Page 7 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 3

Grayson

Damn, she is gorgeous. Poppy Monroe, my brain sighs. Thankfully, I got my word vomit under control years ago or my mom would think I was some smitten puppy-dog-like creature. I can’t stop the smile ghosting my lips, but I can stop staring. Dragging my gaze from the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen to a pair of laughing green eyes, I realize I’ve been checking out my mom’s friend directly in front of her. Probably not my most boss move ever. But, fuck, I’m tired.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” my mother smiles, shaking her head at me.

“Please don’t start mom. It’s much too early.” I sigh, causing a slight crease to mar my mother’s forehead.

“Early? I was up before the sun. I’ve already had four of my five meetings today. Pray tell what my first-born has been doing all morning.” That twinkle in her eyes is back when she raises an eyebrow. “Or do I not want to know?”

I huff out a laugh, “early may have been the wrong word,” then sigh again, running a hand through my wayward hair. “I haven’t slept yet. I’ve been working on the WynnCorp deal for days now, and Cannon brought up some concerns late last night that need to be dealt with.”

Cannon Lawrence, my campaign manager, is concerned that the choices I make in my social life are tanking my election chances. Apparently, the adage of ‘all publicity is good publicity,’ doesn’t ring true in a small-town mayoral race. The local paper hasn’t been kind lately. Running pictures of me out to dinner or at events with different women calling me both a cheater and a ‘lothario.’ I didn’t even know that word was still in circulation. I also wasn’t aware that I had a girlfriend. Women are great, but a steady one isn’t a complication I’ve ever wanted in my life. Although, now life would seem a little less complicated if no women were involved.

A reporter got ahold of some pictures of me from a friend’s social media account that weren’t super flattering (I could do without all the fucking FB memory updates of spring break). The article called into question my sobriety and my fitness as a candidate. It’s absolute bullshit. I drink, but it’s rarely to excess. I like being in control of my bodily functions, thank you. It looks like I partied hard at Harvard and they’re implying I’ve kept up the lifestyle. Those pictures were taken over a decade ago. I was in a fraternity for Chrissake. I’d like anyone in the past ten years, to name one person they know that never drank in college. Good luck finding that gem. College students that don’t imbibe are like an endangered species. Rusty acts like he’s never committed any youthful indiscretions.

Rusty Dobbs, the editor in chief of the Willow Weekly, our local newspaper, that unfortunately, everyone reads, has had it out for me since I ‘stole his girlfriend’ the Summer after our freshman year in college. The guy can hold a hard-ass grudge for a long-ass time. Besides, it’s not like I dated her. It was one night, and she told me they had broken up. It doesn’t help that he’s shoved so far up Sanders’ ass it isn’t funny.

Sanders J. Montgomery III, yes, that is his real name, it’s his dad’s name and his grandfather’s name too. That’s right, a whole line of pompous dickwads. Anyway, Sanders is my opponent in the mayoral race. Whom I’m sure I could dig up some college-age photos of that were less than attractive too. I’m positive he’s behind this latest attack. It would be easy to smear him. Even Cannon, who’s been friends with Sanders since they were kids, thinks I should hit back. It’s all so petty though; I can’t seem to drag myself down to his level.

But I can’t go down that rabbit hole now, I have to make sure my mom doesn’t try to rope me into a luncheon with the ladies at the club or sign me up for a colon cancer triathlon I’m in no way prepared for. She knows my brain is weakest when it’s sleep-deprived, that my ADHD acts up and I get distracted easily, and it’s how she’s talked me into doing all the crazy shit I’ve done in the past that I typically wouldn’t do, all in the name of a good cause. Just because I haven’t slept, doesn’t mean she’ll have mercy on me. She sees the perfect moment and strikes. And the next thing you know, you’re at a bachelor auction at Whispering Pines Retirement Community singing ‘Karma Chameleon’ with your 87-year-old date who won’t stop pinching your cheeks, and I’m not talking about the ones on your face. Mase’s date was actually a 92-year-old man, with grabby hands and poor hearing and eyesight who thought he was a large girl with equally large assets. We still give him shit about it.

“Burning the candle at both ends? You’re almost as bad as your brother.”

“O? Nah, I take Sundays off at least,” I wink.

“Yes, Oliver. I gave all of you children such beautiful names. It hurts my heart that you refuse to use them.” She loves giving us hell about anything she can. It’s her way of checking on us. If we banter, we’re okay. Any other response, annoyance, agitation, apathy, and she knows exactly what is amiss. Mother’s intuition—she usually knows there’s something wrong before we do. I love her, but I wish she wouldn’t worry about us as much as she does. I have five siblings. We can take care of ourselves. We’re all adults now, well, with the exception of Mase. He’s kind of an overgrown toddler. She probably worries about him the most. Him or Asher. My other brother is somewhere in a desert fighting a war. He can’t tell us where he is or what he’s doing. Scratch that, I’m sure she worries more about Ash.

