“Daphne. Stop.”
“Why? It’s true. You love how wet I get for you.”
I look at the ceiling like there’s some divine intervention that’s going to happen by studying the crown moulding.
“Look,” I say, my voice raspy, “let’s not go there, Daph.”
I need to make her feel good about getting brushed off. I need her Dad’s endorsement; I can’t have her pissed. That’s not going to help anyone.
“Whoever you’re fucking right now isn’t going to last, Barrett. You know that. You always come back to me.”
“Why make this hard, Daph?”
“I always make it hard. You know that.”
I struggle to not roll my eyes. “Whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m busy tonight. And I will be tomorrow and the next night too, if you’re wondering,” I add.
“So it’s true,” she chirps. “You know our friends are saying she’s not one of us. That she might even be a waitress.”
“Excuse me?” I bellow. “What the fuck does that even mean and why in the hell is it any of your business?”
She laughs in the phone. “That says it all.”
“Don’t you talk about her like that. Like she’s beneath you somehow.”
“Defensive, are we? Wow. She must be a helluva lay to get the playboy Barrett Landry wound around her finger.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Daphne.”
Her laugher gets louder, causing my blood to nearly boil.
“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” she snaps.
“It’s a good thing I’m not talking to a lady then, isn’t it?”
“Touché.”
I hear her dog yap in the background, her doorbell rings. She laughs again.
“I gotta go, Barrett. I have company.”
“Hey, Daph?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me again.”
I end the call and toss my phone on the bed. It sinks into my blankets and I wish I could sink in with it.
There’s a raw spot in my gut that I can’t shake. Daphne is a cocktail waiting to explode. She always has been, it’s a part of her DNA. Normally it doesn’t matter, but now that Alison is woven in this situation, it’s unnerving.
I’ve always handled Daphne with some charm and cock; I can’t do that now. Moreover, withholding both from her will only direct any reaction to Alison, the one person I don’t want to feel the crazy.
Picking my phone back up, Alison answers in a few rings.
“Hello?” she asks sleepily.
“Hey, you.”
“Barrett,” she says. I hear sheets and blankets being moved around. “Are you okay? It’s late.”
I press my fingertips to my forehead. “Did I wake you? Or Huxley? I’m sorry. Shit.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “You just scared me, that’s all.”
Blowing out a breath, I imagine what she looks like in bed with no makeup and some sleepy eyes. “I miss you.”
“Ah, Barrett. I miss you too.”
“How was your day? Did you get your paper done?”
“No,” she groans. “I have another few pages left. I had to work a few extra hours at Hillary’s and then Huxley’s homework was out of control. You should see the amount of stuff he has to do every night. It’s incredible.”
A vision of me sitting at a table with Hux going over science problems and history questions flashes through my brain. I can see it so clearly.
“Is he doing well though? Does he need a tutor or anything?” I volunteer.
“No. He’s as sharp as a tack. It’s just so much work that it cuts into the time I have for mine. It’s the life of a single mother,” she says easily. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“If you need any help with any of it—”
“We’re fine, Barrett.”
I hear the warning in her voice, to not step too close. I hate it. I hate having a barrier between us, being told to keep any sort of distance. I want to help her, take the loads off that I can remove without any problem.
“I know you’re fine, Alison. I’m just saying that I’m willing to help.”
“I know and it’s appreciated. But it’s important to me that I do this on my own.”
“Do what on your own? Life?” I gruff.
“No,” she sighs. “Not exactly.”
“You do realize I’m not trying to take anything from you right?” I ask. “I want to . . . add to it. Make it better, easier if I can.”
She doesn’t respond for a long while and I give her time to wrangle whatever it is she’s thinking. I wish I were there with her, wrapping her up in my arms. It would make so many things so much better.
“I don’t mean to push . . .” I say, letting my words fall.
“You aren’t pushing, Barrett. I love that you care.”
“Of course I care,” I snort.
“I just don’t need a knight in shining armor. In my world,” she says, pausing, “I am the knight. I’m the one that saves the day.”
“I can respect that. Just let me be the stallion you ride in on.”
She laughs, a free, flowy kind of laugh that makes me join in. “Barrett Landry, you’re impossible.”
Relaxing back on my pillows, I close my eyes and listen to the sound of her voice. It’s what I needed, my antidote.
“I do need to get back to bed,” she yawns. “I have the breakfast shift in the morning, so my mom will be here super early to get Hux up and to her house to get ready for school.”
“Okay. But I wish I were there with you.”
“I do too,” she whispers.
“I can only imagine what it’s like to wake up next to you.”
Her giggle races through the phone. “We wouldn’t be able to get out of bed.”
“I wouldn’t let you get out of bed,” I growl.
“Which is why it’s a good thing you aren’t next to me right now,” she says. “Okay, I’m going. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Talk to you then.”
“Goodnight, Barrett.”
“Goodnight.”
Barrett
MY HEADACHE HAS STARTED TO wane after an incredibly long morning, but I can feel it lingering right behind my left eye. I'm in a bad mood, especially after reading a new article ripping me to shreds in the press.
