Page 132 of Double Puck

I can't help but smile, my heart pounding inside my chest.

He's very, very good at this. But I already knew that, because I've been watching him do this for weeks now.

How on earth can I recommend we trade this man?

When the last bill lands, he clicks the megaphone back on.

"Alright, alright! We've done it! But," he says, holding up one finger, "it takes a very special person to turn the key. Someone with experience in..." he pauses, letting the crowd lean in, "...professionally assessing whether a man should be removed from the premises."

The crowd turns to look at me. Every single set of eyes.

Rose is filming again, like she didn't learn her lesson from the goddamn boardwalk incident.

"Come on! Ten more dollars, Spreadsheet. Ten more dollars for the community fund, and you can finally put me in the only place management hasn't tried sending me yet.”

Josie shoves a ten-dollar bill into my hand. "Go and lock him up. For the children."

I start walking across The Yard while an entire town cheers, holding a ten-dollar bill scrunched in the palm of my hand, while Beck Morrison steps into a chain-link cage, pumping his fist in the air and grinning like this was his plan all along.

I drop the ten in the bucket. He backs into the cage with his hands raised.

"Book me, officer. I've been very bad."

"You have no idea." I swing the door shut and click the padlock, and the crowd roars before wandering off toward the taco truck, because in Beachside, attention spans last exactly as long as the next food smell.

And then, as the noise fades, we're left with just me supervising this idiot on the outside of a chain-link cage.

Beck is sitting on the inside, his fingers hooked through the wire. Somehow, he's still close enough that I can smell the cologne that's ruined my ability to concentrate in every staff meeting since I ruined my life by recommending we trade this absolute wreck of a man.

"So," he says. "Alone at last. If you want something to watch while you're standing there, I could—"

"Don't even think about it. We're in the middle of a public event."

"Semi-alone. There's a fence between us. Very romantic. Very prison-movie. Some people are into that stuff, you know." He tilts his head to study me. "You look like you haven't slept. Everything okay?"

"I've slept."

He watches me through the wire, and the performance drains out of his face the way it only does for me. "Still stuck on the report?"

"Yes," I confirm. "The meeting's tomorrow. At your house, actually, which is a fun detail nobody consulted me on. I assume you'll be there? And that Diego will be making pancakes?"

"Oh yeah. He'll make the good ones. Blueberry. We all know nobody gets traded on blueberry pancakes." He wraps his fingers tighter through the fence. "Well, in the interest of full disclosure, do you want me to bring you up to date with what happened in my meeting? You know, so you have all the details you need to finalize your report."

"Beck—"

"No, listen. Everybody in my life keeps things from me to protect me, and I'm not doing that to you. Ever. So here it is." He takes a breath. "Philip called this morning. Vegas sent the full offer. It's real, it's big, and they want an answer by the deadline. They want me, Darcy. Face of the franchise. Billboards. The whole thing."

The Yard keeps happening around us, with music, laughter, and a kid screaming about too many sprinkles, like there's such a thing.

Meanwhile, I stand here holding a padlock key while the ground quietly tilts beneath me.

"That's—" I swallow. "That's everything you wanted."

"Yeah. I guess." His eyes don't leave mine. "So. Question for you." His fingers curl through the chain-link between us. "And I'm not asking the analyst, because I've heard enough from her to last me several lifetimes."

"She's very thorough."

"She's terrifying. Great ass, though." His grin fades, and those blue eyes settle on mine again. "What do you think about me going to Vegas?"