Page 176 of The Renegade Billionaire
“Okay. That’s…not ideal.” My mind is running through every possible scenario when Braxton pops into my mind. Not that he’s ever been far from my thoughts, but it’s his kindness and generosity that unravel an idea in my head. “I think I have a plan,” I say, smiling so hard my cheeks ache.
“Well, ya better start telling the folks then. They’re getting antsy,” Chief grumbles. He’s been muttering about security since I called him first thing this morning.
“Go get ’em, girl,” Clover says with a little fist pump into the air. Did she spike her tea already? I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but it’s a little early and we have a long day. “No, I didn’t add sambuca to my tea. Yet,” she teases.
Some of the tension eases in my shoulders as I take the stairs onto the stage. The noise of the room fades away as people notice me.
“Ah, hey guys. So, first, I’m sorry Braxton and I misled you. And second, I’m sorry about this mess. We were trying to save you all from this happening again.”
“Ain’t your fault, missy. You just keep doing you,” someone calls from the back of the room. It sounds like Old Man Cracken, but I must be mistaken.
“Thanks, I think. So there isn’t anything we can do about them being in town. But we can make them pay for being here.”
“What do you have in mind?” Moose asks from the third row. He’s sitting right next to Pops, who’s been prancing around all morning prouder than Pride Peak.
“I’m so glad you asked. Chief, you’re good at spotting fake identification, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I keep a running log of everyone here in town all the way over to Hopevale.” That sounds illegal, but I’m running with it.
“That’s wonderful, Chief.” My confidence begins to grow, and I feel ten feet tall. “Then my suggestion is to set Chief up at the entrance, and he can charge anyone from out of town—or at least the ones who look as though they don’t belong here—meaning they’re carrying a camera around their necks or on their shoulders—a $100 entrance fee. We can pool all the moneymade and reinvest it in next year’s festival. We’ve been needing new platforms.”
“The old outlets in the park need replacin’ too,” someone says.
“And the string lights.”
I hold up my hand to stop the suggestions before they spin out of control.
“We’ll pool the money and put it in the festival bank account. Then we can place a vote before next year and divvy the funds that way.”
“We should charge them per cup too,” Blissy says to a chorus of support.
“Since we don’t normally charge a fee, we have to be very careful that we’re not charging a local. So if you have any questions, it’s best to ask them for their ID. What does everyone want to charge them?”
“They’re going to be fightin’ for your line, Mads.” Pops is positively beaming. “So I say we charge those soul suckers twenty bucks a cup. If they don’t like it, they can get out of the line.”
Again, everyone nods their heads in agreement. I don’t think this town has ever agreed this readily on anything the entire time I’ve lived here.
“Savvy,” I call. She’s standing in the back of the room because she’s had a headache all day. “Do you think you can make some signage quickly for the entrance fee and maybe print some for each booth?”
“Thank God. Yes, I’ll go do that now.” She doesn’t wait for any more direction before she hustles out of the room.
“Again, I’m truly sorry for all this mess. I never wanted to be this kind of burden on you again.” My chin wobbles because I feel so dang guilty it makes my stomach hurt.
“Madison Ryan.” My name is followed by a loud crack.
Old Man Cracken is at the back of the room and has silenced us all by slamming his wooden walking stick onto the hardwood floor.
“Now you hear me, child. This town was built around caring for our own folks, and you is one of ours, and you always will be. You’ve brought the happiness back to Happiness with your god-awful sunshiny smile and can-do attitude.” If he scowls any harder, his furry eyebrows might touch his nose. “If you think for one second we’re going to hold those big hairy dicks against you, you ain’t been listening to your own advice.”
My mouth drops open in shock while the crowd of neighbors chuckles in their seats.
“Now no more of this apologizing bullshit,” he continues. “We’ve got a festival to get to, and not all of us are as spry as we used to be. And every one of you”—he points his walking stick around the room—“let’s go bleed those beasts dry.”
An unexpected roar of applause has him scoffing in disgust and stomping as fast as his old legs will take him right out of the building.
“Guess we’re going to bleed some big hairy dicks dry.” Clover laughs at my side.
“I need to bleach my eyeballs. I’m never going to get the image of old Mr. Cracken saying ‘hairy dicks’ out of my head.”
