by Maggie Wells
“We’ll go get you a new dress this weekend. Are you in?” he prompted, impatient for an answer.
Megan lit up brightly. For a second, he half-expected her to leap over the table and hug him. “Yeah, I’m definitely in. I love a swanky party.” Then, as if remembering there was more to their situation than the possibility of a night out in a fancy dress, she glanced nervously at the door to the hallway. “What about the boys?”
The soft spot he had for the mother of his children throbbed with a wistful ache. If only she truly cared. But she didn’t. She never would. The only reason Megan was asking the question was because she was afraid somehow the boys would foil her plan for the evening.
“We have sitters who take care of all five of the kids whenever the three of us have a work function. Costs a small fortune but totally trustworthy.” He smirked. “There are two teenage girls near Mike who watch them on occasion. I think the boys are half in love with them.”
“Aren’t they a too young for crushes?” Megan asked, looking truly bewildered.
James rolled his eyes. “For them, being in love with the babysitter isn’t any different from them loving you. They like…” he searched for the right words to explain, “…being around women.”
Megan rose from the table in one fluid movement. Without even offering to scrape a plate, she turned to leave the room. “They get that from you as well.”
He barked a laugh. What she said was mostly true, but his motivations were not at all what she wanted to think they were. “Neither of us came into this babes in the woods, did we?”
Megan shook her head as she glanced back at him. “No. And no one gets out alive.”
Chapter 10
Saturday morning dawned drizzly and far too early. James groped his nightstand for his bleating phone. Scowling as hard as he was squinting, he made out the name on the display and hit the green button. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t panic. No one is dead,” Mike assured him.
“Why are you calling me this early on a Saturday?” he demanded.
Mike’s voice came across crisp and efficient as always but there was an edge of panic in his tone. “We have a problem. Some tabloid reporter is breaking a story about Georgie and Gerry.”
James propped his weight up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes, then reached for his glasses. Once he got them settled on his nose, he blinked twice to allow his pupils to adjust to the dim light and willed his brain to shift into gear. “What about Georgie and Gerry? Are they claiming they’re illicit lovers or something?”
“They’re claiming the future mayor of Chicago’s sister is a pornographic baker.”
Mike sounded grim. James hesitated before stating the obvious. “Well, it’s not a lie.” He bit his tongue and waited another beat. “I assume the spin isn’t particularly flattering to either of them?”
Mike gave a short laugh. “Hardly. Then again, it’s not difficult to make Getta Piece sound anything but lurid if you’ve never seen the place.”
“Right.” Pushing himself up further, James leaned back against the headboard. “Isn’t Gerry’s PR team on this? I can’t believe his father hasn’t had the reporter immortalized in concrete before sunup.”
“The story broke online around two this morning.”
James rubbed his eyes again. Megan had been out late, so he’d been up late. Not because he was waiting for her, but because his SuperDad hearing was attuned to the teensiest hint of things that go bump in the night. He couldn’t help but hear one not-so-subtle woman stumbling around down the hall. Exhausted, he blew out a breath.
“I’m thinking this is more of a public relations issue than a security issue,” sounding each word out as they formed in his mind. Luckily, his self-preservation instincts kicked in before he blundered on. “Is Georgie okay?”
“She’s fine,” Mike answered brusquely. “Well, not fine, pissed. But, in Georgie’s case, pissed is good. Pissed means she’s going to show the world something.”
“Doesn’t she show the world something every day?”
“Yeah. Yeah, she does.”
The warmth in Mike’s voice came through the line. James’s chest tightened as he imagined the rage his friend was feeling beneath that calm exterior. “She’s pissed, and I’m assuming Gerry’s team has sprung into action?”
Mike snapped back into business mode. “Yes, but we’ve already got protesters outside the bakery, and I’m assuming there’s going to be some more down by campaign headquarters.”
James groaned. “I hate protesters. Do they have signs? I hate protesters who carry signs.”
“There are a few signs,” Mike conceded.
“What did they do, run right out to buy poster board at two o’clock in the friggin’ morning?”
“Maybe the protesting types keep a supply on hand.” Mike sighed. “We have two clients having a security issue. Think you can roust yourself out of bed to help deal?”
“Dude, no need to get snippy. The sun isn’t even up yet, and I haven’t had coffee.” James rubbed his face, knocking his glasses askew. “You’re going to have to give me a minute to wake up before you can get any real answers out of me.”
Mike exhaled long and loud. “I’m sorry, man. I’m just…this reporter called at like one-thirty and was all over Georgie for a statement. Being a normal human being, Georgie was pretty much as out of it as you are now and she’s used to being up at the ass crack of dawn every morning, and I…” He let out a low growl. “There was nothing I could do. I was sitting there listening to her try to defend herself for doing something she shouldn’t have to defend. She owns a successful business, her brother’s running for mayor. Neither of those things are illegal, immoral, or connected with anything more than a string of DNA.”
James had to smile. Mike wasn’t as opened-minded the first time he mentioned Georgie’s business model to his partners. “Look what falling in love will do to a fella.”
