by JL Mac
“Of course not.” I smile robotically. “But even if I did, you’d never find out. You know those media folks. Their lips are sealed tighter than your fate in DC. That is to say, it’s not budging.”
“Listen here little darlin’,” he spits the word like it tastes bad.
“I’m no one’s little darlin’, least of all yours and you keep it up and I’ll make certain you win nothing in the future except a ticket to sit before one or two of several oversight committees, darlin’. It’s no secret that you’re as slimy as they come. I have it on good authority that your doomed campaign was fraught with campaign fraud.” I pause for effect, scanning his face for cues.
“Why are you here in my state?”
“Me? Oh, you know, I love these events like this. Looks good and I’m a charitable woman,” I shrug.
“I have your number little missy. I know your type. The only thing charitable about you Potter, is how often and with whom you lay on your back and spread your legs,” he grits, stepping closer, his hot, whiskey coated breath brushing over my ear as his clammy hand brushes over my upper arm.
Everything in me screams, “Run!” but I don’t. Instead I focus on Sylas, on how amazing BCF is for men and women that deserve to have a wonderful trip, catching giant fish with someone so charismatic and kind as Sylas Broussard. Armed with these thoughts, I fire back, aiming to torpedo him, entirely.
I laugh humorlessly. “Slut shaming? That’s your ace in the hole?” I fake-pout. “Mr. Jennings I’d have to have a heart to be so easily wounded, but lucky for me I don’t have a heart or a soul, only ambition and a bank account.” I howl with laughter, my face turning red. I can feel the veins in my neck bulge. I sniff my nose and fan my face just to rub it in. “All that hot air about men being more capable in politics.” I shake my head. “You tried bending the rules and breaking the law in an effort to win and you still lost,” I snicker. “So excuse me if I don’t run off crying because you implied I’m a whore. I’ll try to pencil in a day to cry about it.” I pop the clasp of my clutch open and fish out a tissue to press it to the edges of my eyes. “I suppose if you had hired me for the position I deserved, instead of insulting me and degrading a black colleague of mine for having a little silly female brain,” I pout rolling my lip out, “then you’d have your pompous ass in DC right now doing a lot of nothing for the American voter that I would have convinced to put your flabby ass there.” I take the opportunity to critically scan my eyes over him from head to toe, while tucking my clutch under one arm.
Eat shit and die, asshole, Blind Rage seethes.
“So,” I gently clap my hands in front of me. “… Do the world a favor, slither on back to your den, take a bath in a barrel of your crude oil, count your money and your blessings, that I can’t truly be bothered enough to waste my time ruining you… further.” Jennings, to his credit, grumbles a string of threats that don’t hold water, then turns the corner leaving me alone. I sigh deeply, a good portion of my consciousness aware that it gets very tiring collecting enemies in my business. It hollows me out, more and more by the election cycle. I spin on my heel and head back towards the tent praying Sy’s speech is wrapped up by now.
I don’t get far because Sylas is standing only a few feet away. His hands tucked casually in his dress pants. I breeze past him, giving him a sideways glance as I go. A moment later I hear him catching up to me.
Glancing up to him I see his eyes darkened with concern. “You good?”
“Of course,” I smile, smoothing my hand down his chest.
“Who were you talking to?”
“No one of importance,” I smile broadly and get up to my tiptoes to steal a chaste kiss. We glide slowly back to the mouth of the massive part tent and I admire the finished product. “Do you hear that?” I whisper, cupping my hand behind one ear. Sy frowns.
“Hear what?”
“The glorious sound of check books flapping in the wind.” I grin, because it’s absolutely true.
“Yeah, I hope you’re right, Snow.” My reward is another signature Sylas Broussard lopsided grin. A long moment passes with us just watching the event unfold when Jennings catches my eyes across the space talking to some other blowhard near the other wide entrance.
“Who is he?” I motion my chin toward Jennings. Sy’s eyes follow mine.
“That’s Brendan Jennings. You at least know of him don’t you?” Sy frowns.
“Yes, of course I know who he is but I mean how are you affiliated with him?”
“He’s a donor. He’s been one of my few big name donors since I founded Buzzsaw.”
Fuck.
“Looks like someone is waving you over,” I say nodding toward a few men trying to flag Sylas over to a small group of men, huddled around chatting.
“Go, mingle,” he says, quickly kissing me on the cheek.
“I don’t know anyone. I’m not exactly sure what I would say to a random,” I lie.
“Tell ‘em you’re my future wife.” He grins.
“I won’t say that,” I breathe with wide eyes.
“Why? That’s what I’ve been telling everyone,” he says pulling me closer to him.
“No you haven’t. I don’t even live here and I don’t have a ring on my finger. Everyone would know you’re lying.”
“I can rectify that situation right away. Say the word.”
“Sy,” I groan through a smile.
“Oh calm down Snow. I’m only joking. Or am I?”
“Get lost, Broussard.”
