Mr. So Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  Mathew smiled at me and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Governor, I’d appreciate that.”

  His words pulled at my heartstrings, reminding me why I allowed my father to convince me to run for state attorney and eventually the governorship-so that I could influence change. I learned the hard way that change wasn’t so easy. I was a grassroots kind of guy to my core, that’s why I fit in the Peace Corps. In the villages, small changes helped improved agriculture and drinking water. It was a group effort. Here in the US, bureaucracy bogged things down.

  We wrapped up in Ms. Fitz’s classroom and I’m pretty sure Al scored her number. Then we headed back to the office. My dad always tried to sell me on the idea that I was different than other politicians, that I was special and that I could be a driving force for change, for creating good and equality. Heck, there were times I bought his rhetoric, just not this time. Years in politics taught me change was hard to come by and that little incident this afternoon with Mr. Bachmaker reminded me that money didn’t sway me. I wasn’t the guy who would concede on his values for an endorsement; I wasn’t the right guy to run for president.

  Back at my desk, I pressed the call button and my secretary Susan picked up.

  “Yes, Mr. Governor?” her voice came through the speaker.

  “I need you to search for a boy named Mathew Murphy.”

  “Can you give me a little more information, Sir?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, he’s a student at Greensboro Elementary. Find out where he lives and what his parents do,” I said through the phone, knowing this wasn’t a conventional request for a secretary in a governor’s office. Susan was used to these types of requests from me. She was very good about keeping things confidential. Even things that may be borderline illegal, like this request.

  “Okay, Sir. And once I have that information what would you like me to do?” Susan asked because she was good at her job, always thinking a few steps ahead. That way she didn’t need to bother me when she found out.

  “Secure the home address and let me know where they live and any family background you can gather,” I responded.

  “Getting right on that, Sir,” Susan responded.

  “Thank you,” I pressed the speaker button to end the call. I had to know why Mathew was so concerned with poverty. His old clothes and worn out shoes told me that maybe his family wasn’t fairing so well. I couldn’t save the world with my trust fund but I liked to make a small difference when I could.

  Chapter Two

  “Would you stop consulting with Albert on his latest conquest and mingle a little.” My father leaned into my ear and shout-whispered. There was never a moment to myself when he accompanied me to functions, and this one was no different. Mingle Colton, make connections Colton, maybe find yourself a wife while you’re at it, Colton. I swear I was sick of my name. I clenched my fists at my side feeling my jaw tense. I had wanted to give my father a piece of my mind so many times in the past and held back. Lately, the urge was growing stronger and gaining fuel. I didn’t know what fire was causing my fuel to burn but I was embracing it for once.

  I gave him a sidelong glance while gnawing at the inside of my cheek hoping it would curb the words threatening to spill from my lips. Without answering him, I returned my attention to Al, who just asked me to tweak my speech tonight to include a vague comment about old age pension since we were trying to capture the senior vote. Assuming I was still announcing my intent to run for President. I tended not to share my intimate thoughts on the matter with Al anymore even though he was my best friend; he always wanted me to run. He believed I was the right guy for the job. “Will do,” I replied, not wanting to stir the pot before I made a final decision.

  “Don’t ignore me, boys,” my father cut in. It’s funny that he still liked to call us boys. We were far from boys. I left my father’s home when I went off to college and never returned. Al and I also paid our bills and fucked around with too many women to be considered boys.

  “With all due respect Mr. Mathis. Our boy,” Al grinned salaciously, “is nowhere near ready to settle down. He may not have a bride by his side, but our boy,” he accentuated again, “is well liked.” Al responded to my father understanding his hidden meaning in the words mingle. I knew there was a reason I kept Al close.

  I blew out a breath, straightened my tie, gave my father a cheeky smile and said, “Time to mingle.” I just wanted to remove myself from my father’s presence before he took on the role of matchmaker and dragged me around the room to meet all the potential lifelong partners in the place. I’m not exaggerating; he’d done that before. It wasn’t pretty. It usually ended in him finding me a lady whom he felt was, and I quote, the perfect match… proper upbringing, education and wanting to commit to the role of the first lady. Gah! The problem was the many holes in his tactics.

