Sway (Landry Family #1) (20 page)

Nolan pastes on a smile as Monroe stands to greet us. We shake hands and take our seats across from him.

"Nice to see you," he smiles. It's a predatory gesture. He smells blood and insisted I come along today for the kill. He's ready to stick me in his pocket and then use me for four years after I'm elected. More than ever, I don’t want to make any concessions to him.

"Good to see you," I lie, placing my napkin on my lap.

The waitress comes by and takes our order, nearly rubbing her ass against my arm. I lean away and pick something random off the menu, a dish that includes grapes.

"So, Barrett, let's talk shop, shall we?" Monroe fights the urge to smile.

"Yes. Nolan tells me you're close to making your decision on your endorsement," I say, glancing at Nolan. "How are you feeling right now, Monroe?"

He chuckles. "Well, I'm not sure how I'm feeling. As you know, I don't necessarily follow the party ticket."

"That's why we're here," Nolan says. "What will it take for you to endorse your own party’s candidate? There is a lot at stake coming up."

"That's very true, which is why I've held off on endorsing anyone."

His game-playing is getting under my skin. I grit my teeth, trying to keep from blurting out what I want to say. "You've held off so long that it nearly doesn't matter." When I say this, Nolan nudges me with his knee beneath the table. I don't look at him. I'm forcing the issue, but what I've said is true.

Monroe raises his eyebrows and thinks before he speaks. "I have faith that whomever I support will matter to my precinct, Mr. Landry. And I think you also believe that. That's why you're here."

"Look," I say, having enough of his self-aggrandizing attitude. "Why don't we cut to the chase and you tell me what you're looking for? I have a full schedule today and I bet you do too."

He guffaws, his voice catching the attention of some businessmen at a round table in the corner.

"One thing I like about you,
kid
, is your confidence. That's a point in your favor."

I can't help but laugh at his intended disrespect. "I'll take all the points I can get."

He studies me for a minute. He certainly didn't expect me to come in firing. Hell, I didn't either.

"I tell ya what, Barrett," he sighs, leaning forward. "There are two things in this race that are important to me. One is the Land Bill. The other is how well the candidate I endorse will perform in office. My word matters to me. You know that," he pauses. He's the fox in the henhouse. I watch his smirk grow as he keeps talking. "And I'll tell you the truth—I'm worried about your reputation. You're a rake, to put it bluntly. A bachelor that appears as interested in women as he is the work that must be done."

"I beg your pardon," I say, narrowing my eyes. "My approval rating as Mayor of Savannah is the highest it's been for any person in that post in modern history.”

"Look,” Nolan interjects, “we aren't here to argue what Landry does in his own time. We are here to see what it will take for you to back him. So, what's it going to be? Just cut the shit and give it to us straight."

"I need a commitment that you will vote against the Land Bill," he says, looking me straight in the eye.

I don't waver. I feel sick to my stomach, knowing that it will kill the local economy while putting money in his pocket if it’s nixed.

"That Bill isn’t even guaranteed to be on the table in the next five years.”

"But if it is," he says, cocking his head, "I want full assurance that you won’t support it. Come on, Barrett,” he sighs. “Your own family has land out there. You won’t seriously consider losing that kind of money, will you? Be smart about this. I know you’re probably thinking you’ll go in there and do some good for the people and you can.
You can
. But there’s no sense in shooting yourself in the foot over it.”

I glance at Nolan and he’s watching me carefully. I rack my brain for an answer that will appease him.

"Hobbs has given me his word that he won’t support it if it comes to that."

I clench my jaw. "I assure you I will talk with you about it then before any decision is made."

He blows out a breath as the waitress places our plates in front of us and leaves.

"That's fair," he says without sounding confident.

"Absolutely it is," I say.

He shakes his head and pulls his plate in front of him. "Very well. I can also assume that you will be taking Daphne to Garalent, correct?"

"He is," Nolan looks at me sternly. "We've already discussed that, remember?"

I cringe, my head feeling like it's going to explode. We fucking discussed it, all right, but that discussion was very much before Alison.

Looking at Monroe’s face, his eyes are lit. Me taking his daughter is a huge boon to him, and if I back out now, it’s the nail in my coffin.

He slices through his chicken breast. "She'll be pleased to know that."

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind," I say, scooting my chair back, "I'm going to have to take off. I have an appointment in a few minutes that I was going to call off, but since we seem to be finished here, I think I'll try to make it."

Monroe laughs, knowing I'm making it up. "No problem. Good to do business with you, Barrett."

"You too," I bite out. I don't bother looking at Nolan. I just slip through the restaurant, avoiding the hostess, and out the door.

Alison

I SUBMIT MY FINAL PAPER
of the day to my professor and close my laptop. I’ve been working at this all day, trying to nail the theme of the piece and I’m confident that I did. One more year of school and working two jobs and I’ll be firmly on my own two feet.

Huxley is riding his bike in the backyard, creating a little trail around the one tree that stands almost in the middle. I can’t wait to buy a bigger house in a better neighborhood with a great big space so he can play and move to his heart’s delight.

The doorbell rings and I give one last look to Hux before heading to the entry way. A delivery man is standing on the other side, holding a vase filled with deep purple flowers and a satiny white ribbon.