“Only if you agree to stay for the Parish Fair. We can celebrate. I’m judging the jambalaya contest,” he says with one challenging eyebrow quirked up.
“And when is that?” I narrow my eyes but my tone is playful.
“Next weekend.”
“Another week? Surely you are sick of me by now.”
“Never,” he says quietly, stepping closer to me, his arms sliding over my hips and around my waist. His rough hands cup my face tenderly and he moves his lips against mine in a sensuous kiss as though we are the only people here with all the time in the world. I wish it were true. “What’s in it for me?”
“Stick around and I’ll show you,” he promises with a wink.
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” I mumble against his lips. In response, his mouth spreads into a big smile that I can’t bring myself to ruin by declining to stay. My inner circle, collectively roll their eyes. I mentally flip them off.
For the rest of the evening I watch on as Sylas charms and dazzles every single one of his guests. They adore him and their outpouring of physical and financial support for BCF is proof of as much. None of this enthusiastic backing shocks me because who in their right mind doesn’t love Sylas? He’s a hometown hero, a handsome and charming man, and a modern day saint with a heart the size of Texas. As for me, I have little more than a bottom line and a career that exploded thanks to a reputation that precedes me. He’s an angel in the eyes of the people that know him. I’m just the unapologetic she-devil on his arm for a little while.
Chapter 24
Raegan
The scent of cotton candy and fried food drifts on the breeze and a million glittering lights are making the carnival rides look magical. People are milling about eating food that is terrible for them but too enticing to pass up. Tents in various sizes and colors are erected and selling their goods. Kids are everywhere, their faces painted and their arms full of bagged popcorn and balloon animals. The weather is in that sweet spot between summer and fall when it’s not unbearably hot, nor cold. It’s the transition phase from one season to the next, one chapter closed, another just burgeoning, prepared to begin.
Making my way through the crowd, sidestepping children, and weaving around people standing around chatting, I see Sylas near the roasted corn tent, handing money over then passing huge ears of corn to Lisa and her son. I pause, watching on. The three of them are smiling and talking and the vision does weird things to me. I’m a smorgasbord of feelings. I’m entirely jealous but I
think I’m also a bit sad but and hopeful.
I’m hopeful because I very much want that endearing image of the American Dream for Sy. He deserves it. He fought and bled for it. He has been hurt, physically, mentally and emotionally and he deserves the sweetness of a life with a wife and a kid or two and his work that keeps him so fulfilled. I’m sad because what we have is already spoiled. Circumstance marked our relationship, and it’s not something that will just come out in the wash. There’s no scrubbing it away. It’s tattooed. Inked deep into our flesh. I don’t know why and I don’t care to think on it currently, but I turn on my heel and walk in the opposite direction of Sylas. I stroll through the crowd, taking it all in, while I work at sorting my mind out. I’m conflicted because half of me wants to be the one with Sylas forever but the other half—the logical part, knows it’s just not plausible.
I’m walking past a photo booth when an arm darts around my middle and drags me inside, behind the red curtain. I yelp in surprise and let out a small oof as he pulls me down roughly into his lap.
“You scared me,” I accuse, smiling.
“I was trying to surprise you. Did it work?” he asks as he feeds cash into the machine. The screen begins blinking with the countdown.
“Yes,” I give him a slight shove, grinning. “I haven’t been to something like this since high school. Thank you.” I press my lips to his for a chaste kiss.
“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says mischievously.
“What are you doing?” I laugh watching him set an additional bill down on the knee opposite the one he has me sitting on.
“I hadn’t exactly planned this but I want to catch the look on your face so I’m prepared to get photographic evidence,” he says with a mischievous grin.
“Of what?” I ask raising a brow as the first photo is snapped, the flash bursting through my vision.
“Rae, since you’ve been here…”
Flash.
“I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a long time and…”
Flash.
“There hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t wanted…” he says then feeds the other bill into the slot.
Flash.
“More. I want more. I want you.”
Flash.
“Now…”
Flash.
“… And forever.”
Flash.
“I want to honor the pact we made.”
Flash.
“I know what I’m asking isn’t the simplest thing to work out.”
Flash.
“I know you’re fighting your demons, but I’m telling you I want to join in that fight. Marry me,” he asks and my heart stops dead.
“Sy,” I gasp. Without breaking eye contact, he plucks the pictures of us from the little tray beneath the screen and slides them into his shirt pocket.
“I know I surprised you and you have a lot to consider so I don’t expect you to put me out of my misery right now by just saying yes. Think about it. I’ll eat all the cheese sandwiches I have to.” He shakes his head, his beautiful brown eyes so sincere and hopeful. I can’t help myself. I lean into him and kiss him with fervor. I laugh with my lips pressed against his. “You’ll think about it?”
I smile gently and for a moment I try to picture me as his wife, with his ring on my finger, beside him here in Louisiana, carrying his baby… I conjure the image but it’s not me I imagine at his side. It’s Lisa and like a little kid that nearly got the giant teddy bear, on the inside I collapse in tears.