  Firstly, most of the single women he came across wanted to date me or at minimum bed me. These females took in the scent of power that the governorship gave and wanted in. I was good looking, built, had a trust fund, and a sleeve of tattoos down my arm. Most women were intrigued by the tattoos. Few men at my political stature had them, at least from what the public knew. It had become an intrigue for a politician to have a tattoo. I blame the Canadian Prime Minister who visited Washington last year. The media was all about publicizing his tattoos and somehow they latched on to me too, reporting on my muscular arms and colorful sleeve. The media attention added to the frenzy on me even though I’d already been established as Chicago’s most wanted bachelor.

  I scanned the room in search of some interesting conversation. This was the second year I was attending the Veteran Affairs Gala. I respected our veterans wholeheartedly. Before I applied to Harvard, I wanted to join the military. My father had been against it. Said I was all he had and if something happened to me, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. I didn’t enlist naturally but I’ve always felt like it was something I should have done.

  Just as I’m about to have a seat at one of the tables next to some older veterans that have tags on their suit jackets saying they fought in Vietnam my father stops me. “Son, glad I caught you. Mr. Bachmaker wants to introduce you to his niece.” My eyes widened and I blew out a long puff of air. Is that guy here tonight? Dammit! For some reason, I had a feeling my father would orchestrate a meeting. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

  “Not tonight. I was hoping to speak to these men.” I nodded to the gentlemen sitting around the table exchanging war stories. My father pursed his lips together a telltale sign he wanted to get his way.

  “Don’t you see that this is for your own good?” I was losing the battle to meet the niece, so I caved like I usually did. I couldn’t be the only one raised by a single parent who was intrusive and borderline obsessive about my personal life. I just couldn’t be. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a woman standing by your side when you make your announcement?” My father’s dark brows furrowed together. His deep brown eyes, so different from mine, darkened while he waited in anticipation.

  I tilted my head back and a deep chuckle escaped my throat. “I don’t need a woman beside me when I have a different one under me every night.” I winked because my father was the one who taught me how to be a lady’s man. I learned from the best and now he was all for me throwing my bachelor status and fun out the window.

  “Not here, Colton. You can’t think with your dick when it comes to campaigning. Thinking with your dick will have you falling for the wrong woman.” And even though he didn’t say it, I knew he was speaking of my mother.

  “You can’t surely believe I could meet and have time to fall in love with a woman in a span of a couple of weeks? You know me.” I scoffed, shaking my head at the notion. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than three months. My old man hasn’t had a relationship with a woman last more than a few weeks since Mom left. How he thinks I can fall in love so quickly was ludicrous.

  “You’re my son. I’m fully aware of what you are and are not capabl
e of. That’s why you need a nudge from your father.” He tilted his chin urging me forward.

  I turned my head so that our eyes were level. “Did you ever consider that maybe I have no interest in being president?” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.

  My father clenched his jaw and got a daunting look in his eyes. I usually didn’t take such a rebellious stance with him but sometimes desperate measures called for extreme responses.

  My father’s face fell and his skin paled. “Is that what you want, Colton? Truly? Because I’ve dedicated my life getting you to this point,” his voice trailed off and his words settled on me like a thick honey coat of guilt.

  “Just introduce me to the niece,” I conceded feeling even more defeat. Like my face was pressed into the sand and I was unable to breathe. I extended a hand for him to lead the way a hollow version of myself following.

  He glared disappointedly before passing me with the silent instruction to follow. And even though my breathing was labored, my usual guilt roiled in my stomach. The blame he used to get me to do anything he damn well pleased.

