Catfish illusive duet bo.., p.16
Catfish (Illusive Duet Book 1), page 16
Always professional.
Always a front.
Always a motive.
Like Dexter.
I inwardly cringe at the fact that I automatically stray back to what I’ve always wanted to stay away from. My one night stand may have not been so obnoxious—he was very generous—but just how he appeared like Grant…
It was enough.
“I want to know if you’ll plan an event for me,” Grant asks, brushing the pad of his thumb along my skin.
“No.”
He fakes a grin. “It’s important.”
I pull my face from his grasp. “Not interested.”
“Reagan,” he soothes, propping his arm over the top of my couch. “You at least owe me for dumping me like a cold-hearted—”
“Bitch?” I snap, through knitted brows. “I remember those being some of your choice words.”
His lips fade into a hard set line. “I said a lot of shit I didn’t mean. I was just hurt and…surprised.”
“You knew what it was, Grant. I never planned on marrying you.”
“I was hoping you’d change your mind after being together for so many years.”
“I told you—”
"I was hoping the trailer park would work its way out of you, and you would see for yourself that I fucking cared about you."
There he is, entitled Grant Hardison.
I gave him more than what he deserved, more than his brother, Jed, who earned it.
“What I did was wrong,” I voice slowly. “We both were wrong. I hurt your brother, and I continued on with it to build off of you. I needed your connections, your money. You needed me for your career. It was a business agreement. But things got complicated and too deep. You already know all of this.”
“Jed is set to be married,” Grant grinds out. “So if you think you’re going to save that relationship, you’re sorely mistaken, Vixen.”
Married?
The weak wall I built to keep myself from breaking every time I think about what I did to Jed, it starts to shake.
He moved on without me—he deserves it.
But a small part of me would always call Jed home. He was everything I could ever want. The strength that I didn’t think I needed.
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl, shifting away to give us some space. “I hate that name.”
“You didn’t mind it when my dick was—”
I jolt from the couch. “Get the fuck out. We’re done.”
Grant remains where he is. “I told you the other day that I wanted to have dinner to discuss things.”
“I’m not interested in your things unless it’s tying you to the end of a boat and watching you drown. I just want you out of my life.”
“The life I made for you,” he digs in. “The one you owe me for.”
My jaw feels like it’s going to break off my face. “I already told you, early on, that I was never going to love you, Grant. I’m not capable of it.”
“You loved my brother,” he leers, hitting me where he knows it’d hurt. “Then you tore his fucking heart out just like you did mine. So, are you sure you didn’t love me?”
The answer was easy, yes. I never loved Grant the way I loved Jed. Never had that unleashed passion or warmth that unhinged when I was with his younger brother.
Jed and I were kindred spirits born on the opposite side of the financial chain. He never saw me as anything but beautiful, and I felt every ounce of his affection. And, at the time, I felt every shred of his betrayal once his father fired Mama, and she lost everything.
I was young, dumb as a bag of rocks, and acted on my impulses. The whim of a girl who didn’t turn the other cheek when she got slapped but rounded with an uppercut to the face. I began to date Grant openly, showing up at the Hardison’s house just to wrap my arms around his older brother and ardently kiss him.
I watched Jed’s heart crack right in front of me while I wore a smile on my face.
I wanted him to feel every jab I threw at him, every cruel intention I flung his way because Ma was dying in front of my eyes, and Marty was a wreck. I couldn't watch the two people I loved most in the world suffer at the hands of a wealthy politician who didn't give two shits about the loss I would abide by if she didn't get the help she needed.
When weeks turned into a year, and I longed for something more than the slums of Daphne, I regretted each and every single one of my decisions towards Jed. My heart ached because I never let myself forget what I did. I never had the courage to apologize, I avoided him like the plague every time we were in the same room for a family event with the Hardisons.
He was nothing but a good man, grew up exactly how I always knew he would. And I’m still the sinister woman who fucks random men at bars because I can’t deal with loneliness and the fact that I suck.
“I have work to do,” I protest and nod towards the door. “You need to leave.”
"You didn't even hear the details of my event that I need help planning." My arms remain at my sides when really they want to grab him by the lapels of his jacket and yank him up, followed by a headbutt to his perfect face.
“What is it?”
His mouth twitches. “My brother’s wedding.”
♫ Colors —Halsey ♫
Walking back into Wade Lockwood’s office has the hairs on my arms standing on end.
It’s quiet, cryptically so, as I step off the elevator and into the ritzy receptionist area I was just in less than forty-eight hours ago.
I’m a little surprised that I’m feeding into this, the back and forth for this job that is allegedly so high in demand. Emmy Lou called me back yesterday after I requested to meet with the governor, whom I had a few additional questions for.
Hunter green walls are lit by recessed lighting that matches the receptionist’s desk. A column of gold bars all crisscrossed into a pattern lining the back wall, giving the room a modern vibe. Fresh pink roses are the only thing that decorates the long desk as a middle-aged woman stares at me the moment I start to approach her.
