Did I mention it’s annoying as hell to me that the man is blessed with an eidetic memory?
The gate swings open. It’s not just a gate, but a damn gate. Like it belongs on one of those houses in a Hallmark movie about a woman marrying a prince or something. Framed by rough-hewn rock walls that look impressively fancy, not faux-natural, like the stonemasons were too lazy to do much about them, and ornate iron scrollwork I could imagine a blacksmith laboring over for weeks, probably.
It’s a motherfucking gate.
Carter flashes me a sneaky smile as we pull forward, through this gate and into the bowels of this obviously ritzy enclave. I’m not sure if we’re still technically in Brandon or one of the nearby zip codes, but we are still inside Hillsborough County.
It’s yet another Florida subdivision carved out of what had been orange groves, or cattle pasture, or Florida prairie, who knows? Quiet, well-manicured lawns front fairly expensive homes. Not exactly McMansions, but definitely not your average retirement condo community, either. Sedate money that goes out of its way to pretend it’s not waving a freshly printed stack of Ben Franklins in your face as a fan against the warm humidity.
Carter obviously knows his way without needing Waze—#ratbastard, #yesiamenvious—and we make several turns down streets with custom-made wood signs identifying them and designating the speed at a frolicking 15mph. It’s far fancier than where Mom and Austin live. I’ve never lived in a place like this before and wonder about the people conducting their lives behind the luxury blinds perfectly crafted to fit in front windows.
Who are we here to talk to?
I’ve played this game enough times to know asking Carter that very question won’t get me answers and will only prolong the reveal. Best to play it cool, put on my courtroom face, and let Carter be…Carter.
Besides, he has fun. It makes him happy.
Can’t say that’s a bad thing, or that I object to that, either.
He turns down one last street. I see it ends in a cul-de-sac holding a center island with lush oak trees and azaleas. He parks in the driveway of a one-story house where a discreet FOR SALE sign is planted in the front yard next to a custom stone mailbox probably worth more than the Snot Box.
The house directly to the left of it is also for sale with the same high-end real estate agency.
I realize Carter is watching me, that playful little almost-smirk on his face, and my knitted brows have probably revealed my curiosity.
“Questions, boy?”
“No, Sir.”
I’m no dummy.
He reaches for his door handle. “Out.”
I follow him to the front door, which sits recessed on a beautiful porch. A real estate lock box hangs from the door handle, and he thumbs the dials to the correct combination to open it and remove the key.
Hmm.
He unlocks the front door and we walk in. Carter immediately heads to an alarm panel to the left of the door and punches in a code.
A happy beep that silences the warning chirrup, accompanied by a blinking green light, must mean success.
Yes, I look around. It’s empty, our footsteps echoing off laminate floors and tile and tall, vaulted ceilings. It has a gorgeous screened lanai with a large pool and a hot tub. Behind both properties sit thick cypress wetlands so dense it’s impossible to see if they end thirty yards or thirty miles away.
It’s a beautiful house.
Probably the house he wants to buy for Susa, I assume.
He leads me into the kitchen and there lays a leather portfolio on the granite breakfast counter. Flipping it open, he launches into what basically sounds like a sales pitch.
Finally, I break, ashamed that I’m feeling annoyed over being put through this. “Are you practicing on me?”
“What?”
“To give the pitch to Ma’am. Are you practicing on me?”
He turns to face me, a rare look of confusion flitting across his features before his own courtroom mask reappears. “No.”
“Then what are we doing here, Sir?”
“Do you like it?” he asks in a quiet voice I only remember hearing when Carter is dropping all his walls, all his guards, and is being…him.
Authentic.
Vulnerable.
I gentle my voice. “It’s a beautiful house and a gorgeous neighborhood.”
Fire lights deep within his eyes and I don’t have the heart to interrupt him as he once again launches into an animated sales pitch about all the house and housing development have to offer.
Including leading me into the master bedroom to show me the spacious room. It sits on the opposite end of the house from the other bedrooms and is located on the left side of the house. It has a sitting room on the other side of a full bathroom suite, which comes equipped with a large shower and a soaking tub. Sliding glass doors open directly onto the lanai, and I can picture Susa sipping her morning coffee out there and enjoying the quiet.
Standing there, he takes my hands and gives them a squeeze. “The house next door is almost identical, except reversed. The master bedroom faces this one. It’d be perfect for you.
A twinge of pain, or maybe fear, rolls through me. “I know we can afford it, but why can’t we live together?”
“We can, and will, but it’ll look really weird and you’ll have a hard time explaining why we live together. Two addresses solves it all.”
I still don’t understand. “Why?”
He grins, the grin I know means I’m along for the ride regardless. “We talked about you running for governor. Have to start somewhere, duh. County commissioner.”
We haven’t discussed those plans in a long time, though. Not since we passed the bar and started working. We’ve all been too busy with work to even think about that.
I study him. “Isn’t there a residency requirement?”
