Chapter 21
SETH
The boardroom smells of stale coffee and bullshit.
I’m sitting at a long wooden table in the Honeyspur Meadow Town Hall, a jug of water and a plate of untouched pastries between me and Holden, who I’m fairly certain tried to destroy my reputation. My father is on my right, Pete, the committee head, across from us.
“Nice to have you attend, Seth,” Holden says, shuffling through a stack of papers. He’s a thin man, nervous-looking, with the kind of smile that makes him look wary. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these meetings.”
I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression neutral. “Figured it was time to start paying attention.”
“Well, that’s a pleasant surprise.”
I bet it is.
My father glances at me, something like approval behind his eyes before his usual gruff mask settles back into place. “Good to see you taking an interest.”
“I will be from now on.” My gaze stays fixed on Holden. “Seems like an important part of the business I should understand better.”
Holden shifts in his seat. It’s subtle, just a small adjustment, a barely perceptible tension in his shoulders, but I catch it. Good. He should be uncomfortable.
Because right now, sitting across from him, all I can think about is the girl at the bar.
The one who slipped something into my drink because this piece of shit paid her to do it.
The night I lost hours of my life, the charges I’m still facing, the way people looked at me the next morning like I was some out-of-control animal.
All because of him.
I want to reach across this table and break his jaw. To watch fear replace that smug confidence in his eyes as I make him confess everything right here, right now, in front of my father and Pete and anyone else who might be listening.
But I can’t. Not yet.
We have the girl’s confession, but Holden will deny everything. He’ll claim she’s lying, that she’s trying to shift blame, that he’s never seen her before in his life. Without proof, real, concrete proof, it’s her word against his.
And a town committee finance director carries a lot more weight than some out-of-towner desperate for cash.
So I sit here and play nice while pretending I don’t know that this man tried to ruin me.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Holden clears his throat, pulling out more papers. “I’ve compiled the intake figures from the first two days of the rodeo, broken down by category—ticket sales, concessions, merchandise, and ancillary revenue from local businesses.”
He passes sheets to my father and Pete, pointedly not giving me one. My father slides his copy between us, and I lean in to look at the numbers. “If I’d known you were coming, Seth, I would have prepared an extra copy of the financials.”
I just stare at him, then down at the figures.
They’re not good.
According to this report, day two brought in only marginally better numbers than day one. Ticket sales are down nearly twenty percent from last year. Concessions revenue is flat. Merchandise is barely moving.
I frown. That doesn’t match what I saw yesterday. The stands were packed. The lines at the food vendors stretched around corners. People were buying shirts and hats and programs left and right.
“Strange,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “It looked pretty busy yesterday.”
Holden’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. “Appearances can be deceiving. The numbers don’t lie.”
“I was there.” I tap the paper. “Day two had way more people than this suggests.”
Pete nods, stroking his chin. “I thought the same thing, actually. The crowd seemed much larger than the first day. And with the Brutus event flyers going out, we’ve had a lot of excitement building. People are already talking about buying tickets for the final day specifically.”
“That’s encouraging,” my father adds, though his tone suggests he’s not encouraged at all. “But these figures tell a different story.”
“Unfortunately, perception doesn’t always match reality.” Holden spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless resignation. “I can only report what the data shows. And the data suggests that perhaps this town is… growing tired of the rodeo circuit.”
My father’s jaw tightens. I know that look. It’s the one he gets right before he tears someone a new one.
He sets down the paper with deliberate care. “The circuit has been coming to this town for years. We’ve brought millions of dollars in revenue to local businesses. We’ve put Honeyspur Meadow on the map.”
“Of course, of course.” Holden holds up his hands. “I’m not diminishing the value of your business. I’m simply presenting the facts as they are.”
“Facts.” My father practically spits the word.
“You know what I think? I think if you’re just going to sit there and tell me we’re failing, then you clearly aren’t serious about our relationship.
I’ve had interest from other towns, bigger ones, with committees that actually seem to want our business. ”
Pete shifts in his seat, his face going pale.
