Sway (Landry Family #1) (4 page)

"Tonight has been exemplary, thank you," Barrett says, letting his hand drop to his side. "I couldn't help but overhear a conversation between you and the lady by your side."

The vein in my boss’s temple pulses and I know I'm screwed. My stomach twists, a pit of acid churning, as I wait to see where this conversation goes. I consider excusing myself, but I think that'll make things worse.

Instead, I throw back my shoulders and brace myself, preparing to hear my boss and this gorgeous man discuss some impropriety I've unknowingly committed and wait to be fired. My mind ticks off possible replacement jobs, a way to make the kind of money that is currently going into a fund to help pay for the rest of my schooling.

God help me
.

"I'm sorry about that,” Mr. Pickner says. “My employees are under strict orders not to disturb you or your guests. Please accept my apologies and assurance that I will deal with this and it won't happen again."

"I'd hope not," Barrett says, his voice stern. "I'd hope you wouldn't reprimand your employee for taking a few minutes to answer my questions. This is a social gathering,
Jim
," he says, looking pointedly at him, "and it is one
I'm
paying for. If I'd like to socialize with . . .”

He looks at me with raised eyebrows and waits on me to find my voice.

"Alison Baker," I say, trying to look away, but unable to pull my eyes away from his.

"If I'd like to socialize with Alison, it seems as though I'm paying for the honor."

Mr. Pickner’s face pales. He stumbles to recover but fails spectacularly. "Oh, I, um, I'm sorry, Mr. Landry. I had no idea. I . . .”

"I'm sure you didn't, which is why I find your readiness to discipline her insulting. In business, it's best you have the facts before you leap into action." He watches Mr. Pickner’s face fall further and further towards the plush carpeting until he's satisfied. "Let me also point out that it is never okay for you to put your hands on a woman."

"I just—” he begins, but Barrett cuts him off.

"Never okay." He takes the tray away from me and sits it on a table nearby. He picks up my arm gently, sending a ripple of shivers throughout my body. My voice is gone again, and I try to remember everything I once knew about keeping calm and maintaining courtesy.

"Are you okay, Alison?"

His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I'm certain if I weren’t okay, whatever would've been wrong would suddenly be healed. My hand tingles where his is touching it, all of my senses buzzing. He grins, not his usual wide, disarming smile, but a softer one I haven't had the pleasure of seeing before. It's the one I won't forget.

"I'm okay," I say, pulling my hand away. "Really."

Barrett pauses, his eyes narrowing again, searching me. “I’d like to take you for some fresh air, if that would be okay with you?”

I can hear the words my brain wants to say in my head. It's a long ramble of stuttered words laced with a string of lewd offers my body is demanding. I press my lips shut and opt not to risk it.

The mayor turns to my boss and they begin a conversation, but I don't hear them. I just watch Barrett, taking in the beauty in front of me—the dimple that's barely visible in his left cheek, the tiny scar above his right eye. He's clearly in charge, my boss now seeming no more than a little boy.

Finally, they turn to me and I gulp. I have no idea what's been discussed, and I feel like they expect me to know.

Damn it
.

"Alison," Mr. Pickner says, "please forgive me for earlier. Feel free to enjoy the rest of your night." He dips his head and skitters back into the kitchen.

I look up into the handsome face of Mayor Landry. He's studying me, an intensity in his gaze that makes my stomach flutter.

This is how I didn't pay attention. Gah! Pay attention, Ali!

My breath comes out in stuttered wisps. I shouldn't be going anywhere with him. For about fifteen million reasons, I shouldn't leave this room with this man. "Thank you, Mayor Landry, but—"

"It's Barrett. Please, call me Barrett," he insists, stripping away my defenses.

"Okay,
Barrett
." I grasp the little bit of brain power I have left and stand tall. "A walk is really not necessary. I'm fine. He was just . . . helping me out of the way."

He smirks. "Ms. Baker, please, consider what I do for a living."

"What do you mean?"

"I’m a politician. I work with liars all day," he winks.

I can't help but laugh. "I'm sure you do. But, really, I’m good. Please, go enjoy your event and I'll get back to work."

He takes a step closer, the air between us on fire. "I would enjoy spending a few minutes with you."

I feel my cheeks heat under his gaze. His eyes brighten with amusement at my flush.

"Now, if you don't want to cause a scene, I'm going to suggest we duck out of here before we manage to gain a wider audience."

Glancing around the room, I notice a few people watching our interaction. A sick feeling erupts in my stomach as memories of being watched before creep in my mind.

"Did you see the photographs of your husband with Ms. Murphy?" The cameraman sticks a video recorder in my face. "How does that make you feel?"

I cringe.

Barrett offers me his arm and I start to take it, but pull it back in a flourish. "I spilled some alfredo on my sleeve earlier. You probably don't want to get that on you."

"It'll wash." His easy way lessens my anxiety. He's doing to me what he does to everyone—charming me, enchanting me. I like it way more than I should.

Images of him tossing his jacket off to the side, unbuttoning his shirt as he readies for the bath zoom through my mind. When my eyes meet his, I know he knows what I was thinking.

He closes the distance between us, lifting my arm and placing it through the crook in his.

The material is supple, his arm hard beneath. Being this close to him, I feel like I'm in a bubble, that it's just he and I, and everyone and everything else is suddenly on the outside.

His scent is intoxicating, his smile disarming. It's a blend of power and approachability, and the combination is mind-blowing.

My defenses crumble, hitting the ground with a hefty thump.

I glance nervously at a few men trying very hard not to notice us. Getting out of here suddenly seems like a good idea.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask. "You don't have to, you know."