Mike scoffed, but denied nothing. “Anyway, the protesters here aren’t really a big deal because most of the stuff Georgie had lined up for this weekend is already picked up. If nothing else, she could close for the day. Of course, around this neighborhood, a protest might draw some business. She’s feeling torn.”
“She shouldn’t close. Too much like letting them win.”
“I told her the same thing,” Mike assured him. “Hell, they’ll lose interest by Monday, most likely. But we have to get somebody down to Carson headquarters. Colm called a couple of off-duty cop friends and they are on their way to keep things cool there.”
“Good plan.”
“But we need more of a plan,” Mike added before James could even slouch an inch. “Now you’re up and mobilized. We need to meet and talk contingencies for headquarters, and maybe some extra security for the election night party.
James blew out a breath. “You want to meet at the office?”
“I was thinking Pancake Palace. We can bring the kids.”
James nodded. “I like the way you think. They will, too.”
“But we may need to figure out something to do with the kids if we end up having to work all day.” There was a prolonged pause before Mike plunged ahead. “Maybe you could leave them with Megan for a couple hours?”
James pondered the question for about a half-second. “I don’t think she would do anything to hurt them, but I worry about her getting distracted by something bright and shiny.”
“Okay, let’s do this.” In the blink of an eye, Mike went from affronted lover to decisive manager. “Round up the kids and meet us at the Palace. We’ll see if Colm can meet us there and give us a report of what’s happening at campaign headquarters. We can plan our attack after pancakes.”
“Sounds good.” James glanced at his bedroom door, recalling the drunk mutterings he’d heard in the hallway in the wee hours. “If we need to do s
omething where we can’t haul the kids around, perhaps we can sweet-talk Monica and Georgie into playing ringmaster for a while?”
“We can try.”
“I could even try my mom.” He mentally thumbed through his options. “Like I said, I don’t think Megan would do anything to hurt them, but I think the constant surveillance two four-year-olds require might be beyond her skill set. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s going to be fairly hungover.”
“What did you guys do last night?”
James snorted. “Well, us guys watched the Minions movie for the bazillionth time. I have no idea where Megan went.”
“You’re not good at this fake relationship thing,” Mike pointed out.
“Not much better with real ones.”
Mike sighed heavily, and James was all too aware his friend was thinking about his sister and their family history with booze. “I totally agree with you. Meet us at Pancake Palace and we’ll go from there.”
The call disconnected with a muted beep. James stared down at the blank screen in his hand. “What a happy Saturday this is gonna be,” he grumbled as he kicked the covers aside and crawled out of bed.
* * * *
Election Day came, and Rosie was still fuming at both the ambush on Georgie and Gerry, and because no one had called her in to help. When confronted, Colm assured her the situation proved startlingly easy to defuse. Georgie and her brother Gerry held a combined press conference. The two children the city had watched grow up as part of the one-time first family then proceeded to charm the whole Chicago metropolitan area.
According to Mike, Georgie had been up since the phone call and started making cookies sometime around five o’clock in the morning. Instead of being shaped like dicks or boobs, these cookies had been the exact size of a lapel button and frosted with breathtakingly precise renderings of Gerry Carson Jr.’s campaign logo. She’d wandered through the assembled reporters holding a doily-lined tray as she and her brother fielded their questions.
Watching Gerry Carson confront the nonissue head-on, Rosie had to admit the man was a born politician. He played both factions to perfection and practically wooed the press with his love for his younger sister. As a matter of fact, he did so well, most of them seemed to have forgotten what the scandal was.
Now, the ballroom at Carson House was decked out in red, white, and blue splendor. Gold stars on the oversize Chicago flag draped over the stage were spotlit individually, the baby blue stripes the perfect offset to the richer navy used in the bunting on the tables.
A waiter dressed in a tuxedo passed by with a tray laden with flutes of golden champagne. Devin lifted two glasses from the tray and handed one to her. “Here’s to a successful campaign.” He raised his glass.
“A successful campaign,” she echoed.
They drank, and when he lowered his glass, Devin’s eyes were locked on her. Again. His frank admiration made her both ecstatic and uncomfortable. She’d been catching him staring since he picked her up at her door. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, lifting an imperious eyebrow to let him know he’d been caught.
“Absolutely not,” he answered with conviction. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
Rosie’s lips curved as she took another sip of the champagne. “You might’ve mentioned something along those lines.”
“If mentioned is all I’ve done, I’m guilty of criminal negligence.” Devin shifted a half step closer to her and leaned down to speak directly in her ear. “You are spectacular, Rosalina. Your dress is incredible, and I’m happy you asked me to come here tonight.”
Rosie felt a hot flush wash over her skin. “I’m happy you could come,” she managed to stammer through her pleased embarrassment. A flutter of activity near the ballroom doors drew her attention from her thoughts. A group of conservatively dressed older men and their well-preserved wives strolled into the room accepting handshakes and backslaps as if they’d been the ones to secure the city’s highest office.
Rosie wrinkled her nose. “And the cogs in the machine have arrived.”
“I know the State attorney, but who’s the guy with him?”
“The head of the party… chairman, or whatever,” Rosie informed him. “He used to work for Gerald Carson Sr. as his chief of staff, but now he thinks he’s the kingmaker.”
