!”

Enough.

I all but run, throwing the heavy door open before any of my legion of depraved thoughts turn into destructive actions.

Also, I really did schedule that follow up with Winthrope the Younger.

Cowardly or not, sweet distance is the smartest choice right now.

Tom waits outside, holding the car door open when he sees me coming.

Thank fuck my driver is always so early. I escape into the back seat just as my phone lights up with Winthrope’s call.

It only takes us ten minutes in late evening traffic to hash out some preliminary details. We’re tentatively moving forward. If all goes well, he’ll have a test batch for his team’s personal approval in a few weeks tops.

We’ll let a hundred emails and a small mountain of digital paperwork between our people hash out the rest.

This trip is a surprise, and for one person in my life, it could be a highly unpleasant one. The rest of the way home, I mull over what the hell I’m going to tell Destiny.

There’s a good reason why we haven’t been back to the old family estate on Kona for a decade.

She was just a kid then.

Now, she’s almost a young woman. I suspect she’ll be eager to prove to the world and herself that she won’t be limited by any trauma.

She’ll likely bound off the walls until she beats them down if I don’t let her tag along.

If only I had any idea how she’ll truly handle being there…

She may barely remember our last trip when Aster washed up on that beach. Not consciously, anyway. Subconsciously, though—fuck.

She doesn’t even like warm beaches since our shared nightmare.

When she was seven, I tried to take her for a vacation. I knew better than to try Hawaii again, and honestly, it left a foul taste in my mouth, too.

Aster would never win any awards for mother and wife of the year. She was young and beautiful and temperamental as hell. She damn sure didn’t deserve that final swim.

Maybe we were destined for divorce if she’d lived a few more years, but she had her whole life to change as a person. As a mother, for Dess.

Until she didn’t.

With Hawaii becoming a graveyard, we went to Thailand instead. Picturesque white-gold beaches and a rich cultural history.

My little bee had to be coaxed out of the hotel room perched above the gentle rolling waves. She screamed bloody murder when I finally tried to lead her to the beach.

My gut churns as that conversation flashes in my head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I just miss Mommy.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

She stabs her little hand out, pointing at the ocean. “What if it takes me like it did Mama, Daddy?”

I’m about to tell her it won’t. Promise her I’ll never let that happen—but before I can, she gasps. Her eyes overflow with tears.

“What if it takes you? Who will I live with then? Mrs. Kate?”

“Katelyn will always be there for you, honey, but I’m not going anywhere.” I walk over, bend down, and lift her up. She’s almost too big for this, but right now, neither of us care. “We walk on the beach at home all the time, Dessy. What’s so different here?”

“It’s not the same. That beach has seals and rocks and it’s cold if you dip your toes in the water. We don’t swim there. This beach has…the stupid trees that don’t even have real leaves. Everything is hot, and it—” She trails off, pointing at the ocean again. “It wants to suck you to the bottom. It wants to pull and pull and drown you and never let you go!”

She shakes against my chest.

I hold her until she’s breathing again and her rough sobs fade.

Okay, fuck. So the beach is a no-go.

“Do you want to see the temple instead? It’s supposed to be impressive,” I whisper softly.

“…no.”

“What do you want to do then, baby girl? Tell me.”

“Watch Disney.”

And that’s how most of the trip went. Aside from a few excursions into town to check out cultural landmarks and feast on street food, we holed up in the hotel room watching movies.

I never tried to take Destiny to a warm beach again.

Yeah, I’m in for an interesting conversation—and a heart-wrenching one.

I need to figure out what the hell to say to feel her out, to be sure I’m not bringing her back to a place that’s too damaging.

“Here we are, Mr. Lancaster,” Tom calls, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

We’re pulling up to my house and my insides feel like stone.

If I’m lucky, she’ll be preoccupied with her phone.

Then I’ll have a few more minutes to rehearse some combination of words that will make her okay with visiting the place where our lives grew darker.

Half an hour later, with a boulder in my throat, I tap on Destiny’s door.

“Come in!”

I push her door open and step inside.

“Dad, look! Solid A on the job shadowing presentation.” She taps her phone, holding up a scorecard from the school.

“Way to go, brainiac. The presentation looked good—minus the purple people eater color scheme. If you’re ever working in an office, it’ll have to be more neutral.”

“Oh, blah. Can’t you just be happy about my A?” She makes a face.

“I always am,” I say gently.

“What’s up, anyway?”

I sit down on her bed. “I need to take a business trip in the next couple days. I’ll be gone at least a solid week, maybe two.”

She puts her phone down. “Business trip? Where are we going?’

I pause. “That’s just it. Kate’s willing to stay behind to look after you. She’ll check in frequently here.”

Her eyes widen. “Huh? But you always take me with unless it’s overseas and I’m in the middle of school… It’s summer.”

I nod. “I do, but this time, I have to go to Hawaii—”

I’m not sure what I’m expecting.

Dead silence. Repressed tears. A look of utter disgust.

Instead, she just looks at me and laughs.

“Okay? So I’m not good enough for paradise?”

I smile thoughtfully. “You’re telling me you love warm beaches now? Since when?”

She looks down, picking at a loose thread on her jeans.

“How would you know? I mean, you haven’t even taken me to one since I was a kid.”

“Destiny, you’re more than welcome to come if you want, but this could be a hard trip for you. I need you to understand that. Think it through. I’m dealing with important business. If we get there and you’re miserable, I can’t just duck out early this time to be with you.”

“It was a long time ago, Dad! I’ll be fine.”

I catch the defiant look in her eyes and wonder. Will she?

