Sway (Landry Family #1) (16 page)

I remember the way these things usually end, and that’s with her ass up in the air, her big, fake tits bouncing around like the balloons they are. That, too, usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight, it makes me feel uninspired to see it again.

“Look, Daphne, I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m really busy and I’m going to continue to be for the foreseeable future.”

The air changes between us. I can feel it through the phone and the miles that separate us.

“Is this because of the campaign or that girl I’ve heard you’re seeing?”

She catches me off guard. I don’t respond.

“If you’re the smart man I know you to be,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness, “you will realize where your bread is buttered, Barrett. And that’s right here, sugar.”

“I’m not your ‘sugar.’”

She exhales a long, dramatic breath. “You and I have always been a thing. No matter who you see, who I date, it’s your bed I always end up in. You know that. We’ve been in the same schools, through the same elections, through the same bullshit our entire lives. Don’t act like you don’t want me now—especially now when you
need me
.”

It’s the way she says it, like she has one over me. It infuriates me and I see red.

“I don’t need anyone, Daphne,” I spit out. “We can be friends if that’s what you want. But we aren’t going to be more than that and that’s not for any reason other than we never were.”

“You’re fucking up.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe. But it won’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”

Alison

I type my favorite words, The End, and finish my paper. Hitting save before I lose the last five hours of work, I close my computer and my eyes as well.

It’s after two in the morning and I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours over the past few days. Between work at Hillary’s during the day, a host of papers due in my classes, and a few catering jobs mixed in, I’m bone tired.

I check on Huxley before heading into my room and slipping beneath the covers without even brushing my teeth.

My paper was on ethics in journalism, and the entire thing made me think of Barrett and the unethical practices that are aimed at him. I hate that his voice is often twisted and sometimes diminished based on the slant of the journalist writing the piece. It’s true for all politicians and celebrities, I guess, but Barrett I know. Or I think I do.

He’s wanted to see me this week, and maybe I’ve wanted to see him too, but it hasn’t worked out. And I’m kind of glad for that. Over the past week, we’ve been able to get to know each other without any pressure. We’ve had a couple of phone calls and a boatload of texts, and I scroll through them and smile.

Like he senses I’m awake and thinking of him, my phone buzzes in my hand.

Barrett: I think I would sleep better if I could roll over and see you.

Me: I snore.

Barrett: I can figure out how to occupy your mouth.

Me: So much for all the credit I was just giving you for being a gentleman.

Barrett: The veneer comes off late at night. ;)

Me: Why are you up?

Barrett: I’d like to give you a line like I was thinking about you or you were running through my mind, but really—I’m working.

I laugh as I envision him stretched out on his bed. In my head, he’s naked, his divine body on full display. His hair is wet from the shower, his abs cut to perfection.

Barrett’s next message pings as it’s received.

Barrett: How was your day? How’s Huxley?

My heart is full as I type out my response.

Me: It was good. Hux is good. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk much today. Between Hillary’s House and my paper for class and Hux’s homework, today was a mess.

Barrett: Never apologize for putting you and Hux first, Alison. That’s the way it should be.

I look at the words for a long few seconds before I can gather myself to respond. He’s so sweet, so considerate of Huxley that tears sting my eyes as I try to find the right keys to answer him.

Me: I don’t even know how to respond to that.

Me: Well, if that’s the case, I’ll make sure you stay solidly in second place. ;)

Barrett: I miss you.

Me: I miss you too.

Barrett: I would really like to see you tomorrow night. Do you think that’s possible?

My cheeks split and I give in. Maybe it’s because he’s charming or that he’s so sweet about Huxley or because it’s so late and my defenses are down, but, for the first time without hesitation, I reply.

Me: I’d like that.

Barrett: That was way too easy. I’ll send Troy to get you around eight. Okay?

Me: Okay. :)

Barrett: I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Goodnight, Alison.

Me: Night, Barrett.

Alison

THE SUN IS DIPPING AS
we pull to the front of the Farm. The evening rays spread from behind a few clouds, creating beams of pinks and oranges in the most breathtaking sunset.

We roll to a stop and Troy turns off the ignition. He's around the Rover before I can get my seatbelt off and opens the door for me.

"Mr. Landry asked that you meet him behind the house. Follow me," he says, leading the way.

The path, illuminated by solar lights, slips between the trees, scents of evergreen filling the air. Troy steps out of the way and I stop in my tracks.

Tucked away behind the trees, invisible from the house, is an open air structure. There are four masonry pillars on a concrete slab. White fabric is tied against each pillar like in a classical painting, and if they were untied, they'd give another layer of privacy to the interior. The back wall is solid with a large see-through fireplace built in.

Taking a step closer, I spot a large wooden table that could seat ten people running down the center of the room. Oversized outdoor sofas and chairs with royal blue covers and bright white pillows with gold accents create small, cozy spaces.

Overhead, a cupola caps off the structure, the glass reflecting both the final rays of sunshine and the light from the oversized crystal chandelier that hangs over the table.

It's incredible.

"If you need anything, I'll be in the house," Troy says. I begin to turn to reply when I'm halted in my tracks. Coming around the corner is the most spectacular thing I've seen all night.

