“No, but my face was in the papers, my name was ripped to shreds for nothing,” I groan. “Don’t you see what I’m saying? To men like Hayden and Barrett, I’m sure people are just instruments for entertainment while they scale the ladder.”
She doesn’t respond. Her breathing sounds through the phone, so I know she’s still there.
“Lo?”
“I just hate that you went through that,” she says softly. “I do. And I hate it for my buddy Huxley too. But Ali, it’s time to spread your wings farther than being a mom and figuring out your career. It’s time to do something for you.”
“So you think doing Landry is the answer?” I smirk.
“Absolutely,” she laughs.
“I can’t afford to let my heart get all tied up in a man like that again.”
"Well, my friend, your heart and your vagina are two different things. You want to close off your heart—go for it. But keep your legs open."
"You are insane."
"No, I'm perfectly rational. You can have sex just for the sake of orgasms, you know. You don't have to tie yourself all up. You aren't sixteen."
I laugh and stand, walking to the back door and looking across the backyard. It, like the house, is small but has enough space to toss around a ball and catch lightning bugs in the summertime.
"I have plenty of meaningless sex,” I counter.
"No, you don't. You've slept with two guys, each a handful of times, in the handful of years I’ve known you. That's not ‘plenty.’ That's grossly underwhelming."
I sigh, knowing she's right. "Maybe I'm over meaningless sex. Maybe I'm . . .” I look at my reflection and contemplate saying the one thing I've been toying with in my head aloud. Once I spew it into the universe, it's out there for good. And maybe that makes it true. "Maybe I'm ready to have meaningful sex."
"Why would you go and do something like that?"
"I've been through all the emotions of a divorce. I've been sad. Angry. I’ve grieved and had meaningless sex. But maybe that's not enough now. Maybe I know down deep I'm looking for something more real than a quickie, so I'm playing it smart so I don't get gobsmacked by a man just like the one that burned me. So I don’t end up right back where I started. Maybe I'm trying to find someone that I'll be able to trust and that will be respectable enough to bring into Huxley’s life. Maybe I'm working on that." The line is silent for a long while. "Lola?"
"Oh, I'm here. Just trying to figure out how that means you can't fuck Barrett."
I laugh and do a check of the house, making sure everything’s locked tight. “You have a one-track mind.”
“This is true. And on that note, I have to go. I'm meeting a guy I met last week for a round two. Because separate hearts and vaginas and all."
"Does he even have a name?" I yawn.
"Who cares? His cock is massive."
"Nice," I say, shaking my head. "I'll talk to you soon."
"Bye, love."
I walk into the bathroom and set the phone on the counter. Looking into the mirror, my long blonde hair is wild, as it usually is after a long shift. It's coming out of the tie I'd tried to use to tame it, so I pull it out and let it cascade over my shoulders.
My eyes are dark blue, but there's a sparkle in them I haven't seen in a long time.
"What if I promised you we could do it at a place no one would see us? Just you and I. No agenda. No media. No expectations.”
I place my hands on the counter and bow my head.
Just thinking about him makes me feel tingly. The thought of his smile makes me smile, the recollection of his words making me crave the chance to hear more.
I wish I was Lola and could have just offered myself to him, no strings attached. But I'm not Lola with her confidence for days. I'm a divorcee with more self-doubt than I’d like to admit. I can't play off my feelings or shake off rejection, and if I’m smart, I know I certainly can't afford to tie up any part of myself, heart or vagina, with a man like Barrett Landry.
Barrett
THE GLOW FROM THE LAMP on my bureau illuminates the room. I remove my jacket, tie, and dress shirt and toss them haphazardly onto the back of a chair. It feels good to be home, to be “off,” to breathe. I haven’t relaxed all night, except for the few minutes I was with Alison.
I should be rehashing the night, going over conversations, trying to get a feel as to who I can count in my corner. But I don’t. My mind drifts to her every time, and if I’m honest, I like it there.