I paste on a smile and wave to a little group of women eyeballing me from the corner of the hotel that houses Picante, a restaurant where Nolan and I are meeting Monroe.
Nolan keeps his face forward and pretends not to notice the waves and gestures from my little fan club. It makes the women happier, we've learned, to think they had a “moment” with me. Ridiculous but true.
I usually give them a quick once-over, just check them out a little bit, see what’s being offered. Normally, if I’m feeling particularly interested, I’d mosey over, make small talk, and grab a phone number for later.
Or two.
Hell, sometimes three.
Today I have zero interest.
"Now, when we get in here, I want you to remember that you're here to appease him," Nolan says under his breath.
"We'll see," I mutter.
The elevator door opens and we walk inside. Nolan presses the button to close the doors before anyone can get on with us. We ride in silence for the few seconds until the door chimes and opens into Picante. It's a small restaurant that's used by the wealthy. You pay a membership and they provide you with excellent food and privacy to boot.
The hostess recognizes me immediately and I can see her replaying our rendezvous together a year or so ago. I can’t help but remember her bent over the hood of my car either.
Her lips fall apart and her eyes glaze over, and I try to give her the least encouraging smile I can.
“Mayor Landry,” she breathes, batting her lashes. “How nice to see you again.”
Nolan bristles at my side as I clear my throat. “I believe we have a table waiti
ng on us.”
She nods, blushing, and leads us through the room. “I was hoping it was you and not one of your brothers when I saw the reservations,” she says sweetly as Nolan sticks an elbow in my side.
"Don't forget," he whispers. "You have the Garalent Gala coming up."
The thought makes my temple start to throb again. I don't want to think about that. At all.
“Here you go.” She steps to the side but manages to brush up against me. If Alison weren’t in the picture and this conversation wasn’t going to ruin my mood, I’d probably make plans to see her again.
I glance up at her and she winks.
Today’s not her day.
Nolan pastes on a smile as Monroe stands to greet us. We shake hands and take our seats across from him.
"Nice to see you," he smiles. It's a predatory gesture. He smells blood and insisted I come along today for the kill. He's ready to stick me in his pocket and then use me for four years after I'm elected. More than ever, I don’t want to make any concessions to him.
"Good to see you," I lie, placing my napkin on my lap.
The waitress comes by and takes our order, nearly rubbing her ass against my arm. I lean away and pick something random off the menu, a dish that includes grapes.
"So, Barrett, let's talk shop, shall we?" Monroe fights the urge to smile.
"Yes. Nolan tells me you're close to making your decision on your endorsement," I say, glancing at Nolan. "How are you feeling right now, Monroe?"
He chuckles. "Well, I'm not sure how I'm feeling. As you know, I don't necessarily follow the party ticket."
"That's why we're here," Nolan says. "What will it take for you to endorse your own party’s candidate? There is a lot at stake coming up."
"That's very true, which is why I've held off on endorsing anyone."
His game-playing is getting under my skin. I grit my teeth, trying to keep from blurting out what I want to say. "You've held off so long that it nearly doesn't matter." When I say this, Nolan nudges me with his knee beneath the table. I don't look at him. I'm forcing the issue, but what I've said is true.
Monroe raises his eyebrows and thinks before he speaks. "I have faith that whomever I support will matter to my precinct, Mr. Landry. And I think you also believe that. That's why you're here."
"Look," I say, having enough of his self-aggrandizing attitude. "Why don't we cut to the chase and you tell me what you're looking for? I have a full schedule today and I bet you do too."
He guffaws, his voice catching the attention of some businessmen at a round table in the corner.
"One thing I like about you, kid, is your confidence. That's a point in your favor."
I can't help but laugh at his intended disrespect. "I'll take all the points I can get."
He studies me for a minute. He certainly didn't expect me to come in firing. Hell, I didn't either.
"I tell ya what, Barrett," he sighs, leaning forward. "There are two things in this race that are important to me. One is the Land Bill. The other is how well the candidate I endorse will perform in office. My word matters to me. You know that," he pauses. He's the fox in the henhouse. I watch his smirk grow as he keeps talking. "And I'll tell you the truth—I'm worried about your reputation. You're a rake, to put it bluntly. A bachelor that appears as interested in women as he is the work that must be done."
"I beg your pardon," I say, narrowing my eyes. "My approval rating as Mayor of Savannah is the highest it's been for any person in that post in modern history.”
"Look,” Nolan interjects, “we aren't here to argue what Landry does in his own time. We are here to see what it will take for you to back him. So, what's it going to be? Just cut the shit and give it to us straight."
"I need a commitment that you will vote against the Land Bill," he says, looking me straight in the eye.
I don't waver. I feel sick to my stomach, knowing that it will kill the local economy while putting money in his pocket if it’s nixed.
"That Bill isn’t even guaranteed to be on the table in the next five years.”