Barrett gives me a smile as he saunters towards me. He's wearing dark wash jeans and a black t-shirt with black, leathery-looking edging.

He looks like he just walked off the pages of a magazine and not from around the corner of a fireplace. Sexy and edgy, beautiful and classic. He's
everything
.

“You are gorgeous,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear.

My pulse quickens as he approaches, his cologne filling the air. His grin widens as he reaches me and kisses me gently on the cheek. The simple contact has my body rioting, my thighs clenching together to dull the ache that's rapidly growing between them.

He saunters by me and undoes the ties that hold the fabric back. In a few seconds, the front of the structure is draped with the gauzy, flowing fabric, and it only adds to the romantic ambiance of the setting.

When he turns to face me, a wicked grin lays on his lips. "Thank you for coming," he whispers, taking my hand. He holds it in his for a long second, letting the warmth of the contact mingle, before leading me to my chair.

We reach the elegantly set table with pillar candles in large, glass vases and white sand. Fresh flowers spring from containers in the center, as well as more food than either of us can possibly consume in one night.

"This is beautiful," I breathe. There are two places formally set at one end with crystal wine glasses and china that clearly didn't come out of the local department store. I glance down at my clearance rack sundress and release a breath.

At one point in my life, I would’ve been right at home in this scenario. I had a closet full of expensive clothes that wouldn’t fit in my car when I left Hayden. I had routine visits with a hairdresser, fresh manicures, and expensive make-up.

I try not to get embarrassed in the comparison of the before and after because this is where I am now and this is who I am. And I’m for the better because of it in all the ways that matter.

Pulling out a chair, he motions for me to sit. "I hope steak and Petrus Pomeral will do."

"I'll be honest," I say as I lower myself into the chair. "I love steak but I have no idea what the other thing is."

His laugh fills the air, floating on the gentle breeze that flutters the candlelight. "It's a French wine. My favorite. You do like wine, don't you?"

"Do I like wine?" I scoff. "What kind of question is that?"

"A question someone asks someone else when they want to know more about them.”

I grin as he sits across from me. I love watching him move, his muscles flex as he bends and pushes.

He lifts the silver lid in front of him and I do the same. Sitting beneath the cover is a large steak, heat still rising from the plate. I have no idea how he managed to put all of this together, but I suppose it’s easy when you’re a Landry.

“Did your day get any better?” I ask, watching a shadow roll over his face.

“Not really. It won’t get any better for awhile.” He looks up at me. “As far as work goes, anyway.”

A smile stretches across my face and I’m happy to see it returned.

“How was yours?” he asks.

“I got a little studying done before I left for work. I’ll have to finish it when I get home. But otherwise, it was good.”

“You could’ve brought your homework here,” he suggests. “I could’ve helped you study.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Sure. It would put you to sleep.”

“If I can stay awake in meetings about a dog park, I’m pretty sure I can stay awake watching you read. I’d probably even like it.”

Flushing, I take a sip of my wine. It’s rich and delicious.

“Did your son have a good day fishing today with your father? They went again, right?”

“Yeah,” I laugh, remembering his call on the way here. “They had fun.”

“Did his father ever do that kind of thing with him?”

I look away. “No, not really. Hayden was always busy.”

“I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I just don’t think about that any more than I have to. I avoid it at all costs, really.”

“I can understand that,” he smiles softly. “Hux just seems like a great kid. Lincoln loved him.”

Laughing, I place my glass back on the table. “Because he called you out about your pitch.”

Barrett chuckles.

“Hux liked Lincoln too. He pretty much thinks he met a rock star.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because they’re probably interested in the same things. Baseball and girls.”

“My son doesn’t like girls!” I exclaim.

“Give it time,” Barrett chuckles. “They’ll be calling your phone all hours of the night.”

“I’m not ready for that,” I say, feeling a bit of panic. “I don’t even have a gun.”

Barrett bursts into a fit of laughter. “I’ll let you borrow Troy. He can be Hux’s new security guy.”

He seems to think nothing about what he’s just said, but I do. I watch him slice his steak, but I can’t shake the idea that if something did happen between us, Hux might actually need a security guy. The thought really bothers me.

“What’s the matter?” Barrett asks, setting his fork down.

“I know we’re eating and conversation is usually kept light, but what you just said made me think.”

“What I just said?” He scrunches his face, trying to figure out what I’m referring to. “About Troy?”

I lean back in my chair, putting a little distance between us. “We keep talking and seeing each other. And I can’t imagine that stopping anytime soon.”

“God, I hope not.”

My cheeks flushing, I try not to swoon and stay focused. “But then what, Barrett? What would that mean for Huxley?”

He considers my question. He takes a sip of wine before responding. “Well, you’re his mother. It’s your decision.”

“I mean, I know this might not go anywhere,” I say hurriedly. “I know it’s awful timing for you, and I’m not even sure I want it to go anywhere anyway—”

“I do.”

I force a swallow. His bluntness, his quick interruption, startles me. I search his face for a moment of,
Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to say that
, but I don’t see it. It’s not there.