“A perfectly executed line.”
He sighs into the phone, the sound of his breath rapping against the speaker making me shiver.
“My son will be home soon,” I say, stretching the truth, “and I have a few things I need to do. So, if you don’t mind, I need to be going.”
“Sure.” His tone is dejected and it tugs at my heartstrings a little bit. I have to resist the urge to do exactly what he wants and bend to his will, to agree to whatever proposition he puts forth. “I hope you and Huxley enjoy the tickets.”
“Thank you again,” I reply, my voice softer, lacking the spunk it had a few seconds ago. “It was entirely too kind of you.”
“It was my pleasure.” He waits a beat, to see if I actually end the call or give him something else to go on. “If you ever change your mind about dinner, the invitation stands.”
“Thank you. Have a good evening, Barrett.”
“You too Alison.”
I end the call and settle against the cushions. In another time and place, maybe I would take a risk with the dashing politician. He makes me laugh and our banter is so, so easy. I can’t ever recall feeling quite like this. But fear is a powerful emotion, maybe the most powerful of all, and I can’t get around the risk of losing everything I’ve built. Again.
Barrett
“WELL, TO WHAT DO I owe the pleasure of finding you in my office?” I ask, shutting the door behind me. It’s been a long day, probably because my focus has been shit. Hearing Alison’s voice, and her rebuff of my advances again earlier this afternoon, didn’t help. But what it did do was reinvigorate me. I haven’t found the way to win her over yet, but I will. I have to. She’s the only person that makes me smile. I’m not sure what that means or how long it will last, but all I know is that she gives me a spark I haven’t found anywhere else, and it’s something I can’t shake. Something I don’t want to shake.
Graham is sitting at my desk, going through a massive stack of papers. “Dad. You can thank him.”
“Not that it doesn’t thrill me to find you making yourself at home,” I say, tossing my briefcase on a chair, “but why?”
“I’ve been appointed your chaperone tonight.”
“Chaperone?”
“Whatever the official title is,” he grumbles, tossing a pen on the paper he was looking at. “We need to get out of here in about thirty. Is Troy still outside?”
I nod, pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher Rose keeps in the little refrigerator in my office.
“Did you see your poll numbers?”
“Yeah,” I say, smacking my lips together. “They don’t look too bad.”
“They’re surprisingly good, actually,” Graham says, standing. “I think we have a fighting chance at this seat. Just keep doing what you’re doing. No big waves, no big surprises, and a nod from Monroe, and I think you’re good to go.”
I swipe a pen and a stack of papers out of my inbox and give them a quick once-over. Signing my name to the bottom of all but one, I stuff them in my outbox for Rose.
“What did you do today?” Graham eyes me suspiciously.
“Let’s see,” I say, clinking the ice in the glass. “I got in here before anyone else—except the media, naturally. Did a bunch of paperwork and went over reports for the new budget. Attended the ribbon cutting ceremony at the park. Worked on the contracts for the new sewage treatment plant and had some lunch, then did a few phone interviews with newspapers from Atlanta.”
“Funny. I don’t quite believe you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because while you’re not exactly smiling, you’re not completely pissed off, either. And that, my big brother, is odd.”
“What are you implying?” I grin.
“See?” he says, pointing his finger at me. “You’re smiling and there are no cameras here to mug for. That’s a genuine smile. Did you just put a hit out on Hobbs? If so, let a brother know so I can start crafting your alibi.”
“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” I laugh. “You always have a plan.”
“Only because I’ve always needed one with you and Linc as brothers,” he points out.
“You can rest assured I’ve committed no felonies today.”
“So she was of legal age? That’s what you mean?”
Laughing, I sit in the chair across from him. “Yes, she’s of legal age. She’s . . . intriguing.”
“Define ‘intriguing.’”
“You’re the one with the master’s degree,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure you know what it means.”
He rubs his hands across his forehead, looking just like our father. “‘Intriguing’ is a word that, when coming out your mouth about a female, concerns me, Barrett. I’m not going to lie.”
“Fine. I find her exciting. I find her different. I find her . . .”
“Conquestable?”