Flopping back on the California king mattress, my body sinks into the down comforter. I let my lids close and Alison’s face pops up immediately in my mind. Her shy smile, the way her long lashes flutter when she’s embarrassed, how the corners of her lips tug when she tries to pretend like I don’t affect her as much as I know I do—the images blend together to form an amazing slideshow.
My phone rings on the table and I swipe at it with my hand until I find it. I glance at the clock and wonder who is calling me so late.
"Hello?" I ask. I clear my throat, my voice sounding gravelly from being up for the past twenty hours. I can feel every hour in the back of my neck, each frustration in the tightness of my muscles.
"Hey, brother. How are ya?"
"Hey, Linc. What’s up?”
I prop my head up on a pillow and get comfortable.
"Fucked up my shoulder, actually. I threw a long one from center and something snapped. I don't think it's a big deal, but I gotta see the team doctor in the morning.”
"Damn. I hope it’s nothing," I say. "At least the season is over, right?"
He blows out a breath. "Yeah. Silver linings and shit. So, enough about me, how's the campaign? Sorry I couldn't make it tonight."
"Don’t worry about it. It went well. I'll know more tomorrow when Nolan gets me the official report."
Lincoln laughs, his voice crackling through the receiver. He's never been a fan of Nolan. He thinks he's sneaky and uptight. He's probably right on the uptight part, but Nolan has worked for our family for years. He's the one with the blueprint to eventually get me into the White House.
"Yeah, you know how I feel about that. You don't need Nolan, man. Just turn shit over to Graham and you'll be fine."
"Graham doesn't have experience with this like Nolan.”
"But you can trust G. And trust is the most important thing.”
“Since when does my little baseball player brother know anything about business?” I laugh.
“I have investments,” he reminds me. “But you don’t have to know business to know about trust. If you have one person that has your back, you’re a lucky son of a bitch.”
“That’s true.”
Linc grimaces. He groans through the phone and I know he’s working his shoulder, trying to convince himself that it isn’t as bad as he’s been told.
“You probably need to rest that,” I point out.
“I am,” he barks.
“No, you aren’t. You’re working it around, trying to do the mind over matter bullshit that isn’t going to do anything but tear it up worse.”
“It’s fine.”
Rolling my eyes, I move the phone to my other hand. “Whatever you say.”
“Welp, not to cut this short or anything, but I have a call coming in I need to take."
I laugh at the hurriedness in his voice. "Piece of ass hitting you up?"
He clicks his tongue and I know I'm right. “Good to know I’m so high on your priority list,” I joke.
“I'll be in town tomorrow afternoon. See you then."
"Be safe."
Setting the phone on the nightstand, I glance at my clothes on the back of the chair. I need to pick them up, to grab a shower, to process the night. Hell, I really need something to eat.
Instead of sitting down with my briefcase or heading to the kitchen or shower, I sit on the edge of my bed and toy with the idea of calling Alison. My fingers itch to dial the number Graham located for me a couple of hours ago. Naturally, he doesn’t
know why I asked for it, and he was too busy to look into exactly who it was, otherwise he never would’ve done it.
Glancing at the clock again, my spirits sink. It’s too late. She said she has a kid and I’d probably wake him up.
I fall against the mattress and think back to her big blue eyes. The way they sparkled when she laughed, how it felt when she wrapped her fingers around my elbow and let me guide her. She didn't lead me, didn't try to press her own agenda.
An undeniable smile breaks across my cheeks.
I’ve forgotten what it's like to have someone around that's not jaded by everything. Everyone I know, everyone I deal with, knows what to say and when and how to say it. They toe the line, don’t rock the boat, follow suit—pick your well-behaved cliché. They know what's expected of them and who not to piss off.
Alison seems to have some experience in this kind of life, yet she doesn’t seem like it affects how she behaves.
Focus, Nolan said.
Grinning, I realize I’m following orders. I’m focusing, all right. Just not on what he wants me to.
Barrett
THE EARLY AFTERNOON SUN FILTERS through the curtains, the fall breeze dancing through the window. A gust picks up a stack of papers and ruffles them, threatening to send them cascading off the corner of my large wooden desk.