  “Mr. Bachmaker, you remember my son, Governor Colton Mathis.” My father smiled proudly making the introduction. Mr. Bachmaker’s family was in the oil business down in Texas before they began to spread their wings across the country and buy real estate when the market crashed many years back. My romancing his niece would result in a substantial contribution to my campaign. I felt like a prostitute. I wasn’t going to sleep with her even if she was pretty just to prove that I stuck my dick where I chose and not where I was told. Why did I feel so childish thinking those words? My mind had been warped somewhere from the time my mother took off until today.

  “Hello, again Mr. Bachmaker.”

  “Pleasure is all mine, Colton.” He grinned before turning to the young woman sitting by his side. He gave her a nudge and she fumbled to stand. “I’d like to introduce you to my niece. Madeline Huntsworth.” The woman smiled a toothy grin. I couldn’t help but rake my eyes over her body. She didn’t look like Mr. Bachmaker at all. She was blonde, pretty green eyes, smiled a lot. Wore a dark blue dress that was simple and sophisticated. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came straight from her office to the gala. She was average height, nice full breasts. In short, she was doable. As the thought entered my mind, I chided myself for sounding so much like Al in my head. Was I considering sleeping with this woman? What had my life come to? I felt low, dirty. It’s the one thing I promised myself I would never feel like as politician and here I was for the first time in my life feeling utterly defeated. And it was only a matter of time before I would make an announcement that would change my life forever. Fucking hell.

  I extended my hand with a smile because Mathis men are always gentlemen. “Madeline, it’s a pleasure.” I paused to look at my father. He had such a pleased look on his face. That overwhelming feeling of not wanting to disappoint him swept over me once more. “Colt,” I finally said and my father let out a loud cough like he was choking. Only him, Al and a few close friends from college ever called me Colt. He was probably worried I was about to sabotage his efforts.

  Madeline’s cheeks turned pink as I said my nickname. It wasn’t something new for me to see a woman blush in my presence since most women had that reaction to my looks. It was my ocean blue eyes. Women feel like I can see right through them because of the bright coloring. I never argue that notion because it gets me laid, but it’s a crock of shit. They also tell me I could be Henry Cavill’s twin with my large built frame, wide jaw bone and high cheeks. My response is usually, “You mean he looks like me.” Okay, so I may be a little conceited but I still am a nice guy, I swear. On some level, it’s my self-deprecation about my looks that makes me brush them off too. I know I don’t look like my father which means I look like the woman that gave me life and left me behind. A part of me hated having her look back at me when I looked in the mirror.

  “Nice to meet you.” She shakes my hand firmly and I felt the reverberations down my arm. Not surprising. I suspect she had to earn her place in a courtroom as a defense attorney.

  “Which law firm are you with?” I ask just to make conversation because her dear old uncle already told me. Off to the side, I noticed my father whispering something to her uncle probably campaign stuff I didn’t care to know about.

  “Kincaid and Landry,” she replies while smiling from cheek to cheek and batting her eyelashes. She must be a second-year associate at best. I was much older than her but I get why her uncle would think that the possible next president of the United States would be a good match. She’s precisely the type of woman my father refers to as proper upbringing, education, and family name.

  “Yes, of course, I’m familiar with the firm. I used to practice in Illinois myself. I heard Kincaid Senior is about to retire,” I say feeling the need to pull teeth to make conversation.