“Ms. Baker?”

“That’s me.”

“These are for you.”

He hands me the heavy vase, and before I can thank him, he’s back in his van. I pull them to my nose, breathing in the wonderful scent, and close the door behind me.

With an excited step, I make my way to the kitchen, place them on the counter, and pull out the card written on white stationary.

I hope you’re thinking about me, because I’m thinking about you. -Barrett

Bringing the card to my chest, I hold it over my heart and allow myself to smile, to bask in the feeling of being wanted. That this busy man, in the midst of the most strenuous moment of his career, took a second out of his day to make me feel like
this
.

We haven’t seen each other since the cabana, but we’ve talked every day multiple times. He instigates conversations as much or more than I do, and that’s refreshing. Sometimes he’ll send me a text with an article he thinks I’ll find interesting and sometimes it’s just to say hey. Regardless, it’s nice and has left a permanent smile etched on my face.

We’re taking this slow, slower than I thought we could, and . . . I think it’s working.

Huxley scrambles through the back door and catches me before I can compose myself. “Where’d those come from?” he asks, his knees dirty from the lawn.

“Someone sent them to me.”

“They’re nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it a boy?”

My brain fires on all cylinders, trying to figure out what to say to Hux without scaring him.

“It was,” I say truthfully. “A man sent me flowers.”

“I hope it’s a nice one. Like Lincoln Landry,” he says, opening the fridge. “He promised me we’d play baseball soon.”

I smile as he rummages through the bins. “You do know he’s probably really busy. Don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t call, okay?”

“He will,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re best friends practically.”

Laughing, I try to decide whether to segue that little Landry opening to who sent the flowers or not. Hux decides for me.

“It wasn’t Lincoln, was it? That sent those?”

“No,” I say carefully. “But you know his brother? The mayor?”

He nods, opening a string cheese.

“He sent them to me.”

“The one that can’t play baseball?”

“Yes,” I giggle. “The one that can’t play baseball.”

Huxley shrugs like the ten-year-old boy eating string cheese that he is. “Well, at least he has a cool brother, I guess.”

I walk across the room and give him a giant hug. “He’s pretty cool, too, I think.”

“Is he your boyfriend now?”

“No, nothing like that. We’re just friends. Seeing if we like each other.”

He peers up at me through his long lashes. There are spatters of dirt mixed in with the freckles that span the bridge of his nose. “He’ll like you, Mom. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Who knows,” I smile. “But how do you feel about that? If a man would come around sometimes. Would that bother you?”

He chews the last bite and drops his wrapper in the trash. “No, I guess not.” He looks at the ground before pulling his eyes to mine, hesitation swimming in them. “I don’t say this because I think it might hurt your feelings and I don’t mean it like that, Mom. But I miss having a dad. I miss doing boy stuff with a real guy. Not that you aren’t the best—”

I pull him into me before he can finish. I know what he’s going to say and I want to spare him the pain of saying it . . . and of me having to hear it.

“Mom, you’re squishing me,” he says, his voice muffled. He pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I’m going to Grandma’s tonight, right?”

I nod, fighting back tears. “If you want to.”

“I do. She’s getting Grandpa’s old guitar out and we’re going to see if we can play it.”

“She should be here soon. You better go get ready.”

He takes off, but stops suddenly and faces me at the threshold. “Mom?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You
are
the best. And I’m old enough to know that grownups like to be together sometimes. It’s been just me and you for a long time, but I think it’s okay if you have a friend. Even if it’s a boyfriend that doesn’t like baseball.”

All I can do is smile. He watches me closely, nods, and zooms up the stairs.

Barrett

I yank my tie from around my neck and send it flying across the bedroom. It lands across a lampshade and dangles there, like it’s going to fall off but doesn’t.

After an afternoon of more meetings and a conference with my father who not-so-subtly told me I’m a fucking idiot if I don’t lock in Monroe immediately, I finally made it home.

I’ve always liked my space, having time alone. Being from a large family, time without interruptions was always a luxury and it’s something I’ve protected since I moved out for college. Living alone was non-negotiable. I never lived with girlfriends, never entertained the idea, no matter how many times they suggested it. Privacy equals sanity, quiet means peace. Until tonight. Now it just feels lonely.

My phone buzzes with a text. I pick it up to see Alison’s name on the screen. I feel the stress melt away as I open the app, just like it does every time she sends me a message. They aren’t pushy, aren’t prodding. They just make me laugh or feel good, and I’ve never had an interaction with a woman like this.

Alison: Of course I’m still thinking of you. How could I not be?

Me: I’ll send flowers every day if it keeps me on your mind.

Alison: They are so beautiful, but it’s not the flowers that have made me smile today.

Me: Pray tell.

Alison: The color, this deep, grape-y purple is nice . . .

Memories of being with her, the way she feels beneath my touch, my name on her swollen lips the last time I saw her has my entire body lighting up from the inside.

I don’t just feel lonely now. I’m needy, craving to see her, touch her, hear her.

Taste her
.

For the first time all week, I’m home relatively early and I must see her. It’s taken every fiber of my being to go slow with this when what I want to do is take it as I feel. But I don’t, because with Alison, that won’t work . . . and that’s precisely why I like her.