Sweet Talkin' Lover EPB

by Tracey Livesay

  Did she have family here?

  “She’s coming this way,” Dan whispered theatrically, like they were characters in a scene from a high school comedy.

  Accordingly, his heart rate slipped his control and pounded in his chest.

  “Mayor Bradley?”

  His skin had tingled at the honey-on-gravel huskiness of her voice. And when he’d turned around . . . her eyes. Velvety brown, they were thickly lashed and slightly downturned at the outer corners, giving her a sultry, slightly sad look that did something he’d never experienced to his insides. His reaction to her unsettled him and he blamed that agitation for his lack of judgment that followed.

  The router jerked in his hand. Dammit! He released it and blew out a frustrated breath. He’d cut a level deeper than he’d intended. All because his mind had been on Caila Harris and not on what he’d been doing. Unless he wanted to ruin the entire slab, he needed to quit while he was ahead and come back to it when he was far less distracted.

  Wyatt powered the tool off. He removed his safety glasses and hearing protection earmuffs and laid them on the workbench against the far wall. He’d do well to hold on to that goal. To avoid distractions. Stay focused. Keep his thoughts of Ms. Harris as professional as possible. She didn’t know it, but he planned to crash her meeting with the plant manager this morning. He’d promised the town he’d do everything in his power to save their jobs, and he always kept his promises.

  Even if that meant staying close to the only woman who caused him to think and act in ways he didn’t recognize.

  Forty minutes later, Wyatt shut his car door and strode across the driveway to the palatial home where he had daily breakfast with his family.

  Twelve thousand square feet on over twenty acres of land, it was an impressive estate. He knew it well, having grown up playing in the twenty-five rooms in the house, plus the caretaker’s cottage, and throwing parties around the swimming pool and in their manicured gardens. Although he had a key, he didn’t need to use it. He rarely entered through the imposing front door, preferring to head along the brick pathway that ran along the side of the house and use the informal entrance near the kitchen that remained unlocked during the day.

  “Mother,” he called out, closing the glass-paneled door behind him. He knew where she was, just as he knew she’d reprimand him when she finally saw him.

  He strode down the long hallway, his footsteps muffled by the carpet runner, and turned into the room on the right. Renee Bradley sat at the far end of the long, lacquered wood dining room table, a fine bone china teacup raised in one delicate hand.

  “Good morning, Wyatt. And please stop yelling. It isn’t necessary.”

  He hid a grin as he crossed to her and grazed her cheek with a kiss, the familiar smell of her perfume wafting up to greet him.

  “Just announcing my presence, like you taught me.”

  She waved him away. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  It was barely eight in the morning, and his mother was impeccably dressed, her light brown hair pulled away from her artfully made-up face. Neat and well-groomed. He’d never seen her any other way.

  Not even when his father left.

  Renee wrinkled her nose. “Why are you dressed like an auto mechanic? You’re the mayor of this town!”

  Wyatt looked down at his olive green chinos and dark jean shirt. That comment was uncalled for. His clothes were of a good quality and fit him well. “Things are a bit more casual now. No one wears a suit and tie anymore.”

  “More’s the pity,” she murmured.

  He’d settled into the cream upholstered chair on her left when the door in the far corner swung open and their housekeeper walked in, carrying a teapot.

  “Good morning, Violet.”

  “Morning, baby.” Violet’s voice rose in surprise. She topped off his mother’s cup. “You’re here early. You hungry?”

  “For your food? Always.”

  Violet had worked for his family for the past twenty years. He loved the other woman, having fond memories of spending afternoons in the kitchen watching her bake and being the lucky beneficiary of her sweet treats.

  Violet grabbed a stainless steel carafe from the sideboard and poured him a cup of coffee, patting his shoulder before heading back into the kitchen. After taking a blissful sip of the hot, bracing brew, he opened his eyes to find his mother watching him.

  “I received a call from Eloise Langford.”

  Wyatt sighed and set his cup down in its saucer. “Why do you indulge her? You know I can’t wave a magic wand and make a Miller & Rhoads appear in Bradleton. One, I’m not a wizard, and two, that department store went out of business almost thirty years ago.”

  “I’ve explained that to her. But she’s ninety-two and her memory isn’t what it used to be. She still thinks your father is the mayor. He would allow people to contact him directly with their complaints.”

  His chest tightened. “I may share his name, but our styles of governing are quite different.”

  I actually stuck around to do the job I was elected to do.

  The words clamored to be free, but he reined them in, not wanting to hurt his mother or ruin her illusions about his father.

  “And Bradleton is the better for it,” Wyatt Asher Bradley II said, clearly not concerned about sparing Renee’s feelings.

  Wyatt straightened in his chair, as his grandfather strolled into the room. Asher Bradley was a distinguished man in his eighties, and though he’d slowed considerably over the years, he still retained the tall, erect bearing that led many to correctly guess he’d served in the military.

  “Good morning, Wyatt.”

  “Morning, sir.”

  Violet reappeared and placed a steaming plate of food before Wyatt. She gave his grandfather a tall glass of orange juice and took Renee’s empty bowl, disappearing again behind the swinging door. Asher took his place at the other end of the table.

