“You better sell it better than that,” he said.
I finished my breakfast and headed upstairs to shower and dress in a pair of khakis and a button-up. It was too much for the beachside town, but I wasn’t quite ready to do business in a T-shirt and shorts.
Dad’s old convertible had been sitting in the garage under a canvas cover since the last time the family had been out to Surfside. He had a caretaker that took care of the house and was supposed to start the car and keep it running.
Cody and I pulled back the canvas on the 1963 Porsche 356 convertible. Dad loved driving the car. It was his little summer ride. One of my favorite memories was of him driving us downthe Pacific Coast Highway with the top down, wind whipping through my hair.
“I’m driving,” Cody said, flipping the key ring around his finger.
“Whatever,” I said.
We headed down the driveway and into town. It was close enough we could have walked but why walk when we could drive? Cody had one arm hooked over the door and his sunglasses on. People noticed the car the way they always did. Cody loved the attention.
We stopped at a red light. A white Jeep pulled up in the lane beside us, windows down, two women in sundresses with coffee cups and sunglasses, music playing. Cody reached over and turned our stereo down.
I watched him deploy the smile. The one that made girls swoon.
“Morning,” he said.
The women laughed. One of them said something back. Cody settled in like he had all the time in the world, one hand draped over the steering wheel, ready to charm.
I couldn’t resist messing with him. I reached over and slipped the gearshift into neutral.
“It’s green,” I said. “Can we go?”
Cody’s foot hit the gas and the engine roared. The rear tires chirped against the asphalt. He revved it again and we went nowhere. The two women in the Jeep laughed as they pulled away.
Cody slammed it back into first and got us moving. “You son of a bitch.”
“Green means go,” I said.
“I was in the middle of something.”
“You were flirting and holding up traffic.”
“I had a moment going. A real moment. Just because you want to live like a monk while we’re here, doesn’t meant I have to.”
“She was laughing at you.”
He glared at me, shifting into second. “I cannot believe you did that.”
“We’re not teenagers dragging the strip,” I said. “We’re businessmen.”
“I’m going to put your hand in warm water while you sleep tonight.”
He was still muttering under his breath when we turned off the main drag and onto Front Street. The stores along Front Street were mostly the same as I remembered. Lots of hand-painted signs and small-town charm.
“Not bad,” Cody said checking out the building that was being renovated to become our cruise-line headquarters.
We pushed through the main entrance. Judd Mathers was already there, standing at the far end, looking out through the wall of windows that faced the water.
He crossed the floor with his hand extended and shook mine firmly. “Colt. Good to finally be standing in the same zip code as you.”
“Good to be here,” I said.
“When you pitched Surfside, I was skeptical,” Judd said. “But I see the vision.”
Judd Mathers was a slick billionaire who had launched one successful enterprise after another in the travel industry. He had earned his fortune creating excursions that focused on luxury experiences. Now, he wanted to create something more “accessible” to attract more middle-class travelers.