“That’s why we’re buying now. We start living here. By the time we have your campaign structure in place, you’ll meet residency requirements, and just in time to file. No one ever runs against this fucker so he treats it like a cakewalk. Except now, his poll numbers suck, and he’s at his lowest popularity ever. Susa and I already crunched the numbers. You’re going to run for his seat, win, and pick him off like a gimpy gopher tortoise in the middle of I-4 at rush hour.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He cups his hand around the back of my neck and my body wants to respond automatically.
Well-trained.
“Why did you become an attorney?” he softly asks.
He knows this, but I answer anyway. “To help people.”
“Why’d you say you wanted to run for governor?”
“To help people.” Helping Susa become governor is helping people, too.
Right?
“To help people.” He meets my gaze. “You really want to be governor and help people? Make a difference?”
I nod, a little, not enough to dislodge his hand.
“We start here. County commissioner, one term. State rep one or two terms, or maybe state senator. We’ll decide that closer to the time, when we look and see who’s most vulnerable in this district. Run poll numbers and see where we focus. Then we run for governor. I will get you elected, but that won’t happen without a little political experience under your belt first.”
I meet his gaze and know it’s already decided. By him, by my body.
By my heart. Because this is what I wanted, even if I thought there was no way in hell it’d ever happen.
“Are you in?” Carter asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“No. This is Carter and Owen time. I need to hear you say it, if you really are in. If this is what you want. You need to ask me for it.”
This all terrifies me for a variety of reasons, some I can verbalize, and some which remain lodged deep inside me. “I can’t do this without you.”
He grips my head in both hands, his expression fierce and hard. “I will never leave you, Owen. You are mine, and like hell will I e
ver give you up. But you have to tell me what you want. If you want it, ask me for it. Otherwise, we don’t do it. We’ll just go into practice and forget buying the second house, and we’ll all live here together. Then, when Susa’s ready to run, you and I will run her campaign. But if you want to run for governor, we have to have separate houses on paper, staring now. So tell me what you want, Owen. Ask me for it.”
I want it. Almost as much as I want Carter.
Almost as much as I want Susa.
But I want us more. “We’ll still live together?”
“Of course. Your house will only be for show and basically an investment property, once we don’t need it any longer.”
I stare at him, shaky breaths rattling in my now-dry throat as I force the words out. “I want to run for governor.”
He grins and kisses me. “Then you will. Meanwhile, you’re going to get on the HOA board here. They just had two members die, and we’re buying in time to get you on the ballot. You’re going to practice your election skills by door-knocking and shaking hands and charming the pants off these people. When it comes time for you to run for county commission, you’ll already have a loyal volunteer pool to call upon.”
Damn, he’s tricky. Smart, but tricky.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be.
“Okay.”
He’s still holding my head in his hands. “So…do you like it?”
“Like what?”
He actually rolls his eyes. “This house. Do. You. Fucking. Like. It. Owen?”
“It’s beautiful. Yes, I love it.”
Then he pulls me in again for another kiss. This one is soft, tender. It lasts not nearly long enough, even though it feels like a sweet forever as he holds me there and reminds me why I’ll never tell him to go fuck himself, even when he’s at his most bastardly.
Because of the times like this.
“Good,” he softly says as he releases me. “Because I only want to buy it if you like it.”
“Can I ask why here?”
“Besides the county commission seat?”
I nod.
He drapes an arm around me and pulls me close, pointing through the sliders to the backyard. “Privacy. On the other side of those wetlands is an eight-foot concrete wall. Far enough away for privacy. The bedroom locations means neighbors on either side won’t hear us playing. We’ll put a gate between the back yards. When we need to use your house for appearances sake, it’s easy to move back and forth.”
Something hits me. “Wait…isn’t this district Benchley’s old county commission district?”
Carter laughs. “Adds a little bit of poetry to the whole situation, doesn’t it?”
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “I wonder if we can get his endorsement?”
“We will.” He smiles at me. “Besides, Susa has so much crap now, we need two fucking houses for it.”
I laugh. “True story.”
Carter draws me tightly against his side and kisses the top of my head. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that, either.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Sir.” Of course it is.
#notanidiot
“You want to see the other house?”
“Sir’s choice.”
And, because right now he’s like a kid with a new toy, he finishes giving me the tour of this house and then shows me the other one. Different flooring, the kitchen’s a little different, but basically yes, the same house, only reversed.
In the kitchen of that house he draws me into his arms again, his expression serious. “This is only for appearances,” he softly assures me. “Nothing changes between us. I swear.”
The remaining tightness in my chest finally dissolves. “I trust you, Sir.”
He kisses me again, one hand cupping the back of my neck, not forcing me, almost as if he’s assuring himself this time that I really want to be here.
Of course I do. Maybe he’s a bastard extraordinaire, but, honestly? I’m kind of used to the guy.
And I’d never leave Susa even if I was tired of Carter.
