Sway (Landry Family #1)

“I am,” I say, my voice even. I recognize her as the girl Barrett escorted out of the Savannah House the night I met him. “Can I help you with something?”


“Uh, no,” she laughs, like the idea is ridiculous. “I’m Daphne Monroe, but I’m sure you knew that.” She licks her ruby red lips. “I just wanted to thank you for helping Barrett with his campaign. You’ve been such a blessing to him.”

My mind scrambles and I catch my jaw from dropping right in time. I don’t know what she’s getting at and I’m not about to ask. Instead, I play along. “Not that he needs my help,” I muse, “but I’m glad I can assist where I can.”

Her eyes narrow and I know she’s trying to keep the upper hand. Behind those heavily-lashed eyes is a breadth of fury. “I know what it’s like to be in the middle of a campaign year,” she says, her words tempered with a smile that’s not at all genuine. “I can only imagine how . . . someone like you . . . is dealing with it. It will be over soon and you can go back to your life. Just hang in there.”

My blood roasts my veins at her thinly-veiled insinuations. Her hand finds the bend of her hip, angling her hand so I can see the expensive jewels on her fingers.

I laugh.

“Someone . . . like me . . . is dealing with it very well,” I smile sweetly. “But you’re right—we are just waiting for it to be over so we can get some kind of normalcy in our lives. Although I suppose we’ll have to find a new normal once we get moved,” I add, hoping she gets the point that I will be going with him to Atlanta. “I just dread packing everything.”

“Oh,” she gushes, putting me on edge, “it’s so nice of Barrett’s people to get you a new house as payment. You must give great blow jobs because that’s not usually in the deal. It’s usually a quick check or a new car or something for you fillers,” she smirks. “Fillers. That’s what girls like you are called.”

My lips spring open, my eyes wide, my fingers ready to rip her apart when I see Barrett walking up to us. His eyes are frantic, his steps hurried, as he makes his way to the table.

I give a quick look to Daphne, who has no idea he’s behind her. I’m not about to play into her hand and start something in front of him. Everyone in this building knows her and her father and would surely take her side in any kind of argument. I’d lose.

And I’m not losing to this bitch.

“Hey, baby,” I say when Barrett is just behind her.

“Is everything okay here?” he asks, eyeing Daphne carefully.

She whirls around, her hand flying to her chest, at the sound of his voice. “Hey, you,” she says. “I was just meeting your date tonight.”

He side-eyes her and takes his seat. “I take it you met then.”

“We did,” I laugh, making him more nervous. “It’s nice meeting your friends, Barrett. It really puts some things in perspective.”

“Does it now?”

Daphne cuts in, stepping to Barrett’s side. “I’m going to get back to my table. I think our mothers are co-chairing an event this week. Maybe we’ll see each other there, Barrett.”

He shakes his head. “I think my week is booked solid. But it was good to see you, Daphne.”

“You too.” She glances at me, her eyes lethal. “Nice to meet you, Alison.”

“That pleasure was all mine,” I emphasize, watching her try to keep her composure as she skirts off across the room.

Barrett laughs and takes a sip of his wine. “I’d ask how that went, but I think I already know.”

I consider telling him what she said, voicing to him what she just implied: that I was no more than a pawn in his career. Before the words can free themselves from my lips, I decide not to. It’s bullshit, plain and simple and if I bring it up, I’m not sure what he’ll do. I don’t want to give that nasty woman any power.

Instead, I say, “How can you be friends with someone like that?”

“I’m not anymore,” he insists, placing his glass back on the table. “We grew up together, went to the same schools all our lives. She was someone I could . . .”

I shake my head emphatically. “Nope. I don’t want to hear this.”

He laughs, his eyes shining with a sentiment I could get lost in if I let myself. “She was someone I could . . . forget,” he whispers. “She was someone I couldn’t care less about, someone that wasn’t even a blip on my radar.” He leans against the table, his features striking against the candlelight. “She was never anything to me. You, Alison Baker, are mine.”

I bend forward, our lips finding each other’s over the center of the table. For the first time, I don’t care who is watching, I don’t care who is whispering. I just want to revel in this man, his words, and the fact that I know he means it.





Barrett

“YOU OKAY BACK THERE?” TROY asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” I say, going back to my phone. “Why?”

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