Page 137 of I Think They Love You

Chaos greets Denz at Atlas’s doors. The staff and vendors collide left and right. Jordan scrambles past him. Wild tendrils slip fromthe manager’s messy bun, her cheeks flushed. At the heart of it all, Denz’s dad has the sleeves of his Stefano Ricci shirt rolled to his elbows, a tablet in one hand, his phone in the other.

He’s in boss mode. Denz approaches accordingly.

Within seconds, he’s given a checklist and a small group of employees, plus Jordan. Denz sends Kami aWhere the hell are you?text, and promptly hides his phone in the pocket of his jacket, leaving both at the front desk. He can only handle one shitshow at a time.

Jordan hands him a coffee. “What’s the plan, cuz?”

Denz goes full Eric Tran, pushing up his own sleeves. He didn’t come dressed for manual labor but fuck it. If his dad’s doing it, he is too.

“Let’s head upstairs.”

Their “stage” is now a glass balcony ten feet above the main rooftop. After surveying the area, Denz decides to nix the “History of 24 Carter Gold” video they were going to show. He cancels the ice sculpture in the shape of the company’s logo. Atlanta in March might as well be summer in hell. It’s too humid outside.

He sits crisscrossed on the tiled stone floor to condense the seating charts. If he’s lucky, they can fit all two hundred guests up here.

“We can overflow to the banquet area,” Jordan shouts from the balcony.

“Good idea.”

Denz makes a note. In all his reorganizing and overcommunication, he realizes something: he’s calm, in control. Panic can kiss his future CEO ass.

“Mr. Carter,” one of the staff says, startling him. “The other Mr. Carter’s meeting with the head chef. Would you like to join them?”

Denz leaps to his feet. “Lead the way.”

He misses lunch, making sure all the employees eat first. Without them, none of this is possible. When his dad sends up a turkey club from a local deli, Denz hands it to Jordan. He’s too focused onmapping out where the live band will set up to stop. Around 4:00P.M.,he pauses for a handful of M&M’s and a bag of spicy Cheetos, half a Coke bottle. Then, it’s all adrenaline until past dinnertime.

“Damn,” Jordan says, impressed. “Youmight beas good as Kami.”

Denz flips him off, smiling.

It’s not true. Through every step, he feels like he’s missed an item. A detail Kami wouldn’t forget.

At 6:30P.M., as the staff files out, Kenneth thanks each of them by name. This is why he is who he is. People respect the eye contact, his genuineness.

Once everyone’s gone, Denz watches his dad’s shoulders drop. He sluggishly fixes his shirt. He can’t hide his exhaustion anymore.

He stares at Denz: “Are you okay?”

The transformation is always a little jarring. How he goes from Kenneth Carter, million-dollar face of a company, to Dad, the man who raised Denz. From the person he looks up to career-wise to the man who taught him how to ride a bike.

“Y-yeah.”

“Today was a lot.”

Denz chuckles. “Understatement.”

Kenneth grins. “I haven’t had to put in that much work since I was your age.” He stretches, wincing when his back cracks. But there’s a light behind his eyes. “Felt damn good.”

“Are you gonna miss it?”

“Hell no.” Kenneth laughs, loud and shameless. “My body can’t take it.” He gives Denz another long look. “Are you good for dinner? You can join me and your mom—”

Denz waves him off. “I’m fine. I need a night in.”

Kenneth tugs out his phone to call a car. On his way to the doors, he says, “Really impressive job today, son.”

Denz blinks. He can’t think of a single word that’ll match the sincerity in his dad’s tone. So, he says, “Thanks, Dad.”

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