  “You don’t have time to entertain the whims of lonely old women,” Asher said. “You have a town to run.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A Bradley has been involved in running this town since its inception. And save a few rare lapses, we’ve done well.”

  His mother’s features tightened, but she didn’t respond.

  Asher removed a newspaper from the stack at his elbow, opened it with a brisk snap, and began reading it. His grandfather was a firm believer in staying informed. Every morning he read through the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Bradleton Herald.

  “Are you the one responsible for single-handedly destroying the rainforests?” Wyatt teased. “Why don’t you use the iPad I bought you two years ago?”

  Asher eyed him over a folded-down corner. “I prefer the feel of paper. If it was good enough for my father and grandfather, it’s good enough for me.”

  That was Asher’s personal life philosophy, considering how often he used that same statement to justify his decisions.

  Wyatt took a bite of eggs. “You could save time and just watch MSNBC.”

  Asher scoffed. Actually scoffed! “I don’t want my news filtered through liberal talking heads or conservative conspiracy theorists. I still believe in facts and I’ll take mine straight from the source.”

  It was the answer he’d expected. The same one his grandfather gave each time Wyatt asked. In spite of the current chaos happening in his town, it was good to see that some things never changed.

  Violet entered the room, placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of Asher, and refilled Wyatt’s coffee.

  “I heard the Endurance rep breezed into town a day early,” Asher said, his steel blue gaze sharp.

  Wyatt choked on his food. He dropped his fork and coughed, shooting a teary smile at Violet as she handed him a glass of water.

  When Asher hadn’t immediately mentioned Caila, Wyatt had gotten complacent.

  Big mistake.

  “Yes, sir,” he managed.

  How much should he admit to? How
much did Asher know? Shown by his daily perusal of newspapers, his grandfather was keen on gathering as much information as possible. Wyatt swore the man had spies everywhere.

  Which was confirmed when Asher said, “Since when do mayors conduct critical town business over pinball machine contests?”

  Similar to the sentiment Caila Harris had expressed.

  Wyatt wiped his eyes with a napkin and drank some water, forcing himself to swallow carefully. The food he’d already eaten had hardened into stone in his belly. “I’ve never given you any reason to doubt my abilities to do my job.”

  “What do you call that scene last night at Turk’s?” Asher crisply folded his newspaper closed. “This woman is here to essentially fire a third of this town’s workforce. Do you understand what the consequences of such an action will do to Bradleton?”

  “Woman?” Renee leaned forward.

  Wyatt bristled. “I don’t need to be lectured about the town’s economic future. I know exactly what’s at stake.”

  His mother raised her voice. “They sent a woman?”

  Both men looked at her.

  “Yes,” Wyatt said, confused why she’d locked on to that particular detail.

  “What is she like?” Renee asked.

  Beautiful.

  Intelligent.

  Competitive.

  Sexy.

  Wyatt shrugged and looked away. “How should I know? I just met her.”

  “Don’t you find it interesting that they sent a woman? I wonder why?” she mused, her index finger tapping against the side of the teacup she held in her hands.

  Was she serious? “Because it’s her job. Women have been participating in the workforce, Mother. For centuries.”

  Renee ignored his sarcasm. “Do you think they’ve heard about you?”

  She could be relentless when it mattered to her. She’d missed her calling as a federal prosecutor or an investigative reporter.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know, your reputation? Maybe they sent her here as some sort of Trojan horse?”

  He wanted to laugh at his mother’s suggestion, but he couldn’t discount his strong reaction to Caila Harris. That reaction had caused him to act out of character. Was Renee on to something? Had Caila been sent here to let them down easy? Not that any cosmetics company would know or care about his reputation—and seriously, what reputation? He went on dates. Big deal!—but maybe they believed a beautiful woman would make a better bearer of bad news.

  Wyatt rubbed his brow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

  Asher jumped in. “How do you know? Big corporations are ruthless when it comes to their business and making money. I wouldn’t put anything past them. And if you’re smart, you won’t, either. If this was their plan, it appears to be succeeding.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Did you think showing her you were better at pinball was going to be a powerful opening gambit?”

  Wyatt tightened his fist on the table. He didn’t like what Asher was saying, mainly because he knew his grandfather was right. He could’ve handled last night better. But from the moment he’d seen her, he’d been unable to resist the longing for her to see him as more than just the mayor. He could imagine his friends’ obnoxious amusement if they’d known what he’d been thinking. For once, Wyatt had wanted to further a personal interaction.

  Something was going on with him.

  But he’d be damned if he’d let his grandfather know that.

  “I don’t need to be debriefed by you,” he said.

  Asher wasn’t deterred. “Obviously you do.”

  “You weren’t there. It was a playful atmosphere, but it won’t interfere with business.”

  “It already has. You lost any home court advantage you had. You are the next generation of Bradleys in Bradleton. That’s a huge responsibility. You don’t have time for playing.”

  “I’m well aware of my commitment to this town. You’ve drilled little else into me since I was a child!”

  “Someone had to. Your father didn’t stay around to do it.”

