Sway (Landry Family #1) (3 page)

I give him a look that says all the things my genteel Southern upbringing forbids me to say out loud to my father.

His jaw tenses as he searches my face. “You gotta get your head straight, wrapped around the opportunity in front of you. You can't mess this up now, son. Not when we're this close."

I sigh and scan the room, feeling the incredible weight of all eyes on me. Under normal circumstances, being the center of attention is something I enjoy. It does an ego well to know every female wants you and every male wants to be you. I can’t deny that. But this is not what that is. Not entirely. Half the people in here are deciding what they can get out of me, what favors I can offer them if I get elected and they back me.

Graham catches my eye from across the room. We exchange a look, one that we've exchanged a number of times over our lives.

It was Graham and I when we were younger, walking into our father's office after getting into a skirmish at school. It was the two of us when we came home late and our parents were waiting in the living room as we walked in, half lit. It was the two of us when we wrecked Dad's new Corvette when I was nineteen and Graham seventeen, and had to break the news to the old man that his ‘Vette was wrapped around a tree on the outside of town. Out of all my siblings, it’s Graham that I can count on and, right now, I’m counting on him to get me out of this conversation with our father.

"Hey," I say, exhaling sharply and nodding towards the corner, "I need to talk to Graham for a minute."

"Go ahead. And son, I'm proud of you." He beams with satisfaction. His face, wrinkled from years of politics, running Landry Holdings, and raising six kids, is split into a grin. "So damn proud."

I pat him on the shoulder and turn away.

Grinning at a couple of women, I try to remember if I should know them from somewhere. The one in the white dress looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. Ignoring the look in their eyes that tells me I could have them both, at the same time, if I prefer, I make my way to my brother.

Graham is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking serious and put together like the Vice President of Landry Holdings should.

"I think it's going well," Graham says as I approach, rocking back on his heels. "As long as you get Monroe on board, I'm pretty sure you're golden."

"I'll get Monroe on board, but I'm probably going to have to fuck Daphne again to make sure," I laugh.

"Oh, I bet it's so hard to stick your cock in that. Damn, brother, I almost feel bad for you."

I shrug, the grin on my face staying put, feeling my shoulders relax for the first time in hours. "I do what must be done for the greater good."

"Such a fool," he says, but I know he's kidding. "Ford sent me an email today. He said he's trying to come home around the election. It can't hurt to have a Landry in uniform standing next to you. Between him and Lincoln, you'll look like an All-American."

"Lincoln
was
an All-American," I point out about our brother that is currently the center fielder for the Tennessee Arrows.

"True."

"Speaking of our siblings, did you hear from Sienna?" She’s the family wild card, eschewing all things political and Landry-centered for a life as an artist and fashion designer.

Sienna and Camilla are identical twins, but couldn’t be any more different. Camilla is always around, meddling in our business, lending a hand to events or charities when needed. Sienna is usually jet-setting around the world and too busy to check in.

"No. Dad called her earlier and chewed her ass for not being here, I think. Lincoln got a pass because he's training and Ford's excused because he's in the Middle East. But you know Dad doesn’t think painting and designing dresses are really work."

"He could’ve cut her some slack."

I’m cut short by Graham’s smirk. His eyes slide right past me and light up.

"Would either of you like a glass of champagne?" a female voice nearly whispers behind me.

"I'm good," Graham mutters, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "How about you, Barrett?"

I ignore him and let my eyes feast on the curves of the woman in front of me. Her black pants are belted at the waist, her white shirt hugging the bends of her body. She's not overly thin or overly heavy, just a damn-near perfect vision of what a woman should look like.

She has creamy skin and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She tucks a strand of her straw-colored hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. I think she's going to laugh, but she doesn't. Instead, a faint smile ghosts her full lips and she lifts her chin like she has a secret she won’t tell.

Her gaze remains on Graham, almost like she's afraid to look my way. Finally, she turns to me, and when she does, a slight rise in her chest is noticeable as she sucks in a shaky breath.

I grin.

Her eyes are a deep blue. The color is stormy, swirling, moving like a shield between us.

"Would you, sir?" she asks, taking a half a step backwards.

"Would I what?" I press, enjoying the way her cheeks turn pink in the most real way. She’s not reacting to me as part of a calculated plan or trying to endear herself to me for a gain in some way. It’s an experience I haven’t had for a long time and I want to live in it a moment longer.

"Would you like a drink?"

The words topple out of her lips, like she wants to say them and scoot away.

I take a step towards her, watching her beautiful eyes widen. This girl is naturally gorgeous, her features not hidden by a thick layer of make-up. "That depends on what you're offering."

I shouldn't be toying with her, but I can't help it. I want to keep her talking, to watch her reactions.

She wants to get away from me, I can feel it, and I can't help but wonder why. Most women clamor over each other, ready to knife anyone they need to in order to get to me, but this one is trying to run.

"I don't have much to offer," she says, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "Unless you like champagne."

"I like all sorts of things." I keep my gaze heavy against hers, not allowing her to look away. She fidgets with her tray and swallows hard, but never takes her eyes off mine like she’s too defiant to look away. The longer our gazes match, the hotter my body becomes.

She licks her bottom lip slowly, her heated gaze boring into mine. "Is that so?"

Graham chuckles beside me and I watch her jump, like she forgot he was there. She clears her throat and glances around the room.

She turns back to us again, this time a practiced smile on her face. The easy grin and whispery laugh are both gone. This is the reaction I'm used to seeing on everyone, the look they think I want to see. I hate it on her.