Every click of my heels echoes along the room like I'm entering a tunnel, but we're far from alone. A handful of employees are talking on their cell phones, typing busily away at laptops, and walking around with coffees in their hands.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was deaf with the lack of sound.
“Miss Shelton, correct?” the receptionist asks the moment I stop at the front desk. Her smile is faint, a little forced, as she stands from her chair.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Mr. Lockwood is expecting you.”
Of course, he is.
The man appears anal as shit with his schedule, campaign and career. I’m sure each one of his employees were hand-picked based on the volume of their voices and how softly they could walk across the hardwood floors. I got the overbearing vibe from him, guy who wants power done his way or no way at all.
Despite his bad impression, I’m not too proud to admit that I Googled him after my interview. Especially with how irritated his assistant was after he barged in to see what I was all about.
Because that’s what it was.
Wade Lockwood wanted to know who was being interviewed and either wanted to intimidate me or was generally curious about who I was.
I didn't apply, and he probably knows that.
His assistant, Emmy Lou, was so excited to meet me that I was a little taken aback at how much. Our business hasn't been around that long, but we have a good reputation. Business is constant and growing, but to run alongside a governor attempting to become the next president of the United States—can't say I saw that one coming.
Nor could I honestly turn it down, regardless of his judgy little attitude, but only if he agreed to my demands.
The receptionist guides me to a door then gently knocks on it (shocker). A male voice muffles behind it, and she turns the doorknob, letting me enter at my own risk.
And it is a risk.
Governor Lockwood is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The sullen way his voice leaves his lips, the condemning way his eyes soaked me in a few days ago.
Yeah, maybe wearing a red dress to an interview wasn't the most "hire me" appropriate, but I wasn't seeking this job.
He or Emmy Lou were, which meant they wanted me.
The governor sits behind his large desk, folders and papers scattered everywhere as he sorts them out meticulously. He doesn’t bother to glance up in my direction as I step inside but, Lord, can I smell him from the door frame.
Whatever the fuck he’s wearing smells amazing, like a manly campfire with a hint of citrus. His dark hair is neatly styled, a few days’ growth stubbles over his jawline and chin. He looks like a carefully structured god, molded to the masculine room.
It wasn't what I expected. I predicted dark decor and animal heads mounted on his walls, but he's not a Republican, so I should've already known that. Ceiling-to-floor windows portray the city behind him, letting every ounce of sunlight beam into his suite. Navy blue bookcases sit on either side of the room, filled with books and various items. Pictures of old presidents in candid photos hang off the walls.
“Please take a seat, Miss Shelton,” he directs, his rich, deep tone rippling off my skin. He’s still sorting out his things as I take in the rest of his space.
Nothing else hints at what kind of man Governor Wade Lockwood is outside of ordinary and uptight. His Wikipedia page was scarce, I didn't get too much besides his birthday and that his father was a congressman, leaving much to the imagination.
Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs, the silence starts to prick at my nerves. I lean back and straighten my spine, watching him sort everything, wondering why he couldn't just fucking wait to finish until I was gone.
Anal as shit.
“I apologize,” Wade finally concedes after another minute, placing a folder aside. “I would’ve lost my spot if I didn’t finish.” He doesn’t smile, his face hard as stone as he sits back in his large chair and folds his hands over his abdomen.
His light gray suit fits him perfectly, displaying his linebacker-sized shoulders and the mold of his chest while his dark blue eyes fall on me.
Damn, why the hell did he decide to be a politician?
I mean, I get why some people do, they want to make a difference. But the governor sitting in front of me is a waste of genes and DNA to be cooped up in an office sucking faces with every shady-ass man or woman who wants something.
And a fucking tool as he perks a brow at me.
“You called this meeting because you had some things you wanted to go over with me?”
“I do,” I reply, steeling my body against his gaze. “I wanted to make sure we were perfectly clear on a few items if I decided to take this position.”
His expression doesn’t change as he continues to lock me down with his eyes. “Absolutely.”
"I'll still be running my business while orchestrating your events for the Democratic delegates. My cousin and I are still filling up our schedule for the remaining part of the year. Sometimes there are add-ons, and I don't want my business to halt while helping you with what you need done.”
“Wouldn’t that be a little hard?”
I fold my hands into my lap. “I’m very good at what I do, Mr. Lockwood.”
“So I’ve heard,” he drawls, sounding unimpressed. “Anything else?”
“My personal life remains my own, I won’t be told what to do or—”
“That’s where I’m going to have to stop you, Miss Shelton,” he intercedes, leaning forward. “I’m running for president of the greatest nation in the world, I can’t have you making headlines while being linked to me. Whether you’re a huge partier or like doing a line of cocaine in your free time, it won’t be something I’ll concede to.”
Cocaine?
My lips part at his bluntness while my temper begins to simmer at his words. “My extracurricular activities will, in no way, harm your election, Mr. Lockwood.”
One of his brows slowly starts to rise. “And what are these activities that you take part in, Miss Shelton?”