  “And it’s conversations like these that cause me to wonder if he didn’t make a wise decision!”

  His chest rose and fell with the force of his enraged breath.

  “Darling, please. Sit down,” Renee pleaded, placing a cool hand on his forearm.

  Until his mother spoke he hadn’t been aware that he was standing. He forced himself to calm down as the red haze loitering on the edge of his vision receded. He settled back in his chair and stared across the table at his grandfather. The older man’s displeasure was evident.

  “That outburst wouldn’t have happened if we’d sent him to VMI for college as I’d wanted to.”

  Another Bradley male tradition: attending the prestigious military institute a couple of hours away. Because what had been good for Asher’s grandfather and father . . .

  “You bring that up every time Wyatt disagrees with you,” Renee said. “He didn’t want to go there. I know how much you treasure the discipline your alma mater instilled in you, but attending the Virginia Military Institute doesn’t cure all ills. It didn’t prevent his father from leaving.”

  “Now, don’t you blame—”

  “Enough!” Wyatt swiped the air in a violent motion. “Stop discussing me as if I was an absent, disobedient child.”

  A muscle ticked in Asher’s jaw but he didn’t complete his statement. He shared a look with Renee. “If Chro-Make closes it’ll be catastrophic for this town, but the possibility of a shutdown has forced me to accelerate certain plans.”

  Asher had been president of the local community bank for the past twenty years. Was he finally going to retire? Take the opportunity to travel?

  “What plans?” Wyatt asked.

  “The state representative for our district isn’t seeking reelection next year.”

  His grandfather had been mayor of Bradleton years before, but he’d never expressed any other political aspirations.

  “I can’t imagine you not working at First Commonwealth.”

  “I’m not leaving the bank,” Asher corrected, his brow furrowed. “You’re going to run, not me.”

  Wyatt’s bark of laughter surprised everyone. “I don’t want to be a Virginia state delegate!”

  Why would he? His life was just the way he wanted it. As mayor of Bradleton, he worked normal hours and was still able to have a life outside of his family obligations.

  Being a Bradley was more than just being a member of the family. It was about duty and responsibility. To the family name and to the town. It could be a soul-crushing experience to learn that your wants and needs came second to what was best for the family. Most of them accepted it. Others couldn’t. Like his father. In the end, Tripp Bradley had chosen himself over the family.

  And his grandfather had never let Wyatt forget it.

  Wyatt would never do what his father did. He was smarter and stronger. He’d crafted a situation where he could fulfill his family obligations and still find a way to be happy. And he wasn’t interested in giving that up.

  “Good. Because the state delegate position is only temporary. It’s to give you some experience. The real goal is the governorship in four years.”

  Wyatt blinked. The governorship? When they’d mentioned it in the past, he hadn’t taken them seriously. The Bradleys usually ran Bradleton for a while and then settled locally into their roles as pillars of the community. They’d never run for statewide office. But his mother and grandfather hadn’t been joking. They’d planned his entire life, all without granting him the respect of a consultation.

  He shook his head. “I think my focus should be here.”

  “I know you do. Which is why it’s my job as head of this family to carry the responsibility of thinking ahead. And why I’ve been planning to announce your run at the Harvest Ball. It’ll be the perfect end to the festival.” Asher’s thin lips firmed into an imperceptible line. “I had this dream for your
father and he did everything right . . . until he didn’t. I took my eye off the ball. I won’t make that mistake with you.”

  So this was in his best interests?

  “We can discuss this later,” Asher continued. “Right now, you need to focus on figuring out how to prevent the plant from closing. What are you going to do?”

  Like he would tell Asher? So he could control that, too?

  “I’ll handle it.” Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back from the table. “I have to go.”

  “Wait a minute! Do you have a plan of action for dealing with this?”

  “I do.”

  “Because I’d be more than willing to make a few phone calls and—”

  “Let me be clear,” Wyatt said, ignoring the wide eyes and raised brow invoked by his sharp tone. “I’m not interested in reflecting on your failures from the past or your political aspirations for me in the future. I have a job to do now. So”—he stood—“if you’ll both excuse me, I have a meeting with Ms. Harris at the plant.”

  And to think it was only an hour ago that managing his unexpected attraction to the Endurance rep had seemed like his most challenging predicament.

  Chapter Seven

  A full night’s sleep could do wonders.

  Caila stood outside the plant, in the same place she’d been sixteen hours earlier, and smoothed her hands down the sides of her navy and white pinstriped dress. Yesterday’s events had been farcical. As she looked back on them now, with a clear head and well-rested eyes, it was apparent her unusual behavior and reactions could be explained by her extreme fatigue.

  It wouldn’t happen again.

  She’d been sent here on a simple assignment. A couple of days working at the plant, a day or two around town, and she’d have everything she needed. She could be on her way back to Chicago before she even had time to unpack. The prospect of being in this town any longer than necessary made her skin crawl. Even with her brief exposure, the near-intimate knowledge people had about their neighbors made her feel slightly claustrophobic. It was difficult to be invisible when everyone knew who you were. So for the remainder of her time in Bradleton, she would focus on her work and avoid all distractions.