On the outside I just smile, employing the hard-won skill of faking it. Sy’s phone begins ringing and vibrating against my butt so I scoot off his lap and out of the photo booth. Sy steps out, fishing the phone from his pocket then answering it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Oh hell. Okay, I’m coming to the tent now,” he says then ends the call. “That was Dale. Judging is about to start and they’re going to introduce us and talk about the non-profit,” he says smiling with tremendous pride.
“Okay, hurry! I’ll be around,” I look around us. Sy slips his fingers around the nape of my neck and lays a kiss on me that will probably never in my lifetime be matched.
I wander around the fairgrounds for a while, thinking about what Sy said. So much of me wants to say yes. So much of me knows I could be happy but there are things he doesn’t know, things I can’t forget. Then there is the small issue of my career. He can’t leave Louisiana and knowing how therapeutic it is for him to help other people with his non-profit, I wouldn’t ask him to. I could try to work remotely and travel when it’s necessary, perhaps. Sy could continue his work here with me helping and working as a campaign consultant when I can. It’s worth seeing if it’s even possible. Maybe I can’t say yes just yet but I can entertain the possibility. I smile to myself as a sense of ease spreads through my chest like warm honey, coating my heart completely. I don’t have a yes for him but I have a maybe and that is everything considering everything.
By the time I make it to the judging tent the actual tasting is over and the judges are sitting at the long table in front of the stage, giving their marks for each contender. People are chatting loudly as they wait for the final say regarding who in Cattail Parish makes the best jambalaya, a title that comes with endless notoriety you’d think by the looks of the people waiting for the judges to render their verdict. I slip up quietly near Sy’s seat at the table. A large vinyl banner with his non-profit’s information and website instructing people how they can donate is hanging from a tripod stand at his back. I move to step around the banner and scare him as he had scared me at the photo booth but the mention of my name makes me freeze and shamelessly eavesdrop.
“I worry about your friend Raegan having anything to do with the non-profit,” says Mr. Yoder.
“That’s ridiculous. Rae made our fundraiser. Why would you not want her involved with BCF??” Sy asks flatly, not bothering to look up from the scorecards on the table in front of him.
“Well, frankly son, she’s a viper. Her reputation is not all that flattering and given the news about her carrying on with a married man…” he trails off and my blood boils in my veins. Who the hell does he think he is? “I just worry that attaching a negative image to Buzzsaw and to you now will only hurt us more at a time when we’re already in bad shape. Even with the success we had with the fundraiser—”
“Thanks to Rae,” Sy interjects.
“We still have a way to go if you expect to expand this operation. We need more love from the public and I’m sorry to say it but the woman leaves no shortage of enemies in her wake. I already told you Jennings withdrew his standing annual donation on account of her. Jennings relayed to me several extremely unflattering things she said to him. She even threatened him. Who else will decline to support BCF once they know she is associated with it and you?”
Sy snorts humorlessly. “Yoder, you know I appreciate you, right?”
“Yes of course.”
“You know I care very much for you not only as BCF’s accountant, but as a friend and a mentor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So you won’t take offense when I tell you to let me find a way to win more favor from the public to keep Buzzsaw moving in the right direction at the same time that I make that woman my wife. It’s been a long time coming.” Sy inhales deeply then goes on like a star lawyer making his closing arguments. “As for Jennings, well, it sucks to see his money go but if his support is conditional, then I don’t need or want it. I’ll find other donors. Rae, will help me find more donors. The most successful folks in this world are the only ones with no shortage of enemies, Gene. Rae’s in that group of folks because she’s worked hard to get there. Don’t punish her for it.”
“And what if things take a turn for the worse after you marry her? This new cancel culture thing is alive and well. People will attack you simply on account of you being with her. You’ll inherit every enemy she’s ever made or will make. You’d give up your work with the non-profit for h
er?” I peek around the edge of the vinyl banner in time to see Sy look up from his scorecards, leveling his unflinching gaze with Mr. Yoder.
“I absolutely would. In a heartbeat,” he says with the utmost sincerity and it’s standing here in this moment that I know my answer to his photo booth proposal without need for further thought.
The cherry on top was the email that made my phone ding as I trudged away feeling beaten by life.
[email protected]
Subject: Great news!
Sweeney’s PA just emailed me. Scheduled a face-to-face for Monday, 9 AM. Not official yet but it looks like you’re IN! Congratulations! When should I book your flight?
I tap out my email on autopilot and send it refusing to allow myself to take another look back at the judging tent where I left Sylas. This isn’t the first time I have forced myself to walk away from Sy. It’s not even the second time, but I do hope it will be the last. It hurts entirely too much.
[email protected]
Subject: re-Great news!
ASAP.
Chapter 25
Raegan
Three years ago…
“I’m sorry ma’am but the ICU is off limits to visitors with exception to family.”
