His jaw tenses as he searches my face. “You gotta get your head straight, wrapped around the opportunity in front of you. You can't mess this up now, son. Not when we're this close."
I sigh and scan the room, feeling the incredible weight of all eyes on me. Under normal circumstances, being the center of attention is something I enjoy. It does an ego well to know every female wants you and every male wants to be you. I can’t deny that. But this is not what that is. Not entirely. Half the people in here are deciding what they can get out of me, what favors I can offer them if I get elected and they back me.
Graham catches my eye from across the room. We exchange a look, one that we've exchanged a number of times over our lives.
It was Graham and I when we were younger, walking into our father's office after getting into a skirmish at school. It was the two of us when we came home late and our parents were waiting in the living room as we walked in, half lit. It was the two of us when we wrecked Dad's new Corvette when I was nineteen and Graham seventeen, and had to break the news to the old man that his ‘Vette was wrapped around a tree on the outside of town. Out of all my siblings, it’s Graham that I can count on and, right now, I’m counting on him to get me out of this conversation with our father.
"Hey," I say, exhaling sharply and nodding towards the corner, "I need to talk to Graham for a minute."
"Go ahead. And son, I'm proud of you." He beams with satisfaction. His face, wrinkled from years of politics, running Landry Holdings, and raising six kids, is split into a grin. "So damn proud."
I pat him on the shoulder and turn away.
Grinning at a couple of women, I try to remember if I should know them from somewhere. The one in the white dress looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. Ignoring the look in their eyes that tells me I could have them both, at the same time, if I prefer, I make my way to my brother.
Graham is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking serious and put together like the Vice President of Landry Holdings should.
"I think it's going well," Graham says as I approach, rocking back on his heels. "As long as you get Monroe on board, I'm pretty sure you're golden."
"I'll get Monroe on board, but I'm probably going to have to fuck Daphne again to make sure," I laugh.
"Oh, I bet it's so hard to stick your cock in that. Damn, brother, I almost feel bad for you."
I shrug, the grin on my face staying put, feeling my shoulders relax for the first time in hours. "I do what must be done for the greater good."
"Such a fool," he says, but I know he's kidding. "Ford sent me an email today. He said he's trying to come home around the election. It can't hurt to have a Landry in uniform standing next to you. Between him and Lincoln, you'll look like an All-American."
"Lincoln was an All-American," I point out about our brother that is currently the center fielder for the Tennessee Arrows.
"True."
"Speaking of our siblings, did you hear from Sienna?" She’s the family wild card, eschewing all things political and Landry-centered for a life as an artist and fashion designer.
Sienna and Camilla are identical twins, but couldn’t be any more different. Camilla is always around, meddling in our business, lending a hand to events or charities when needed. Sienna is usually jet-setting around the world and too busy to check in.
"No. Dad called her earlier and chewed her ass for not being here, I think. Lincoln got a pass because he's training and Ford's excused because he's in the Middle East. But you know Dad doesn’t think painting and designing dresses are really work."
"He could’ve cut her some slack."
I’m cut short by Graham’s smirk. His eyes slide right past me and light up.
"Would either of you like a glass of champagne?" a female voice nearly whispers behind me.
"I'm good," Graham mutters, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "How about you, Barrett?"
I ignore him and let my eyes feast on the curves of the woman in front of me. Her black pants are belted at the waist, her white shirt hugging the bends of her body. She's not overly thin or overly heavy, just a damn-near perfect vision of what a woman should look like.
She has creamy skin and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She tucks a strand of her straw-colored hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. I think she's going to laugh, but she doesn't. Instead, a faint smile ghosts her full lips and she lifts her chin like she has a secret she won’t tell.
Her gaze remains on Graham, almost like she's afraid to look my way. Finally, she turns to me, and when she does, a slight rise in her chest is noticeable as she sucks in a shaky breath.
I grin.
Her eyes are a deep blue. The color is stormy, swirling, moving like a shield between us.
"Would you, sir?" she asks, taking a half a step backwards.