Threesomes at bars with random men.
Smoking weed to calm my nerves.
Dancing in random bars to erase the day.
“Reading,” I deadpan.
“Reading?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“No offense, Miss Shelton, but you don’t look like a bookworm.”
“No offense, Mr. Lockwood, but you don’t know me." His lips curl into a half-ass smirk, letting me know that I'm not in on one of his little secrets, but as quickly as it appears, it fades.
He's probably already done a background check on me, further proving my point that he's meticulous and probably a pain in the ass.
“Fair enough,” he alludes. “But whatever hobbies you have, they will need to be discussed with me. I already have enough on my plate, I can’t have you as a liability.”
“I’d only be your event planner,” I retort. “I’m not involved with you in any sort of—”
“Anyone within my party is involved with me.” His blues narrow in on me, obviously exasperated at me for having my own requests. I’m highly doubtful that the governor has anyone giving him demands.
"Mr. Lockwood," I begin slowly. "I've worked extremely hard to get where I currently am now; obviously you know that."
He crooks his neck to the side and averts his attention. “I don’t know much about you, my assistant insists I hire you on.”
And you couldn’t hide how much you don’t want to.
“Doesn’t sound like you’re sold on me,” I chide easily.
He lifts his shoulder in half a shrug. “I don’t dally in parties. I have plenty of other things to work on.”
“Such as?”
Fuck.
Fuckity. Fuck.
The words escape before my intelligence tells them not to. Now I know why Marty used to tease me about wanting to buy me a muzzle.
Could’ve used it right now.
He sizes me up in my chair, thinking I’m either a lunatic or I’m the dumbest thing that has walked into his office. I’ll vote on the latter because my mouth certainly has a bias against him.
Politicians and I obviously don’t seem to vibe very well. Not only did I date then get engaged to one but, when working in close quarters, they tend to get a little vocal on “who they are” and “what they need to accomplish” to help get them what they want.
That's why I preferred to work with their wives or gay husbands. They were lighter to speak to, and they actually give two shits that you know where to find their off-the-wall trinkets and wines for their social gatherings.
“What is it you think I do all day, Miss Shelton?” he finally queries. “I’m genuinely curious to know.”
Good job, Reagan.
“No clue,” I deadpan.
Wade fixes me with a I-don’t-believe-you look before steepling his fingers together. “I doubt that very much, Miss Shelton. Everyone has a first impression or thought about someone.”
I smirk, my petty side begging to come out and play with the big bad wolf of politics. Gossip blogs have publicized that Governor Lockwood was a man out for blood. A man who would and could slowly skin alive his competition as he did in his prior election for his current position.
Word on the street, or in the blog I read rather, was that an anonymous letter showed up at the Ridgemont Police station convicting the former governor, Leon Griffin, of owning a meth lab in Sterling Hills. The blog wasn't able to get the full report, but Leon Griffin didn't serve his time as the new governor but instead in jail for over eight years.
Gossip is that Mr. Shoddy Ass Wade Lockwood was behind that blast.
"How honest would you like me to be, Mr. Lockwood?" He gestures with his hand for me to continue, daring me with his eyes. "You probably kiss more ass than you care to admit to on a daily basis. I mean, I get it—" I shrug. "—your plan is to win votes, profit off people who hold power that can help sway others in your direction. You look like a man who hates groveling, but you know it's the name of the game, so you suck it up and deal with it."
He lifts his chin, keeping the somber expression painted on his face.
I insulted him under the guise of being candid. I called him out on his daily bullshit of what is a politician. But if he thinks he’s going to babysit me while doing my job, we won’t be working together.
I’m a professional—maybe not at this moment—but Wade Lockwood's holier than thou demeanor is a stress-filled ball that I'm not delving into. He wants to keep my "hobbies" monitored, and under lock and key, he's out of his ever-loving fucking mind.
He’s more than likely part of an underground VIP so he can get his dick sucked and not have it reported in the news the next morning. If I’m going to work on quite a few projects for him, his money doesn’t mean he buys my personal life, just my skill set.
“Looks like we’ll have to change your mind about that,” he finally states, as he slides a one of the folder on his desk towards me, using only his middle and index finger like it’s something dirty he doesn’t need to get on his hands or suit. “Inside is the full job description, please take it and read it overnight. I’d like an answer in the next forty-eight hours if you’d like to accept the job position.”
“You're offering me the job?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. I was truly waiting for him to tell me to get the hell out of his office.
Off a nod, he says, “If you agree to my terms, then yes.”
I glance down at the folder and back at him. “And what about mine?”
“Your personal life is your own as long as you don’t make headlines on social media or the news. As far as planning other events, as long as they don’t clash with mine, I’d like my agenda to be the priority of your work.”
I can work with that.
I reach for the folder and tuck it inside my purse. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you for your time today.” I begin to stand as does he, towering over my frame from across the desk.
Reaching out his hand, he says, “It was my pleasure, Miss Shelton.”