"Gentlemen . . .” With a nod, she walks away as fast as she can. She doesn't look back, but I watch her until she's out of sight.

"You're the fucking mayor," Graham snickers, loosening his green silk tie.

"I bet she'd like to be fucking the mayor." I raise my eyebrows, and my brother laughs louder.

"Do you have any class whatsoever?"

"What? I like the look of her."

"Which ones do you not like the look of?"

"I’ll let you know when I find one.”

He quirks a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be playing the role of the good candidate, being serious about all the things that matter?”

“Now, Graham,” I chide teasingly, “are you saying her vote is less important than anyone else’s?”

He shakes his head and pulls out his ringing phone. “You should be worried about her vote, not the way your balls sound bouncing off her ass. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

I laugh as he exits through a side door and leaves me standing alone. Looking around the bustling room, I search for the blonde beauty.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without looking that it's Daphne, offering herself up again for the night. She may even dip as far as playing the lonely princess card. I don't even bother looking, just stick my hand in my pocket and push buttons on the side until I'm sure it's off. She'll keep calling, but I won’t be answering. On a good day she’s borderline clingy after a fuck. When she’s drunk, it’s only worse.

I scan the room again, but only see the usual faces. Paulina, a friend of my mother's that I've slept with a handful of times, gives me a blatant smile. I pretend like I don't see her. All I want to see is the waitress that wants nothing to do with me. And she's nowhere to be seen.

Alison

THE CRYSTAL CLINKS TOGETHER AS
I drop the tray on the nearest surface. Gripping the edge of the table, my hands are shaking and I try to calm the thundering of my heart, ignoring the champagne that drips onto the floor.

I squeeze my eyes shut. It was like he was stripping me naked in front of everyone in the room. Like he was dissecting everything I was thinking, every risqué thought running through my mind. The way his clear green eyes held me like a bailiff, giving me no option to look away. And all of it done in such an unapologetic fashion that I had to leave before I made a total fool of myself.

The Mayor of Savannah is head-over-heels more intense in person than even I thought he'd be—and I had high expectations. Watching him give a speech on television or interact in news clips, he exudes this crazy mix of power and sexiness. But Barrett Landry in person? It's almost enough to make you high.

I grab a towel and wipe up the champagne, trying to catch my breath. My head is spinning, my blood pumping so wildly I feel like I might pass out.

I've got to get a grip.

Righting the overturned flutes, my breathing finally evens out.

His hooded eyes weren't darkened for me. They were to gain a vote or a fifteen-minute romp in the limo waiting out front. I know how these things work. None of that was for me.

Not for me.

Not. For. Me.

A hip bumps mine and I look up into the animated face of Lola. "I saw you!"

"Saw me what?"

"Getting all flirty with the mayor!"

"I was so not getting all flirty with the mayor,” I groan.

"I'm not blind, babe. But I
am
disappointed. I was waiting for the big moment! I was waiting for you to fall into him, for your hand to go to the side of his face . . .” She closes her eyes and sighs. "You missed an opportunity."

"I missed an opportunity to embarrass myself. Poor me." I roll my eyes and pick up another tray, this time a platter filled with canapés.

"For someone so fun, you're really not very fun when it counts," she huffs.

"What's Mr. Pickner say?
We aren't here to have fun,
” I intone. “I have work to do, Lo." I ignore her protests and head out of the kitchen. As soon as I step foot back into the Savannah Room, my elbow is snatched. I whip to the side to see Mr. Pickner guiding me off to the side.

The other servers flurry past us, giving me the side-eye. I'm not sure what I've done to be hauled off like this.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask, keeping my voice level.

"Have you forgotten the rules around here, Alison?"

"No, sir."

He tsks his tongue and releases my elbow. "I see and hear everything."

"Mr. Pickner, I have no idea what you're referring to, but I do have a tray that needs to be passed around the room. So if you'll excuse me . . .” I turn to leave, but his voice lets me know he's not done.

"It would serve you well to remember the contract you signed. You are to serve the guests and not engage them in conversation. You, Ms. Baker, are not a guest. You're not getting paid to entertain them. You're here to pass around appetizers, not yourself."

I whip around to face him head-on, my jaw slack. "Excuse me?"

"These people have nothing to say to you. If I catch you doing anything more than offering an appetizer, you'll be fired on the spot. Do you understand me?"

I open my mouth to respond, but my mouth feels lined with cotton. I want to tell him to take this plate of overly-priced smoked appetizers and shove them straight up his ass, but I'm not given the chance.

Before I can do anything, the energy in the space shifts. Mr. Pickner notices too, because he immediately takes a step away from me. Everything in the room seems to be drowned out, the air once filled with laughter and scooting chairs is now saturated with the scent of expensive spice.

My eyes flitter to my right to see Barrett Landry. His deep blue tie has been loosened a bit, his cufflinks gone, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks elegant in his custom-fit suit. I’ve never seen a man look this put together and pull it off like he woke up this way.

He smiles and I immediately relax, my body instinctively responding to him. He holds my gaze for a long second, both stealing my breath and giving me oxygen at the same time, before a coolness falls over his face as he turns to my boss.

Mr. Pickner puts on his game face, the one he doesn't use with his employees, and outstretches a hand. His eyes are a bit wide, like he's as star-struck as the rest of us.

"Mr. Mayor! I do hope you're enjoying yourself. It's been an honor to cater this event for your campaign."

Barrett shakes his hand firmly, and I can see the muscles flex in his forearm. It's pure arm porn as I watch the veins pop and his tanned skin tighten.