"But if it is," he says, cocking his head, "I want full assurance that you won’t support it. Come on, Barrett,” he sighs. “Your own family has land out there. You won’t seriously consider losing that kind of money, will you? Be smart about this. I know you’re probably thinking you’ll go in there and do some good for the people and you can. You can. But there’s no sense in shooting yourself in the foot over it.”
I glance at Nolan and he’s watching me carefully. I rack my brain for an answer that will appease him.
"Hobbs has given me his word that he won’t support it if it comes to that."
I clench my jaw. "I assure you I will talk with you about it then before any decision is made."
He blows out a breath as the waitress places our plates in front of us and leaves.
"That's fair," he says without sounding confident.
"Absolutely it is," I say.
He shakes his head and pulls his plate in front of him. "Very well. I can also assume that you will be taking Daphne to Garalent, correct?"
"He is," Nolan looks at me sternly. "We've already discussed that, remember?"
I cringe, my head feeling like it's going to explode. We fucking discussed it, all right, but that discussion was very much before Alison.
Looking at Monroe’s face, his eyes are lit. Me taking his daughter is a huge boon to him, and if I back out now, it’s the nail in my coffin.
He slices through his chicken breast. "She'll be pleased to know that."
"Gentlemen, if you don't mind," I say, scooting my chair back, "I'm going to have to take off. I have an appointment in a few minutes that I was going to call off, but since we seem to be finished here, I think I'll try to make it."
Monroe laughs, knowing I'm making it up. "No problem. Good to do business with you, Barrett."
"You too," I bite out. I don't bother looking at Nolan. I just slip through the restaurant, avoiding the hostess, and out the door.
Alison
I SUBMIT MY FINAL PAPER of the day to my professor and close my laptop. I’ve been working at this all day, trying to nail the theme of the piece and I’m confident that I did. One more year of school and working two jobs and I’ll be firmly on my own two feet.
Huxley is riding his bike in the backyard, creating a little trail around the one tree that stands almost in the middle. I can’t wait to buy a bigger house in a better neighborhood with a great big space so he can play and move to his heart’s delight.
The doorbell rings and I give one last look to Hux before heading to the entry way. A delivery man is standing on the other side, holding a vase filled with deep purple flowers and a satiny white ribbon.
“Ms. Baker?”
“That’s me.”
“These are for you.”
He hands me the heavy vase, and before I can thank him, he’s back in his van. I pull them to my nose, breathing in the wonderful scent, and close the door behind me.
With an excited step, I make my way to the kitchen, place them on the counter, and pull out the card written on white stationary.
I hope you’re thinking about me, because I’m thinking about you. -Barrett
Bringing the card to my chest, I hold it over my heart and allow myself to smile, to bask in the feeling of being wanted. That this busy man, in the midst of the most strenuous moment of his career, took a second out of his day to make me feel like this.
We haven’t seen each other since the cabana, but we’ve talked every day multiple times. He instigates conversations as much or more than I do, and that’s refreshing. Sometimes he’ll send me a text with an article he thinks I’ll find interesting and sometimes it’s just to say hey. Regardless, it’s nice and has left a permanent smile etched on my face.
We’re taking this slow, slower than I thought we could, and . . . I think it’s working.
Huxley scrambles through the back door and catches me before I can compose myself
. “Where’d those come from?” he asks, his knees dirty from the lawn.
“Someone sent them to me.”
“They’re nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Was it a boy?”
My brain fires on all cylinders, trying to figure out what to say to Hux without scaring him.
“It was,” I say truthfully. “A man sent me flowers.”
“I hope it’s a nice one. Like Lincoln Landry,” he says, opening the fridge. “He promised me we’d play baseball soon.”
I smile as he rummages through the bins. “You do know he’s probably really busy. Don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t call, okay?”
“He will,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re best friends practically.”
Laughing, I try to decide whether to segue that little Landry opening to who sent the flowers or not. Hux decides for me.
“It wasn’t Lincoln, was it? That sent those?”
“No,” I say carefully. “But you know his brother? The mayor?”
He nods, opening a string cheese.
“He sent them to me.”
“The one that can’t play baseball?”
“Yes,” I giggle. “The one that can’t play baseball.”
Huxley shrugs like the ten-year-old boy eating string cheese that he is. “Well, at least he has a cool brother, I guess.”
I walk across the room and give him a giant hug. “He’s pretty cool, too, I think.”
“Is he your boyfriend now?”
“No, nothing like that. We’re just friends. Seeing if we like each other.”
He peers up at me through his long lashes. There are spatters of dirt mixed in with the freckles that span the bridge of his nose. “He’ll like you, Mom. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Who knows,” I smile. “But how do you feel about that? If a man would come around sometimes. Would that bother you?”
He chews the last bite and drops his wrapper in the trash. “No, I guess not.” He looks at the ground before pulling his eyes to mine, hesitation swimming in them. “I don’t say this because I think it might hurt your feelings and I don’t mean it like that, Mom. But I miss having a dad. I miss doing boy stuff with a real guy. Not that you aren’t the best—”
Sway (Landry Family #1) Page 14
