Page 10 of Smooth Talk

“Mom wants me to escort her to the Townsend Gala.”

He pauses briefly before understanding hits, “and you’re taking Presley.”

“Exactly.” I’m not sure why I’m so irritated by this; typically, I don’t mind escorting her to these things. Typically, I’m excited about what we might get into afterward. Presley’s one of the few women I’ve had an ongoing arrangement with. She knows the score. I should be eagerly anticipating the no strings sex that accompanies an evening out with Ms. Lawrence, but instead I’m dreading it. It’s the second time today my gut’s telling me taking Pres is a mistake.

“She wouldn’t let you cancel on Presley without having someone else in mind.” I look at him, and I’m guessing he reads the ‘that’s where you come in, bro’ that I’m mentally sending him because my mouth is full. “Oh, hell no. She wouldn’t have suggested I take Pres; I mean she’s like family, but God, she drives me fuckin’ nuts with all the whining and name dropping. If it’s not her daddy the senator, it’s who designed her dress, her bag, her shoes. She’s a spoiled brat. There’s no way. Mom knows that.”

“You never know, you could have a good time with Presley.” I waggle my brows.

“Right; please stop with that look. I know exactly what you’re thinking, and I don’t do hand-me-downs.” His body shivers.

“What look?” I try to look confused, but I have a fairly good idea, he knows what I’m thinking, ‘cause I told him about it not 24 hours after it happened.

“You’re remembering when you took Presley to that mixer last Summer and that thing she did with her tongue in the back of the limo after.”

“Guilty.” I’m smirking, “Anyway, I told mom I wasn’t cancelling on her this close to the party and she suggested you take her.” I don’t clarify whether I mean Poppy or Presley because the words won’t come out of my mouth. And technically, mother had suggested both. O knows me better than anyone though, so it doesn’t take him long to figure it out. I might not be able to take Poppy, but I’ll be damned if she goes with someone else.

“Ahhh, okay. I see now.” He chuckles a little. “You can’t take her, but you don’t want me to either. You like this woman.” Now he’s smirking.

“I don’t know.” I think about her for a second and maybe it’s not just sleep deprivation that has that damn smile coming back to my face. “I guess I do. I only talked to her for a second, but there was something about her. I don’t know.” I sigh and finish my sandwich and grab a spoonful of O’s coleslaw.

“I got you chips, dude, they’re right next to your sandwich.”

“I know. I just needed a quick palate cleanser,” I smile at him. He’s always been weird about sharing food with other people, even family. I think it’s really the sharing of germs he doesn’t care for. He has this little OCD thing with saliva, dirty hands, coughs, sneezes, and a few other things. He carries hand sanitizer in his pocket and anti-bacterial wipes in his satchel. I know he saw someone about it a couple years ago, I think he’s still seeing her. He’s no longer wearing latex gloves everywhere, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a few pairs nearby (you know, should the need for them arise). His inclination to disinfect every surface before use must have gotten better over the years, because he is taking a bite of the slaw right now with the same spoon that was just in my mouth. Progress.

“So,” he says hesitantly, “you look like shit.” I can’t help but join him as he chuckles. “You sleep last night?” God, when am I going to get something past him? “Never,” he says on a smirk. Did I say that aloud? He’s laughing harder now, “I’m on point today son! It’s been a while G, but I still got it!” It feels good to let loose and laugh with him; God I miss my brother.

We live within a mile of each other, in the same neighborhood, but I rarely see him these days. He hasn’t joined my morning run in weeks now, and he missed the last family brunch. We’ve both been working so much; we just don’t have any time. Far removed from when we were kids. He was my best friend growing up. We even roomed together in college. We’ve never been far apart.

“I can’t wait for Jamaica. We’re going to have so much fun O. Mom made me promise to hide your devices for a few hours, but I’m tempted to steal them for the trip. You need a break. And I need some bro time.”

“Ugh, not you too. Mom has been on my case about a vacation for months.” He sighs, and I know I’m not going to love the next words that come out of his mouth. Our mind-meld works both ways.

“Please tell me you’re not cancelling; you’re in the wedding O.”

“No, I’m going. I just can’t go for the whole week. I’m gonna have to fly down Thursday night, Friday morning at the latest, and leave early Sunday.” He gives me a guilty look. “If I’m not here Wednesday, dad will have to go to the shareholders meeting alone and he hates them so much, I promised him once I got here, he wouldn’t have to do that again, ever.”

“O, dad will understand. It’s a special circumstance.”

“I know, I just want him to see that he can trust me to keep my word. Besides, I need to be here on Thursday morning when we break ground on the new site in Charleston. We’re doing a ribbon cutting ceremony and announcing our foundation the same day, and our first donation goes out to the hurricane victims. The PR team’s making a big deal out of it on social and local media. And you know the first day is always a shit show, I don’t want dad managing all that for me. Besides, the Charleston hotel’s my baby.” They’re all his babies, but I get what he means, the Charleston M Hotel and Villas was the first property he’d overseen from start to finish. And now he was overseeing it’s rebuild thanks to massive hurricane damage.

“Fine. But promise me that you won’t do any work while you’re there. Have some fun with us O.” He looks like he’s not sure if not working could be fun. “I promise if you’re miserable by the time we get back, I won’t mention the word vacation for a year.”

“Deal,” he smiles, but it quickly fades. “Now tell me why you’re not sleeping.”

I don’t know why I thought I could distract him and avoid this conversation. I tell him about my public image problems. He makes some suggestions, some eerily similar to Cannon’s. Apparently, the last 24 hours have been a much-needed lesson in tough love. Most of my image problems are no one’s fault but my own. I need to lower my damn profile a bit. I knew this already; I just needed someone I trust implicitly, to tell me. And I should go on the offense with my opponent. If Sanders is going to fight dirty, it’s time I hit back. I need to find the best platform. I’ve got some ideas. I can’t allow my opponent to come out of this election process smelling like roses, not when his bestie is trashing me in the paper every week.

“I gotta get going, Gunner’s probably chewed up every damn pillow in the house. I didn’t have time to take him for our usual run this morning; we only got in about a mile and a half.” I grimace thinking about my poor dog waiting at the door for me surrounded by fluff. “Then I get to spend the rest of the day going over depositions.”

I don’t need to work, and I really don’t have the time, but I can’t just leave my clients hanging. I’ve only got three more projects in the pipeline, then I can take a break and focus solely on the campaign and my plans for Willow Creek. I’ve been an attorney for a decade now, and it will be weird to not go into my office and work on cases. Change is hard, but I need to do this. Not just for me, but for my community. Sanders would be a disaster; I refuse to let that happen.

“Do me a favor and go to bed early tonight.”

“Yes mother. See you Sunday. No excuses.”

“Yes mother,” he mimics as he stands. We laugh, giving each other a full-on, back patting bro hug over the desk, and I walk out determined to get this bad press under control.

---