“Now, now, that’s not what Holden means at all.
” He shoots a sharp look at the finance director.
“Your business is crucial to Honeyspur Meadow. Absolutely so. Without the rodeo circuit, so many local businesses would suffer. The hotels, the restaurants, the shops, everyone depends on the revenue this event brings.”
“Then why does it sound like your finance man is trying to push us out the door?”
“He’s not.” Pete’s voice is firm, trying to smooth over the tension. “Holden is a numbers person. Not the best with words, perhaps, but excellent with data. What he means is that we need to find ways to boost attendance, not that we’re giving up.”
Holden nods quickly, seizing the lifeline. “Exactly. And I’m convinced the Brutus event will help tremendously. A legendary bull coming out of retirement? That’s the kind of spectacle that brings people in droves.”
I watch him as he talks. The way his eyes dart around, never quite meeting anyone’s gaze for long, and the slight tremor in his hands as he shuffles his papers again.
He’s nervous. Hiding something.
But he’s also smart, as he knows exactly what to say to keep Pete on his side, to make my father doubt his own instincts. He’s playing a long game here, and I’m only just starting to see the shape of it.
After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, Pete smoothing feathers, my father grumbling, Holden deflecting, the meeting wraps up. I stay quiet for most of it, just watching. Filing away every nervous twitch and evasive answer.
When we finally stand to leave, Holden extends his hand to me. “Good to have you involved, Seth. I hope we’ll see you at more of these meetings.”
I shake his hand. Grip it maybe a little harder than necessary. “Count on it.”
The morning air hits my face as we step out onto the sidewalk, and I take a deep breath to clear the stench of Holden’s bullshit from my lungs.
My father walks beside me, his boots heavy on the concrete. We’re both quiet for a moment, processing.
Then he says, “You don’t trust him.”
It’s not a question.
“No.” I glance over at him. “Do you?”
He’s silent for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable.
Then he sighs. “In business, you deal with a lot of people you don’t trust. It’s part of the game.
The key is knowing how to keep on top of them, watching everything, verifying the numbers, never taking anything at face value.
” He pauses. “But no. I don’t trust him.
Something about that man has always rubbed me wrong. ”
“Then why do you work with him?”
“Because Pete vouches for him. The committee handles all the financial logistics for events in this town, and Holden is their finance director. And sometimes you don’t have a choice but to work with people you’d rather never see again.
” He glances at me, something sharp in his eyes.
“So why the sudden interest in the business?”
I consider how much to tell him. “I don’t know anything concrete, yet,” I say carefully. “But I’m going to dig around because I think he’s pulling some shit behind the scenes. I’ll see what I can find.”
My father nods slowly. “Good. Keep me updated.” A pause. “I’m glad to see you taking an interest in this side of things, son. It’s something I’ve always wanted, for you to understand the business beyond just the competitions.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. My father isn’t the type for heart-to-heart conversations. He shows his affection through criticism and high expectations, through pushing me to be better even when I want to tell him to go to hell.
“I know the riding won’t last forever,” I admit. “Figured I should start learning the rest.”
He’s quiet. “You know, your mother always said you’d be the one to build something lasting. Even when you were just a kid, she saw it in you. The way you paid attention to everything, not just the flash, but the details. She said you had the heart of a provider.”
I stop walking.
My father almost never talks about my mother.
She died in a car accident that took her faster than anyone could process.
One moment she was there; the next she was gone.
And after that, it was like he sealed that part of his life away.
Locked it in a box and buried it deep. The circuit came after, something he built from the ashes of his grief, pouring all that loss into motion and competition and the endless road.
“I didn’t know she said that,” I say quietly.
“She was right about a lot of things.” He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with his own vulnerability. “Anyway, this June girl.” He keeps his gaze fixed ahead, hands shoved in his pockets. “The chaperone. You serious about her?”
I tense. “Why do you ask?”
“Saw you boys getting pretty intimate with her the other day. In the parking lot at the arena.” He glances at me sideways. “Hard to miss.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I don’t look away. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything.”