“You should be. You were lucky.” She winced. “God. I didn’t mean lucky that your dad—”
“No, I was lucky,” he interrupted, kindly smoothing over her faux pas. “He died too young, and I hate that, but I sometimes think I’d rather have had a dad like him for a few years than a jerk who keeps on keeping on.”
Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment her heart stopped, thinking it was a repeat of their lunch, when he’d mentioned her “dark secrets.” But a quick glance showed that he was looking out the window, distracted, his statement not pointed to her specifically.
She relaxed. Even felt brave enough to respond. “I think you’re right,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, his gaze curious but not prying. “About?”
She fiddled with the button on her sleeve. “That having a great father for a few years is better than having a crappy one for a lifetime.”
“Speaking from experience?” His tone was nonchalant, one new friend getting to know another, and she bit her lip, taking an emotional step forward in the name of being a functional human being who didn’t let her father and her past rule every action.
Adeline glanced up at him with a small smile. “Yeah. My father was—oh, how do I put this?—an asshole.”
“Was?”
“Is,” she amended. “He’s still alive, just not a part of my life.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That must be difficult. Especially after losing your mother.”
“Not really,” she said. “I mean, yes, Mom’s passing was gut-wrenching. But I don’t miss my father.”
“Did you have a falling-out?”
Abruptly, she remembered who she was talking to. He was quite possibly the worst person in whom to confide the gritty details of her family life. “Something like that. Anyway. I should let you get back to your evening. Thanks for the tour. I doubt I’ll be acquainted with the next mayor, so this was likely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
The mayor studied her for a long minute, then, instead of saying goodbye and showing her to the door, surprised her by shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “You like pizza?”
“I—What?”
“Pizza. Carbs. Cheese. Greasy meat optional.”
“I’m familiar.”
The mayor’s fingers flicked open the buttons at his cuff, and he began rolling up the crisp white sleeves. “But are you a fan?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t like pizza?” she replied, trying not to get distracted by the slow reveal of his muscular forearms.
“I’m an Italian sausage and mushroom kind of guy, but I can be talked into just about anything.”
“Is this your way of telling me I should cancel the caterers I’ve already booked for the party and just see if Grimaldi’s delivers?”
“Can’t say I’m not intrigued by that idea, but I was thinking more for tonight.”
“Ah. Well, in that case, have at it and enjoy.”
He scratched his cheek. “I can’t figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse or if my game is really that stale.”
“Your friend game, you mean?”
He grinned. “Yeah. That.”
She sucked in her cheeks and considered the invitation, because no, she wasn’t that obtuse, and his game wasn’t that bad. She knew an invitation when she heard one.
The question was, did she want to accept it?
“No mushrooms,” she said finally.
“You’re killin’ me, Blake,” he said, but she definitely saw the victorious tilt of his smile as he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll get us some wine,” he said, still looking at his phone and heading to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”
She glanced down at her blazer, knowing that if she were really at home, she’d have shed the dreaded garment ten minutes ago. For an annoying moment, it was tempting . . .
Instead, she sat, blazer still in place, acting as a shield. Addie might be choosing the music, but Adeline was still very much driving the car.
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday, October 14
“I just need to be sure . . . am I going crazy? I am, right? Our girl’s not seriously telling us she had dinner with the mayor,” Rosalie said, turning to Jane.
“You’re not the crazy one—she is,” Jane said, emphatically pointing at Adeline.
Adeline nibbled on the corner of a chip. “It’s really not the big deal you two are making it out to be. It was just dinner. Pizza.”
“That’s even worse!” Jane said shrilly. “It’s so intimate.”
Adeline glanced over at her calmer friend. “Please tell her there’s nothing intimate about Italian sausage.” She winced as she caught herself. “Yeah, I heard it.”
“It is a little out of character,” Rosalie said slowly. “You haven’t exactly made it a secret how you feel about men these days. To say nothing of your thoughts on elected officials.”
“I didn’t sleep with the guy, we just had pizza.”
“I’d actually be less concerned if you’d slept with him,” Rosalie admitted.
“Agreed,” Jane said, smacking the table. “A sexy fling with the Man of the Year is one thing. A cozy dinner at his place is just . . .” She threw her hands up. “I can’t. I literally can’t process it.”
“You don’t have to process anything,” Adeline said, dunking the chip into the salsa and stuffing the whole thing in her mouth. “It was a onetime thing. The party’s next weekend, and then I’ll probably never see him again.”
“What if he wants you to be his forever event planner?”
“He won’t. His regular planner’s one of the best in the city, and I’m sure she’ll be back from maternity leave by the time he needs to hire someone again.”
“Is his regular event planner hot and single?” Jane pointed out.
“She’s married.”
“Exactly. Much less susceptible to his sexy face than single you.”
Adeline sighed and looked again to the perpetually calm Rosalie. “Make it stop.”