  “Yes, I heard that too,” she confirms. Again, she ends the potential for further conversation. Feeling like I’ve been staring at her awkwardly for a few seconds longer than I’d like, I allow my gaze to wander to either side of the room. Father was in deep conversation with Mr. Bachmaker to my right. I scan the room for Al, hoping I could eye motion him to save me from this situation but instead I notice a woman briskly walk past me, her long red hair catches my attention and the scent of strawberry she leaves behind makes me want to follow her like a dog in heat. My gaze remains trained on her as she pauses and smiles at an older man. I watch their animated conversation. How they look warmly at each other. Like a grandfather would his granddaughter and suddenly I’m so intrigued I forget where I am and who I’m speaking with. I can only see her profile, pale skin, blue eyes, lush red lips, a spattering of freckles across her cheeks. My eyes roam down her body unashamedly to the curve of her behind in that slender red gown and my dick stiffens. Oh, fuck! I’m the first to admit that my body readily reacts to a beautiful woman, but this lady…she blows everyone else out of the water. My breath catches and my chest warms, I’m not sure what’s happening but before I know it, my feet are moving. I’m following her and the older man she’s with, but I’m at least a few feet behind them. I’m pretty sure I hear my father call out my name from behind me but I don’t turn around because I’m too enthralled with the lady before me. She pauses in the middle of the dance floor where she and the older guy begin to dance to “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole and for some reason this moment is unforgettable as I watch them, her face pressed to the older man’s chest. He looks like he must be a World War II veteran, maybe her grandfather. Before I can think my legs are carrying me toward them. My eyes glued to her. This mystery woman who has captured my breath with one glance.

  “Excuse me. May I cut in?” I ask. Her back is facing me and she doesn’t move from her spot or turn her head. The older man stops dancing and she lifts her head to look in his eyes.

  “That would be up to her,” he replies. He looks at the beautiful woman in his arms and she turns to look at me but her stare is blank. Her blue eyes sparkle in the dim light of the dance floor and some crystal stones on her dress glimmer off the chandelier lights.

  She doesn’t answer me, so I repeat my question and extend a hand. “May I have this dance?”

  She smiles and it’s brilliant. It also sends a pang of warmth into my chest. She looks at the older man for a moment. “Sorry, I’m busy,” she replies. It’s completely unexpected. I wonder if she knows who I am. I know it sounds cocky but seriously, given my looks and position women are putty in my hands.

  She continues to dance with the older guy.

  I’m stuck standing in my spot, my mouth hanging open. I’m speechless for a brief moment when I realize I don’t want to take no for an answer. I want one dance, one conversation, at least the chance to know what she’s like. It’s an odd sensation for me because I’ve never been genuinely interested in a lady past a good lay, but I’m intrigued.

  I take two steps and tap her shoulder since her
back is to me. She turns to look at me like I’m a nuisance, her mouth opens to speak but I interrupt her. “Sorry to intrude again, but…” I pause as the memory of the Bachmaker ribbon cutting ceremony replays in my mind. I get a fluttery feeling in my chest, my brows furrow and my curiosity becomes even more heightened because looking at her up close tells me that my memory isn’t mistaken and she’s the pie-whipping bandit. For some reason, I find the situation amusing and my eyes drag up and down her body. Geez, she cleans up nice. She’s fucking stunning, classy, elegant. Nothing like the wild, free, and apparently angry woman that threw the pie.

  “I’m sorry can I help you?” Her brows are dipped together as she asks the question. She also seems a little nervous like maybe she knows I’ve recognized her.

  “I’d really like a dance.” I persist hoping she doesn’t get turned off by my perseverance but now that I see it’s her, I want the dance even more.

  She shakes her head.

  “Why?” I insist. I’m a little pushy but my ego is hurt and now I also want to know why she’s a pie-wielding vixen in her spare time.

  The older man gives her a little nudge and with unspoken words with a blink of an eye and a tilt of a chin tells her to dance with me. She blows out a puff of air and stares at the old guy, her eyes narrowing to slits. I’m pretty sure she’s about to tell him off or me where to go when she says, “Fine. One dance.”

  Ha! My ego is taking a real beating tonight. I feel like I’m treading on uncharted territory. In my past relations with women when things got too serious we broke it off. It was an arrangement I always set up off the bat. No complications, no spewing my undying love. Just raw animalistic sex. Simple.

  I tilt my head almost in a bow and extend my hand. She takes it and I place one hand on her slender hip. My hand making contact with the silky fabric of her dress. She smells delectable; I’m enthralled. I can’t understand it for the life of me. We dance at a distance from each other and as the music continues, all I can think is that this woman is unforgettable.