It's perfectly quiet here, the sound of birds chirping and an occasional noise from Rose, my secretary, downstairs are the only two things that disturb me.
I inhale a long breath of fresh air and try to absorb the peace. Between the planning committee, opening the bids for a new recreational area downtown, reviewing license requests from businesses, and taking calls from my election committee, my head is spinning faster than usual. The morning has been the new normal level of chaos. Just getting into the office downtown to do the work I was elected to do was a feat. Camera crews blocked the doors to the office, reporters shouting questions in response to Hobbs’ latest attack. It was a mess. By eleven, I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed Rose and headed here, to the Farm.
An old farmhouse that sits just outside the city, directly in the middle of a fifty-acre piece of property, this is my favorite place in the world. The front is heavily treed and it’s impossible to see the house from the road. It’s been the headquarters of my family's political campaigns and family gatherings for decades. It's now used by my father and Graham for business deals for Landry Holdings, by my brother, Ford, when he's home from the Marines and needs a place to decompress, and by me.
I close my eyes and feel the air on my skin, listen to the curtains sweep against the hardwood floors. I would love to take a walk through the woods, but there's no time for that these days. Each day that passes, the less inspired I am, the less I can remember what free time used to feel like and the more I struggle to remember why, exactly, this was a profession I wanted in the first place. Not being able to trust anyone, questioning everyone's motives, leaves me feeling completely alone. It's bizarre—the more public my life becomes, the more isolated I feel.
Adding to my distraction today is a certain beguiling girl. I think of things to say to hear her laugh, I come up with things to say just to get a response. I want to see her smile, smell her, hear her voice again so badly I can taste it and I don't know why.
This doesn't happen to me.
I'm the king at keeping things superficial with women. I've always been good at that, but it's a skill I've honed to a razor’s edge in the last few years because I can't trust anyone anymore.
I replay our conversation from last night, smiling as her laugh rings through my ears. She was on my mind when I finally fell asleep and the first thing I thought of when I woke up with a smile and a raging hard-on.
I grab the desk phone and press the intercom.
"Can I help you, Mr. Landry?"
"Yes, Rose. Can you order some lunch, please? Have it delivered?"
"Sure, sir. Your usual?"
"No,” I draw out. “Actually, I'd like to try someplace new. Have you heard of Hillary's House?"
"Yes. Of course."
I smile. "Excellent. Will you order me something? Get yourself some lunch too."
"Absolutely."
My grin grows deeper. "And can you see if an Alison Baker is working? If so, I'd like her to deliver."
"No problem."
"Rose?"
"Yes."
"Please keep my request quiet. Just tell the owner that I'll pay extra for the inconvenience, but I'd appreciate it, being that it's election season and all, that she doesn't know where she's going."
"Makes sense. I'll have something here soon."
Alison
"Free at last!" I sing, smiling at my co-workers and tossing a towel in the laundry chute at Hillary’s House. "That lunch rush just about killed me. The next time you make meatloaf, Opal, I'm calling in sick! I swear it brings them in from all over the city."
"Yeah, but you're done now," Opal sighs, sticking another tray of food in the warming drawer. "I'm here for another two hours."
"It'll go quick if you don't think about it," I wink. "Have fun! I'm out of here."
"Anything fun planned?"
"Just a long, over-filled bubble bath,” I sigh dreamily. “Hux is with my dad this afternoon fishing and I’m caught up on my homework for once. So I’m taking a few minutes and just pampering myself.”
Opal smiles. “Oh, honey, you need to do that. You never take time just for you.”
“It’s what mothers do, right?” I grab my timecard out of the slot and go to punch out. I stop, mid-air, when my boss comes around the corner. Her long, blonde hair is pulled back into a braid, her pink bottom lip in between her teeth. The way her eyebrows are scrunched, I know I'm screwed.
"Hey, Hillary," I say, my voice saturated with cheeriness. "How are you? I'm just leaving."