Life wouldn’t feel right without both of them in my bed every night. We’ve lived like this for so long now that in my head they are both my spouses, even if all we can tell people is that we’re close friends.
Even if I look like a pitiful professional third-wheel at this point.
I don’t care.
Because Carter and Susa know the truth. That’s good enough for me.
He locks up that house and we return to his car. He points at the privacy fence both houses share. “No one can see someone coming and going. You park there, or even in the garage, and walk over. We’ll put a gate in. If anyone is here or there for a party and they ask about it, well, duh. We’re friends. Why wouldn’t we have a gate?”
“Not sick of me yet?” I was only teasing, and had broken from his side to round the car.
With those spooky-fast reflexes of his, he grabs my hand and jerks me back, all business when he stares into my eyes again. “What part of mine didn’t I make clear?” he softly asks.
I swallow hard. “Sorry, Sir.”
His gaze softens again and he squeezes my hand, pulls me in one last time to brush his lips over mine before donning his sunglasses. It’s an incredibly rare PDA that proves to me how deadly serious he is. “Let’s get back to the office. We’ll grab something to eat on the way.”
“Has Susa seen these?”
“Nope.” He reaches for his door.
“Are you showing them to her?”
“Why?”
Okay, now I’m going to be stubborn. “Uh, so she can give her opinion.”
He opens his door, one hand on the top of it, one on the roof. “Why?”
“Seriously, Carter?”
Behind his sunglasses, I see an eyebrow arch.
Bastard mode: engaged.
“Sorry, Sir,” I mumble and head for my side of the car.
He smirks. “That’s better, boy. I’ll let that one slide because I’m in a good mood.”
But as we head back west to find food and return to work, I’m left confused about why I’m the one who gets to basically sign off on our new home.
I also know better than to question Sir about it.
Chapter Forty
Part of me is sad to leave the New Tampa house, but I know Carter is right.
Plus the move makes Susa happy. She loves the new houses, loves the idea of the ready-made cover story.
Loves that it’s one step closer to her own run for office.
Loves that it means she gets to help me with my campaign.
I give her free rein—or maybe that would be reign, considering who she is to me—in “my” house. I honestly don’t care what it looks like. It shouldn’t look like a clone of “their” house, and the decor should look like something I might pick for myself. That’s Carter’s only two stipulations. Well, and the budget. He sets one for her despite knowing she can easily afford to get whatever she wants.
I, however, would be limited in some ways. We don’t want uncomfortable questions asked, and it does need to be “my” money that’s spent. There are future financial disclosure statements to be kept in mind.
We get moved in, Susa has a blast picking paint colors and furnishings for me, and life continues.
I run for the HOA and easily win.
It shocks me, but apparently comes as no surprise to Carter and Susa.
So between work and the HOA, I’m pretty busy. The three of us settle into life in the new house—houses, plural—and we become friends with our neighbors. We’re completely open that we’re good friends, and Carter is like a brother to me. I’m sure some of our older neighbors are wondering if I’m gay or something, but it’s none of their business, so I don’t give a shit what they think.
I do have to suffer through an annoying number of matchmaking attempts, some of which Carter makes me accept just to get them over with and appear neighborly. We mostly handle those by having the woman m
eet me for dinner at Susa and Carter’s, to make it seem like I want her to be comfortable by not being alone with me.
I then proceed to let Susa take over being a helpful bestie and sharing all sorts of stories about what a workaholic I am, and how I refuse to take time off, and other such charming personality quirks.
If that doesn’t scare them off, then I talk about not being ready to settle down, and put off making any additional dates with them. I don’t act like a jerk to them, because Carter and Susa don’t want me doing anything that might get brought up later by our opponents when they do deep background on me.
I just…act boring.
Thankfully, it works.
Carter and Susa help me prepare all the financial affidavits and do all the groundwork to file to run for a seat on the county commission board, and they go with me to the county elections office to file it.
Surprisingly, Benchley is going to support me, even against GOP candidates.
I don’t know how Carter manages this.
I don’t think I want to know.
But Benchley is also in the last year of his second Florida Senate term, and he’s term-limited out. We know his plan is to run for governor in two years.
Things are looking great for me as we make it through the primaries and into the general election.
Three weeks before the general election is when the first true test of our triad hits us out of nowhere.
* * * *
Carter is my campaign manager. He’s stepped back some of his work for the firm so anything he’s working on can’t be considered a conflict of interest. There really isn’t a position for him at the county once I’m elected—if I’m elected—but as they advance me through higher offices, he’ll not only be my campaign manager then, he’ll transition into my chief of staff.
I can’t do this without him, and don’t want to.
It’s the middle of October when I get a frantic call from Susa a little after one in the afternoon. I’d just finished appearing at a Tiger Bay candidate’s forum and was almost home. Carter is in Orlando today, in depositions on a big case until late this evening, and is basically unreachable. I struggle against my own panic as I try to calm her enough to find out what’s wrong.
Governor (Governor Trilogy 1) Page 31