“Don’t answer me tonight. Sleep on it. Because—for better or worse—we’ll be staying at the Kona house Grandpa left me. That’s where we were when—”

“Yeah, I remember.” She bites her lip.

“And it’s very close to where—”

“I said I remember.” Her voice is strained.

I drag in a slow breath.

“Honestly, it seems like you’re getting upset now,” I venture.

“I mean, yeah. I don’t want to relive the specifics—everything that happened—but I’ll be okay with the trip. There are plenty of things to do in Hawaii that don’t involve the beaches, you know.” She gives me a firm look.

“Like what?”

“Pearl Harbor! I’ve always wanted to see the USS Arizona Memorial,” she says excitedly.

“Wrong island, unfortunately. That’s on Oahu. There won’t be a Pearl Harbor visit on Kona and the Big Island. If we can squeeze it in, it’ll have to happen the day before we leave.”

“Hula dancing then.”

“…which is usually on the beach.”

“Um, golf? Fore!” She yells it, her hands cupped over her mouth.

I try not to laugh.

“You find golf boring.”

“Ugh, okay. Then I can just sit around sipping mocktails and Instagramming and watching the sunrise from Mauna Kea? How about that?”

“You’re going to climb a volcano?” I stare at her incredulously. “Also, they get snow up there. Unless your mocktails are the campfire kind in a thermos, they’ll freeze faster than you.”

“Dad, you’re ruining my whole vibe,” she hisses. “And I bet you’re going to Hawaii to stay in an office. Don’t judge my extracurriculars.”

Fair enough.

“There’s plenty to do that’s not on the beach and you know it. You’re just being a dad.”

“Well, I am a dad.” I give her a lazy smile.

“Ugh, I know, but it’s okay. I’m okay. I just—I can’t hide from the beach my whole life because Mom died a long time ago, all right? I like sea creatures. Remember, marine biology? Seals?”

“You’re right. I’ll have to check what islands the Monk seals are on.” I inhale slowly, knowing full well the rare seals are the least of our worries. “Destiny, I hope you understand I’ve been trying to protect you. I also know you’re right. I have to let you move on in your own way—if you’re ready.”

She studies me for a long minute.

I’m sure she can’t believe her own ears.

“Dad…are you sure you’re okay? If—” She stops and sighs. “If you don’t think you can do this, it’s fine. There has to be someone else who can close the deal for you.”

Do I look that forlorn?

She might be onto something.

What if it’s not Destiny I’m worried about?

What if I’m not ready to face old ghosts?

I shift my weight restlessly on the bed, pushing down the bile at the bottom of my throat.

Aster and I had so many issues. We never got a chance to work through them when her life ended so abruptly. Who the hell knows how it would’ve gone down in the end.

But if Destiny can handle this—if she’s ready and she’s not too broken—so can I.

“I’m fine, little bee,” I whisper sharply.

“For real?” She lays a hand on my shoulder, her slim fingers pressing into my skin.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.”

“Right on! I bet we’ll both have an awesome time.” She offers me a determined smile.

I want to believe her so badly.

We’ll be spending time in Hawaii for very different reasons. I’ll be working my dick off the whole time, running after sourcing and logistics and hopping on conference calls with people from Winthrope.

I shouldn’t even have time to dwell on Aster’s lifeless body—or how nasty, brutish, and short life can be, in the immortal words of Hobbes.

Still, I know one thing.

This isn’t a happy homecoming to a vacation place I’ve avoided for ages.

I can never look at the Kona house the same way again, even if I can’t let rotten memories keep me from revisiting paradise.

It’s been ten goddamned years.

Also, I should be inspecting the farms myself where our Kona beans are harvested—the crown jewel in our operation since Wired Cup was Noble Bean—rather than trusting everything to agri-management.

I have a strong team of the best people, but a personal touch never hurt any CEO.

“Dad?” Destiny’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“When do we leave?” she asks, practically bouncing on the bed.

“Soon. I’ll forward you the flight schedule. Go ahead and start getting packed. I need to throw a suitcase together and email my team so they can be ready, too.” I stand and stretch my legs, ready to leave.

“Hey, wait…if I wanted to try the beach, do you think I could?” she asks in a small voice.

I turn back to face her.

“Absolutely. The Kona house is right off a fantastic stretch of shore. If you want to go swimming, be my guest.” I pause. “Though I’d rather you go when I can be there with you the first time, Destiny. Just to make sure you have everything you need.”

I hate how my stomach curdles.

The idea of Destiny going to the beach by herself and being run over with a rush of memories is more than I can stand.

“Well, I may not go at all. We’ll see. Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t freak if I did.”

“We’re good. I promise. I’m glad you’re ready for this,” I say, shooting her a warm smile. “Life’s too short to let fears keep robbing us from a good time.”

For some reason, as I’m saying it, Miss Angelo stuffing that cookie into my mouth flashes through my head.

She’s essential on this trip.

The campfire coffee is hers, and she’ll be involved with producing a special derivative drink for the high-end resorts. Still, I need to be cautious.

It’s all too easy to lose my head when I’m with her and turn into an overgrown bear rather than a professional.

Destiny hops to her feet, swings her closet door open, and pulls out her glittery pink suitcase. The gaudy thing topples over in her rush.

“We’re not leaving tonight, baby girl. Relax.”

“Sorry! I’m just so pumped.” Her cheeks redden. “Hey, Dad, you should go do your stuff. I have to call Libby and tell her the news.”

“Of course. I’d wouldn’t dare intrude on the high school gossip line.”

“I have no idea what that even means, but bye!” She gives me a parting smile that shows off all her teeth.

If this is the hard part and she’s grinning like the devil, then maybe I can pull this off without a disaster or ten.