“It’s Luxor calling,” she says. “I need to get this and confirm my schedule for the next couple of weeks.”
I nod but realize how much I hate it that she’s catering jobs with assholes like me. She should be getting to stay home and take care of her kid and focus on school and whatever makes her happy.
Shaking those thoughts from my head, I look at Hux. We’re alone, the two of us, and I have no idea what to say to a child. I don’t watch cartoons. He doesn’t read papers. What could we possibly have in common?
As my brain scrambles for something to say, Huxley does me a favor: he takes charge.
“You like my mom, huh?”
Shocked, I try to compose myself. “I do,” I say, going for the truth. “She’s pretty special.”
He nods and ponders his next question. “How much do you like her?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I like her a lot. She’s nice and smart and really pretty,” I wink, hoping he at least kind of likes girls at his age. I liked them as soon as I could see, so I’m hoping we have some bond there.
He rolls his eyes.
I wince.
“I think my mom likes you too.”
“Do you now?”
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “She’s a lot happier lately. She sings songs in the shower and while she cooks and doesn’t get so mad about the baseball cards all over my bed when I forget to put them up.”
“I’m glad she’s happy.”
“Me too.” He kicks at a rock. “You will be nice to her, right?” He looks at me with the most sincere little eyes I’ve ever seen.
I lift off the swing and kneel at the edge of the porch so we’re eye-to-eye. “I promise you I’ll be nice to her. And if you ever think otherwise, you can call me or come talk to me, and we’ll discuss it.”
“Really?”
“Really. She’s your mom, Huxley. I respect you wanting to protect her. That’s a very big job.”
He grins, just like Alison when she’s on the verge of being embarrassed. If I weren’t trying to solidify my position in their world, I’d laugh.
“My dad wasn’t very nice to her.” The pain in his voice is raw, so visceral that it slices me to the quick. “She cried a lot, and I don’t want her to cry, Mr. Landry.”
I reach out, hesitantly at first, and adjust Lincoln’s cap on his head. “I don’t want her to cry either. And I don’t want to make you worry, okay? I want to be her friend and make her keep singing while she cooks.”
The lines around his eyes start to fade and I almost see a smile.
“And Huxley? I want to be your friend too. I know I’m not as cool as Lincoln, but if you give me a chance, I know some fun stuff. And I can get passes to the water park all summer.”
“Really?” he asks, in total awe.
“Yup,” I say, never more appreciative of the little perks of my job. “And, like I said, if you ever have problems with anything, you call me. Man to man.”
“Man to man,” he repeats. “I will, Mr. Landry.”
“One more thing. Call me Barrett. Only people that want to fu—,” I catch myself. “Only people that want something from me call me ‘Mr. Landry.’ Okay?”
“Okay,” he grins a wide, toothy grin.
Barrett
I TOSS THE FOLDER ACROSS the desk. It slides over the glass top and smacks the side of my pen holder.
“Damn it, Nolan. He had no problem with the budget until now. You know as well as I do that Monroe’s called him and put pressure on him to, you know, put pressure on me.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Nolan pushes his glasses to the end of his nose and looks at me from across my desk.
Groaning, I push my chair back and give myself some space.
He flips through some papers and pulls out another sheet. “This was sent today certified mail.”
He tosses it on my desk and I sweep it up, a feeling of dread sinking into my stomach. “What’s this?”
“It’s a letter from the attorney of a Gabriella Winston, also known as the mother of your unwanted baby. She’s raised her price to a hundred thousand,” he sighs.
“Not happening.” I wad the letter up and toss it into the garbage before looking at Nolan again. I shoot daggers, not necessarily at him, but at the idea that someone would use a topic so sensitive and make it up out of thin fucking air to hurt someone else. “Does she not have a fucking conscience?”
“These are things you ask yourself before you get involved, Barrett.”
“She’s out of her damn mind if she thinks I’m enabling her on this. Fuck this and fuck her.”
“She’s going to go public.”
“Good for her. Let her. And watch us torch her back in the press. She wants to play, we’ll play.”
“We can’t do that, Barrett. Unlike her, you have a public image to consider.”
“Which is exactly why she’s doing this! She’s going to tank my image to profit, using an abortion as the kicker. That’s fucking sick.”
He starts to argue when a knock raps at the door. Graham pokes his head around the corner. “Am I interrupting?” he asks.