Comprehension dawned. “Oh, right. He came out smelling like a rose, didn’t he?”
“In my experience, those types of men usually do.” Rosie focused her attention on the zoot-suit-clad swing band. “This should be fun.” She gestured to the stage with her glass. “I hear the singer is fantastic.”
“Rosie!”
The piercing squeal cut through the band’s warm-up number and drew stares from the people nearby. Rosie turned in time to be enveloped in a vanilla-scented hug. “Oh. My. God. The dress is incredible on you.” Georgie stepped back and shoved Rosie to arm’s length to take in the entire ensemble. “It looked good in the dressing room, but holy hell…” She glanced at Mike, who’d quietly arrived in her wake. “Would you look at her?”
Mike flashed a sheepish grin. “Hey, Rosie, you look great.”
Georgie whirled on him. “Hey, Rosie, you look great?” she repeated with a sneer. “Seriously? Great is the best you can do? Look at her. She looks ah-may-ZING!” Shaking her head, Georgie focused on Rosie once again. “God, what I wouldn’t do to have your hair.”
A fiery blush crept up Rosie’s neck and set her ears aflame. “Okay, stop,” she ordered.
Georgie looked affronted. “I will not stop. I speak the truth. Do I not speak the truth?” she asked, rounding to face Devin.
“She speaks the truth,” he repeated dutifully.
“Him, I like.” Georgie pinned Mike with a filthy glare, then thrust her hand at Devin. “Hello, I’m Georgianna Walters, and this schmuck here is my boyfriend, Mike Simmons. He works with Rosie,” she explained.
Rosie chuckled. “I work for Mike and his two partners, Colm and James.”
Mike stepped in to shake Devin’s hand. “Don’t let her fool you. We work for her. Nice to meet you.” He gave Devin an unabashed once over. “Rosie tells me you’re an attorney?”
Devin nodded. “Yes, family law.”
“I needed you a couple years ago,” Mike grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Georgie interrupted. “Look at the dress we found for Rosie.” She elbowed Mike in the ribs. “Can you believe this dress? We found it at a consignment shop for like, nothing.”
Rosie smoothed her hand over the bodice of the dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her bare shoulders and back. When both Mike and Devin eyed her with frank, appraising stares, Rosie marshalled all her strength not to fidget under the glare of their scrutiny.
She looked good. A fanciful part of her believed this dress had been made for her, and she was owning that flight of fancy. The halter neckline of the dress accentuated the curviness of her figure and gave off an old-school Marilyn Monroe sort of vibe. But, rather than the flared skirt Ms. Monroe’s dress was famous for, this one was formfitting, hugging Rosie’s hips and flowing down past her knees to stop above her ankles. And the neckline and slender skirt weren’t the most daring feature of the dress. A subtle slit up one leg flashed a hint of red satin lining each time she took a step, catching the eye and holding on fast.
“She looks stunning.” Devin slipped a proprietary arm around her waist. “I’m the luckiest guy here.”
“Debatable.” Mike drew Georgie close to his side. “Lucky, definitely, but if you’re going for superlatives, there might have to be an arm wrestling match.”
“I love it when they get all macho,” Georgie cooed. “I’ve always wanted a man to duel for my honor.”
Devin looked from Georgie to Mike, then to Rosie. “I’m confused.” He frowned. “Are we fighting over you or Georgie?”
“I
believe you are dueling over the right to use the superlative,” Rosie interpreted.
Devin chuckled. “You use your superlatives for your girl, and I’ll use mine for mine. There doesn’t have to be any bloodshed.”
Rosie craned her neck to gawk at the crowd of people gathered near the entrance to the ballroom. “How is Gerry doing?” she asked Georgie. “Is he holding up okay?”
Georgie grinned. “Gerry’s in seventh heaven. I may hate the schizoid world of politics, but, boy loves the game.”
“Good for him. I’m happy he won. My entire family voted for him,” Rosie said warmly.
“And I’m sure he appreciates your support.” Georgie’s nose wrinkled as she scanned the crowd. “Would you be surprised to know he was worried?”
Rosie’s brows rose. “Was he? Because of the bakery story?”
“He thinks there’s a faction of the old guard who still want the schmoozers like Palmer,” she explained. “He has a scandalous sister, and won’t toe the line like my father did.”
“Which is why people voted for him.” Rosie smiled warmly. “He’s his own man.”
Georgie’s gaze warmed with undisguised pride and affection. “He is, isn’t he?” Turning to include the men in their conversation, she gestured to the rapidly filling room. “He’s waiting to make a grand entrance. My mother’s idea, of course,” she added.
“As he should.” Rosie gave a little laugh. “This is his moment of triumph, and he should enter like Caesar entering the Colosseum.” Beetling her brow, she looked at Devin. “Did Caesar enter the Colosseum?”
The man beside her only shook his head. “Ancient history was not my thing.”
“No, Caesar did not entertain at the Colosseum,” a deep voice interrupted. “There weren’t any Christians to throw to the lions, yet.” James stepped into their circle from behind Rosie. “Hey, everyone. Thinking of using some blood sport to get this party started?”