He studies me closely. "You're right. I don't have to. I want to."

Alison

I FEEL GAZES HEAVY ON
our backs, hear hushed whispers as Barrett leads me out of the ballroom. His eyes are fixed forward, his body tense, but he doesn't seem to second guess his decision, even when I give him another opportunity to bail. He simply clamps his free hand over mine on his arm and keeps moving.

Like a true gentleman, he holds the French doors open as I saunter through. The air is balmy for October, a barely noticeable wind breezing through the gardens of the estate. Crickets chirp now that the sun's gone down, and the midnight blue night sky is lit with a million twinkling stars. A path extends from the flagstone patio and twists through the property, lit dreamily by flickering torches.

The door closes behind me and I turn to see Barrett standing still, his hands in his pockets, a curious, yet soft, look on his face.

There are a handful of women on the far reach of the patio. I'm not sure if he doesn't see them or if he doesn't care that they're watching us. I force the ball of anxiety that sits in the middle of my stomach off to the side and instead focus on the dapper man that's looking
right at me
.

He smiles and I feel my knees go weak. I reach out and steady myself on the wooden railing, willing myself to keep it together. He's just a man.

I turn my back so he doesn't see me laugh.

Just a man. Right.

"Shall we?" His voice is thick, a honeyed Southern twang that melts me from the inside out. Before I can respond, he lifts my arm and laces it through his, as if we do this all the time. His touch is gentle, yet dominant, a combination that leaves me breathless.

I smile politely, giving myself kudos for not swooning outright. There's something completely intoxicating about being treated like a lady and manners are the best foreplay.

We take the steps slowly, descending into the night. Moving away from prying eyes, we begin down the path.

The night air feels like it cocoons us, separates us from everyone else. The stress of being under scrutiny drifts away, and I think he feels it too. His shoulders relax, his breathing eases. I find myself easily falling into step with him.

"It's nice out tonight," he says.

"It's beautiful. This venue is amazing."

"Have you been here before?" He looks down at me, his eyes sparkling in the light. His jaw line is clean-shaven, strong, and I wonder what it would look like with a dash of early morning stubble.

"I was here a few weeks ago for a wedding, actually."

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't know. I don't even remember their last name."

"I didn't have you pegged as a party crasher," he teases.

I laugh. "No, no party crasher here. I was working."

"Have you ever been here when you're not working?"

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes trained ahead. Surely he realizes that I don’t hang out at the Savannah Room in my free time. My social circles don’t encompass places and people like this—not anymore.

"You and I have nothing to talk about anymore," Hayden said. "I'm a judge. You're a . . . I don't even know what you are, Alison. You've turned into nothing."

"Nothing?! You're kidding me, right? Because I surely wasn't nothing when I was working my ass off to pay your way through school! I’ve helped you get to where you are. I take care of our child. I . . . How dare you say that to me?" I seethed.

He laughed like he didn’t have a care in the world. "I can say anything I want to you. What are you going to do about it? Just . . . go home, Ali. Go be with your kind of people."

“Hey,” he says, shaking his arm and jostling me back to reality. “Are you okay? Did I say something?”

I smile at the concern in his eyes as I shake off the lingering sting of my ex-husband’s contempt. “No. It’s fine. Just . . . you know how it goes. Things pop up in your brain at the least convenient times.”

“That happens to me all the time. Nearly every time I have to give a speech, I stand at the podium and open my mouth and think something completely absurd and have to recover in a couple of seconds.”

He winks and I’m left wondering if that’s true, or if he’s saying it to make me feel better. Either way, I can’t help but realize he’s taken the pressure off me and made the entire situation feel less heavy.

“That’s the reason you’re a successful politician,” I grin.

“So there’s only one reason?”

Giggling, I say, “I only know you well enough for there to be one. Speak as you find.”

“Speak as you find,” he nods, rolling the premise around his brain. “I like that. A lot.”

“My mother always says it. It was so annoying growing up. Every time she’d hear us gossip or speculate about people, she’d repeat that,” I remember. “But now, I tell Huxley that all the time.”

“Who’s Huxley?”

We take a turn in the path and it grows darker. The spaces on the sides of the walkway grow wider, deeper, and fields are barely visible expanding to either side. I bet it’s beautiful in the day, filled with flowers and birds.

“Huxley is my son.” I pause, giving him time to absorb that little nugget. He cocks his head, running his bottom lip between his teeth, but says nothing. So I continue. “He’s ten. He’s insanely smart and a lover of all things baseball.”

His lip pops free and he takes a deep breath. “So, is his father around? Your . . . ex-husband?”

“Ex-husband. Yes,” I confirm. “No, he isn’t around. It’s a very long, dramatic story.”

We stop walking and he turns to face me. He eyes me curiously, like he’s dying to ask for details, but doesn’t know if he should. I save him the decision.

“I don’t really want to talk about that, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

I sigh as casually as I can, hoping it downplays the situation. “It’s just a topic that makes me pissy.”

“Well, we don’t want you pissy.” He chuckles and turns to the side and points to the sky. “Right there. Do you see that?”

I gaze into the expanse of the sky, but have no idea what, exactly, he’s referring to. “Um, one of the four trillion stars?”

“No,” he laughs. “That entire little constellation. Do you see it? It looks like a baseball and a bat.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I don’t see it. And I’m kind of worried about your sanity if you do.”

His chest rises and falls with his laugh. “Well, Miss Baker, I’m worried about your creativity if you don’t.”

“It’s just
baseball
,” I say, twisting my lips together. “It’s really boring. It’s just . . .”

“The American way?”

“Boring?” I counter.

He shakes his head with a somber look on his face. “I’m not sure I can like you.”