Barrett
THE EARLY AFTERNOON SUN FILTERS through the curtains, the fall breeze dancing through the window. A gust picks up a stack of papers and ruffles them, threatening to send them cascading off the corner of my large wooden desk.
It's perfectly quiet here, the sound of birds chirping and an occasional noise from Rose, my secretary, downstairs are the only two things that disturb me.
I inhale a long breath of fresh air and try to absorb the peace. Between the planning committee, opening the bids for a new recreational area downtown, reviewing license requests from businesses, and taking calls from my election committee, my head is spinning faster than usual. The morning has been the new normal level of chaos. Just getting into the office downtown to do the work I was elected to do was a feat. Camera crews blocked the doors to the office, reporters shouting questions in response to Hobbs’ latest attack. It was a mess. By eleven, I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed Rose and headed here, to the Farm.
An old farmhouse that sits just outside the city, directly in the middle of a fifty-acre piece of property, this is my favorite place in the world. The front is heavily treed and it’s impossible to see the house from the road. It’s been the headquarters of my family's political campaigns and family gatherings for decades. It's now used by my father and Graham for business deals for Landry Holdings, by my brother, Ford, when he's home from the Marines and needs a place to decompress, and by me.
I close my eyes and feel the air on my skin, listen to the curtains sweep against the hardwood floors. I would love to take a walk through the woods, but there's no time for that these days. Each day that passes, the less inspired I am, the less I can remember what free time used to feel like and the more I struggle to remember why, exactly, this was a profession I wanted in the first place. Not being able to trust anyone, questioning everyone's motives, leaves me feeling completely alone. It's bizarre—the more public my life becomes, the more isolated I feel.
Adding to my distraction today is a certain beguiling girl. I think of things to say to hear her laugh, I come up with things to say just to get a response. I want to see her smile, smell her, hear her voice again so badly I can taste it and I don't know why.
This doesn't happen to me.
I'm the king at keeping things superficial with women. I've always been good at that, but it's a skill I've honed to a razor’s edge in the last few years because I can't trust anyone anymore.
I replay our conversation from last night, smiling as her laugh rings through my ears. She was on my mind when I finally fell asleep and the first thing I thought of when I woke up with a smile and a raging hard-on.
I grab the desk phone and press the intercom.
"Can I help you, Mr. Landry?"
"Yes, Rose. Can you order some lunch, please? Have it delivered?"
"Sure, sir. Your usual?"
"No,” I draw out. “Actually, I'd like to try someplace new. Have you heard of Hillary's House?"
"Yes. Of course."
I smile. "Excellent. Will you order me something? Get yourself some lunch too."
"Absolutely."
My grin grows deeper. "And can you see if an Alison Baker is working? If so, I'd like her to deliver."
"No problem."
"Rose?"
"Yes."
"Please keep my request quiet. Just tell the owner that I'll pay extra for the inconvenience, but I'd appreciate it, being that it's election season and all, that she doesn't know where she's going."
"Makes sense. I'll have something here soon."
Alison
"Free at last!" I sing, smiling at my co-workers and tossing a towel in the laundry chute at Hillary’s House. "That lunch rush just about killed me. The next time you make meatloaf, Opal, I'm calling in sick! I swear it brings them in from all over the city."
"Yeah, but you're done now," Opal sighs, sticking another tray of food in the warming drawer. "I'm here for another two hours."
"It'll go quick if you don't think about it," I wink. "Have fun! I'm out of here."
"Anything fun planned?"
"Just a long, over-filled bubble bath,” I sigh dreamily. “Hux is with my dad this afternoon fishing and I’m caught up on my homework for once. So I’m taking a few minutes and just pampering myself.”
Opal smiles. “Oh, honey, you need to do that. You never take time just for you.”
“It’s what mothers do, right?” I grab my timecard out of the slot and go to punch out. I stop, mid-air, when my boss comes around the corner. Her long, blonde hair is pulled back into a braid, her pink bottom lip in between her teeth. The way her eyebrows are scrunched, I know I'm screwed.
"Hey, Hillary," I say, my voice saturated with cheeriness. "How are you? I'm just leaving."
"Oh, is it time for you to go?" She acts surprised and checks her watch for emphasis. "Darn. It is."