"Oh, is it time for you to go?" She acts surprised and checks her watch for emphasis. "Darn. It is."
"It is. Darn," I say, but I don't punch out. Hillary's House is a great job. Not to mention she's about the sweetest person I know. So if she wants me to stay, she knows I will. Damn her.
"You wouldn't happen to want to do me one little bitty ol’ favor, would you?"
"No," I tease, shaking my head.
"I need an order delivered out on Hammersmith Road. That's out by you, isn't it?"
"Um, like ten miles past me. Where's Dylan? Why doesn't he deliver it?"
Hillary looks around the kitchen and clears her throat. "Dylan is out on another delivery and this one needs taken now."
I slump against the wall, my dreams of a hot bath fading. "It can't wait ten minutes?"
"I wouldn't ask you to do this, Ali, if it wasn't necessary. I'll pay you overtime to take it. I'll pay you triple if you need me to."
"I'll take it for triple," Opal yells from across the kitchen. "Hell, I'll take it for double!"
"You are making pies this afternoon. Hush," Hillary admonishes her. She turns back to me, tilting her head. "Please, Ali. I'll save you a piece of the pecan pie Opal is making in a little bit."
"She gets overtime and pecan pie? I hate you both," Opal moans.
I sigh and put the card back in my slot. "Fine. I'll do it for double pay and pecan pie."
She slings an arm around my shoulder and rests the side of her head against mine. "I'll give you triple," she whispers. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
Alison
I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I'm at.
I drive past the entrance three times before I even realize it’s an entrance at all. The gate is on the other side of the tree line, and a security guard, dressed in a navy blue suit, greets me with a scowl. He wants to see my credentials, so I show him my Hillary's shirt and the large box in the back with food. After a couple of calls, he waves me in, and I start my trek down the mile-long driveway to the impressive home sitting at the end.
It's a three-story plantation-style house with black shutters and ferns hanging from hook
s on the wrap-around porch. There are rocking chairs spaced evenly across the right side and a large table with what appears to be an oversized checkerboard to the left of the front door. A yellow dog comes running slo-mo from the side, his tail wagging and tongue sticking out. Another security guy, this one in a black suit and black tie, is waiting for me.
"Can I help you?" he asks. His eyes are a wicked shade of grey, his hair cropped close to his head. His skin is a smooth, olive-y color that's to die for.
"I'm here to deliver food," I say, letting my eyes sweep around the property. It's gorgeous and simple and quiet—the house of my dreams, basically. I can imagine myself sitting on one of the rockers on the porch with a glass of lemonade watching the sun set.
"Your name?"
"Alison Baker."
He steps out of my way. "I’m Troy. Go on in, Miss Baker. You don't need to knock."
I smile back, getting one final look at those beautiful eyes, and head inside. I would be more annoyed at the inconvenience of this little adventure if my curiosity weren’t at an all-time high. Who lives here? With security? And has lunch delivered by Hillary's? I'd be a little concerned being so far out, but Hillary knows where I am and the security guy gives me a little peace that an axe murderer isn't going to jump out of the woods.
I'm wondering if Dylan comes here regularly as I push open the front door and step inside. It's as charming as the outside. Wooden floors and dark trim set off bright white walls, royal blue décor and dark brown accent pieces adding pops of color. There's a white desk in the corner with neatly-piled files and folders and a sofa to my other side.
No one comes to greet me, no one seems to even know I'm here besides security. I can't tell if this is a house or some kind of office.
The sound of footsteps against the hardwood makes me whirl around to see a grey-haired lady looking as surprised to see me as I am to see her.
"Well, hello," she says, taking the eyeglasses off her face. "Who might you be?"
"I'm Alison from Hillary's." I gesture with the box of food in my arms and shrug.
She smiles and it reminds me of my grandmother. Her face is calm and kind, her blush a little too heavy. She nods and takes the smaller box from me. "Take that one up the stairs, to the right, and to the door at the end of the hall, please."
Sway (Landry Family #1) Page 5