“Just promise you’ll warn us if you start to fall for the guy,” her friend said, fiddling with her chip. “Much as I love the idea of you landing the hottest guy in the city, I also know just how tricky that would be for you.”
“Tricky is an understatement, given he’s likely running against The Bastard in the next election,” she said, knowing that both of her longtime friends knew she was referring to the father she’d all but disowned.
Adeline hadn’t known Rosalie as long as she’d known Jane, but they still went all the way back to high school. Adeline had been the loose cannon, Jane the genius, and Rosalie had been, well . . . perfect.
For starters, she was gorgeous. Her mother was Indian, her father French, and the combination was the dazzling Rosalie and her equally attractive twin brother. She’d also been an honor roll student, captain of the soccer and golf teams, student body president, and debate team superstar.
But where Rosalie really shone was her kindness. She’d had her pick of the Ivy Leagues and had chosen Cornell because it was an easy drive back to her parents’ home just outside Albany after her mom was diagnosed with MS. She’d also been just about the only person in their prep school who’d gone out of her way to be kind to the new girl.
The mid-to-late teen years were hard enough without being the daughter of the newly elected governor, who took every opportunity to belittle and berate her. The last thing Addie had needed on the heels of a new home and new public responsibilities as New York’s first daughter had been a new school to boot, but her father hadn’t even pretended to listen to Addie’s pleas to finish out high school with her friends.
In hindsight, Adeline probably couldn’t even blame the other kids at the prep school for keeping their distance from the moody, volatile Addie, but it also made her all the more grateful that Rosalie had seen through the tough-girl act and had gone out of her way not just to be nice, but to befriend her.
Eventually, Addie had introduced Rosalie to Jane, who’d still been attending the public school in their neighborhood, and somehow, despite being extremely different personalities, they’d all become friends.
They’d stayed in touch and remained close even after Jane and Rosalie had gone off to different colleges, and Addie had begun what she liked to think of as the reign of terror that was her late teens and early twenties. Even after Rosalie had been in Texas for years as a marketing director at an Austin start-up. Even when Addie all but dropped off the grid after discovering her mother was still alive.
“You know,” Adeline said, looking thoughtfully at Rosalie over the top of her margarita, “I actually thought about setting you and the mayor up.”
“Wait, what?” Rosalie’s eyes went wide.
“You said yourself he was hot,” Adeline pointed out. “You’re also beautiful, well spoken, polished. You never look bad in a photograph, and you never say the wrong thing. I literally can’t think of a more perfect future First Lady of New York.”
“Oooh, I see that!” Jane said, pivoting in her chair to stare at Rosalie.
Adeline gave Jane an exasperated expression. “You were just warning me off of the guy.”
“Warning you off, yes. But Rosalie . . .”
Adeline tried to ignore the sting. It wasn’t as if Jane were saying anything Adeline herself hadn’t thought. Even if she were inclined to pursue the mayor, and she wasn’t, she knew that she was the last thing someone like him needed. Her past alone made her an inconceivable choice for him, and even if she could keep her past mistakes under wraps, she would never be the right woman for him. She may have mastered the bun and the blazers, but she was still the woman who collected adventurous lingerie and loved tequila.
“The guy’s definitely attractive,” Rosalie said. “But I don’t know that I want one of Adeline’s rejects,” she said with a smile intended to annoy Adeline.
“I wouldn’t let that stop me,” Jane said, fanning herself. “If it weren’t for Dan . . . Too bad I love that man so damn much. Seriously, Rosalie, let Adeline fix you up, so I can live vicariously.”
“Hello,” Rosalie said, staring at the admittedly, occasionally tone-deaf Jane. “Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?” She pointed at Adeline.
Jane glanced over and narrowed her eyes.
“Ever since she came back from New Mexico with her hair brown, she’s been like this buttoned-up ice woman. But when she talks about him . . .” Rosalie made an unrecognizable hissing, clicking noise.
“What was that?” Jane asked.
“Fire igniting,” Rosalie explained. “Whatever, so sound effects and act-outs aren’t my strong suit. The point is—”
“If I sound fiery when I talk about the mayor, it’s only because he’s a control freak and pain in the ass,” Adeline interjected. “The man doesn’t know how to delegate, is hell-bent on carrying on his father’s legacy without ever checking in with himself, and . . .”
Adeline’s thoughts scattered a little as she realized she wasn’t being entirely fair to the mayor. Yes, he was obsessed with his image, as a man in his position had to be. But he could also be funny and irreverent. He could also be spontaneous and casual.
He’d proven that yesterday, first with the tour of his home, then the invitation of dinner. Even the way he ate pizza was appealing, somehow both buttoned-up precise and outright relishing, all at the same time.
“Do we need more margaritas before we get back to the real elephant in the room?” Jane asked, oblivious to Adeline’s conflicted emotions.
“What, the fact that the mayor’s very likely running against my father in the next election?”
“He told you that?”
“No,” Adeline said slowly. “He’s never confirmed it. But there are the rumors . . .”
