Page 84 of Fairground

I turn to Cash. “I like him.”

Cash leans closer, growling in my ear. “Don’t get any ideas. You’remine.”He seals his warning with a playful slap to my ass.

Did I ever think I’d be the kind of woman who liked being spanked? Absolutely not. But here I am, and here Cash is, reading my mind like it’s written in bold print. His eyes narrow, his grin turning wicked. “I’m going to spank you until you’re raw tonight.”

Before I can react—before I can even process what he just said—he spins on his heel and strolls off, leaving me standing there way too turned on imagining that. It takes a full ten seconds before I can pull myself together enough to go meet my parents.

***

Twenty minutes later, I’m across town in the square, seated atWhitewood Creek Brewery and Restaurant. A steaming plate of eggs Benedict is set in front of me, made with fresh eggs from the Marshalls’ farm, of course. On the side, there’s a colorful array of fruit and warm, flaky biscuits I know Regan said she made this morning from scratch—one of her new projects she’s been working on with Lydia.

“This looks amazing,” Laken murmurs, cutting into her eggs. The deep orange yolk spills out in a slow, rich ooze, and she lets out a soft, satisfied, “Fuck, yeah.”

My mom’s head swivels toward her, her lips pursing like she just bit into a lemon. “Honey, that’s inappropriate language for the dinner table.”

Laken doesn’t miss a beat, shrugging as she takes another bite. “I never get to actually enjoy my meals with the boys around, so I plan on savoring this one—loudly.”

I press my lips together to stifle a laugh. Laken’s always been the responsible one, the golden child who never pushes back orrocks the boat. The high-achiever and the one to be the topic of most of our parent’s bragging. But today? She’s different. I saw her sneaking wine coolers during the parade, and judging by the glaze in her eyes and her unusually loose tongue, I’d say she’s a little drunk. Between that and Cash offering to take her boys back to the Marshalls’ farm to play with the chickens so she could have a peaceful meal with our parents—if eating with them can ever be classified as peaceful—this is the most relaxed I’ve seen her since I moved here.

“So, honey, how’s your practice going?” my mom asks, her tone dripping with artificial sweetness as she turns her attention back to Laken. She’s watching Laken like a hawk now, probably hoping for a polished, professional answer. Laken doesn’t deliver. Instead, she tips back her mimosa, draining nearly half the glass in one go before setting it down with a loud clink.

“It’s the same as always. People need glasses. Contacts. Eye exams. Cataracts surgery. Nothing exciting like what Rae’s been up to.”

My dad’s brows shoot up as his gaze shifts to me. He doesn’t say anything, but the tension in his jaw makes it clear he doesn’t want to ask about my campaign. And honestly? I’m fine with that. I have no intention of sharing anything about my run for mayor with them. It’s my thing, going to be my win, and they don’t get a piece of it.

I stab a forkful of eggs, shrugging as I shove it into my mouth.

“Well,” my mom starts, her voice oozing judgment. “I can’t imagine running for mayor of this town is all that exciting.”

I smile through the bite, not bothering to respond because, frankly, I don’t care what she thinks. There’s been plenty of excitement with the committee and Cash. But just as I’m aboutto take another bite, my phone buzzes on the table, lighting up with a number I don’t recognize and a Charlotte area code.

My mom’s eyes narrow, homing in on the phone like it personally offended her. “Oh, honey, it’s rude to have your phone on during a meal.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, forcing a polite smile instead. “You’re right. I’ll take this outside so that I don’t interrupt your meal.” I grab my phone and stand, grateful for any excuse to escape this awkward lunch.

As I make my way toward the bar, I catch Regan behind it, wiping down glasses with her usual cheerful energy. She spots me and waves, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Hey, Rae! Good to see you and Cash on the float today—you two looked great together!”

I can’t help but grin back. “Thanks, Regan.”

Her warmth feels like a balm after the tense atmosphere back at the table, and for a brief moment, I let myself enjoy it. With any luck, this phone call will give me an even better excuse to stay away from my parent's lunch a little longer.

I swipe to answer the call right before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Rae Black?” a confident, polished voice answers on the other end.

“Um… yes,” I reply, my curiosity immediately piqued.

“Fantastic. I’m Antoinette Kensington, chief of staff to Charlotte’s newest elected mayor.”

My heart skips a beat, and I instinctively wet my lips, trying to bring some moisture to them as my mind races. How the hell did she get my number? And why is she calling me?

“Oh, hi, Antoinette,” I manage, keeping my tone even.

Her voice brightens, carrying that unmistakable air of someone used to closing deals in politics. I’m familiar with it because it’s the same voice I used to use when I was trying to sell the mayor on a marketing plan that I wanted her to approve.

“So, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you run a mean campaign. While the new mayor already won her race this week, she’s looking to strengthen her team. Specifically, we’re looking for a fresh, accomplished marketing mind to join us as the Director of marketing and branding. You’d be handling everything—TV and social media ads, managing her public image, preparing her for events and media appearances. It’s a big role with a lot of responsibility plus paid travel, but the pay is $200,000 a year. And we’d need you here in Charlotte immediately.”

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