“You could ask him,” Rosalie nudged.
Adeline snorted. “How? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m just curious, are you trying to boot my asshole father from his job next year?’”
“Your dad is an asshole,” Jane muttered. “The man hid the existence of your mother from you, never appreciated how amazing you were, and turned you into this.” Jane waved at her.
“Hey!” Adeline said, truly stung.
The often too-blunt Jane was instantly contrite, and she reached out to squeeze Adeline’s hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You are of course allowed to change, and I love everything that Adeline is and that Adeline’s built. But I miss Addie.”
“I’m still her.”
“You’re wearing a blazer,” Rosalie pointed out.
“Because I came from work. And under the blazer is all party,” Adeline said in a mock whisper, pulling out the conservative gray blazer on one side to show the lacy hot pink camisole beneath it.
“Snore. It doesn’t count when you cover it up,” Rosalie said, the steel in her voice belying the playful I dare you twinkle in her eye and providing a glimpse at just why she’d been so effective on her high school debate team. “Prove Addie’s still in there.”
“What, you want to see my blonde roots?” Adeline asked, already lifting her hands to her hair, and dipping her head slightly.
“No, who cares about your hair?” Rosalie said. “I want to see Addie’s spirit. I want to see the girl who loved to dance.”
Adeline laughed. “Oh God. No.”
“She does still love to dance,” Jane said, jumping on the bandwagon. “I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, in the privacy of my apartment.” Where there are no cameras, and no judgment.
“There have got to be like a dozen clubs around here, right?” Rosalie said, pulling out her phone. “Even on a Wednesday?”
“Yes!” Jane said, tapping her fingers on the table. “Party on a school night, I love it. Somebody make sure I drink plenty of water, and I’m in.”
“Not in. You guys are insane,” Adeline said, even as she felt her old self start to stir at the prospect. “I have an early client coffee meeting tomorrow, and then later, the date you tricked me into by telling me it was a networking meeting.” She shot Jane a glare.
“Ooh, tell!” Rosalie perked up.
“There’s this guy at work who’s perfect for her,” Jane said. “She kept saying no, so I told him that she was excited to meet him and was free tomorrow at seven.”
“So, a flat-out lie,” Rosalie said.
Jane nodded, then slapped Rosalie’s palm, which she’d lifted for a high five.
Adeline glared at both of them. To say she was dreading the date was an understatement, though she had to admit that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe a romantic endeavor would help her stop thinking about whatever strange tension was brewing between her and the mayor, which she wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t overprotective Jane’s plan in the first place.
“Okay, so back to dancing—”
“Nope,” Adeline said. “I’ve already been maneuvered into a first date tomorrow. I’m not going to get talked into dancing, too.”
Both of her friends just looked at her, as though waiting for her to realize that . . .
She wanted to go dancing.
Adeline bit her lip. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“Yay, Addie’s back!” Jane said happily.
“Just for tonight,” Adeline said with a small smile, even as she felt herself relax in a way she hadn’t in months.
“I’ll take it,” Rosalie said with a smile. “Just one more thing . . .”
“What?”
Her friends spoke at the exact same time. “Lose the blazer.”
Chapter Twelve
Thursday, October 15
“Late night?”
Adeline heaved her head out of her hand and looked up to see Robert Davenport lounging idly in the doorway of her office. “What the—How did you get in here?”
“Door?” he said, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he studied her.
“It’s barely seven thirty. My team’s not even here yet.”
; “Exactly. No gatekeeper made it that much easier.”
“Isn’t the downstairs door locked? Never mind—” she said tiredly. “I forget who I’m dealing with. It’d take more than a locked door to keep the mayor from getting where he wants to go.”
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Excedrin. Not the one he’d given her as a joke. She’d set that one aside, and she had the unnerving suspicion that she’d be holding on to that bottle for a long time to come like some sort of sentimental souvenir.
Ugh. What was this man turning her into?
She put two fingers to the throb in her temple. The coffee she’d had during her seven o’clock meeting had taken the edge off the initial ache, but not erased it completely.
“Ah, so you did need pills,” he said softly, pointing at the painkillers.
“Apparently, though surprisingly, not because of you,” she said, dumping two white capsules into her palm and washing them down with water. She let out a groan when he ambled all the way into her office and plopped into the chair across from her. “Surely you have somewhere else to be. Ribbons to cut, medals to award?”
He gave a slow smile. “You’re extra sharp when you’re hungover. I quite like it.”
“I’m not hungover,” she muttered.
“No?”
“Just a little . . . tired.”
Going to bed at three a.m. would do that to you. Though the tequila hadn’t helped, either. Compared to her old ways, her alcohol consumption had been extremely moderate, but there had been some imbibing, and her body was not so gently reminding her she wasn’t twenty-three anymore.
On a normal day, she could handle it. But seeing him first thing was not a normal day, and she could barely handle the man sitting across from her when she was at her best. With a fuzzy head and carb craving?
Yours in Scandal Page 9