“He works too hard. You all rely on your brother too often and for too much. He needs a vacation.”

I chuckle, “Good one, mom; Oliver on vacation.” She gives me that mom glare and my laughter instantly dies in my throat. The least I can do is help her worry a little less about one of her offspring. “You know how O is, he’ll rest when he’s ready. He does it every few years; I’m sure he’s due soon. Besides, we’ll be in Jamaica next month for Randall’s wedding. He can get some R&R then.” Our friend and fellow frat brother, Randall Calhoun, is marrying a chick he met three months ago. Said it was love at first sight. I hope, for his sake, it was the sight of him and not his bank account that she fell for. Not that he isn’t a handsome guy (I’m confident enough in my manhood to say when a man is attractive), but he’s a multi-millionaire. In our circle, trustworthy people are hard to find.

“I hope you’re right. Because he certainly doesn’t listen to me. I’m worried he’ll bring his work with him, like he always does. Promise me you’ll hide his phone for at least a few hours?”

I laugh, “Sure thing mom, but you know when O wants to do something, he finds a way.” She nods, looking pensive. I feel it coming. My mother, the queen of transition, is about to hit me with an unpleasant topic in three. Two. One.

“Do you have a date for the gala? If not, I could make a recommendation.” The Townsend Gala: my family has held it every year in honor of my late grandfather, Robert Townsend, her father and Mimi’s husband, who died of heart disease before he met any of his grandchildren. I’m about to give an answer I know she’ll find displeasing, but what’s done is done.

“I’m going with Presley.” I wait, knowing a verbal eye roll is coming.

“Oh, Grayson,” she sighs. “I have stood by and said nothing for years, but I can no longer stay silent. Why would you waste time on someone you’re not at all interested in? Presley’s practically family, but I know you don’t care for her.” I hold up my hand to interrupt. I do care for Presley, but before I can clarify, she beats me to it, “not in the way that matters. You’re just getting her hopes up that one morning you’ll wake up and be head over heels for her. And I know you darling; you have good intentions, but you’ll never be able to give that girl what she wants. You’re both playing a game you can’t win, and I’d hate to see your father’s relationship with Nick suffer in any way because of their children’s mistakes.”

Senator Nicolas Lawrence and my father have known each other since they were boys. He’s our god father; heck, my brother Mason is named after him. It’s one of the reasons I trusted his son with managing my campaign (the other being that Cannon is a brilliant political advisor). He’s is my brother Oliver’s age, and Presley is the same age as my sister Lillian. Our families have holidayed in the Hamptons together for years. It would be extremely awkward if everyone found out about my arrangement with Presley. Yeah, we’ve slept together, and we attend events together, but we’re not dating. We’ve never dated. We see each other a few times a year, occasionally text, but we haven’t hooked up in months.

“I wouldn’t call it a complete waste of time,” I say, and she gives me a look that says she knows me all too well. “It’s complicated mom,” I sigh. I’d never really looked at it from her point of view before. I thought it was a convenient relationship for the both of us, but what if Presley wants more? It has the potential to blow up in my face and, in turn, hurt my father, which is the last thing I want. Maybe I should redraw the lines of our friendship; more clearly this time so they won’t have the chance to blur.

“We’re friends and we always go to these events together if we’re not currently seeing anyone else. It just makes it easier.” The singles in our circle have been known to get a little grabby. Hell, sometimes the married people too. After a few glasses of champagne, hands start to wander. Ninety percent of the time it’s unwanted and uncomfortable.

“Easier for you to stay single. A good woman will take one look at Presley hanging on your arm and run. It could very well ruin your happily ever after.” A good woman, huh, wonder what that looks like.

I huff out a laugh, “I’m 35 years old mom, I still have plenty of time to find ‘the one.’ I don’t know where I’d find the time in my schedule for a significant other, but if the right woman magically comes along, due to my mother’s insistence, Presley won’t decide my fate. I’m pretty eloquent when I have to be, you know.”

She no longer looks charmed, and my harsh reproof makes me feel guilty. “If it will make you feel better, I won’t attend any more events with Presley after this one.” What in the hell? I’m having a future wife conversation with my mother while nixing all future sex I could have with Presley in the same breath, all because I’m tired. I sigh heavily. Caroline Maxwell strikes again.

“I have to meet O for an in-office lunch in fifteen. I’m sorry, but I have to cut this short.” I stop and think for a second. A smile stretches across my face, and I shake my head. My mother is quite devious today. “Why did you invite me to lunch if you were already meeting with someone else?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure how long my meeting with Poppy would last. My first three interviewees lasted less than ten minutes. I was here, I thought you’d like to have a meal with your mother and go over your speech for the gala.” She smiles coyly. “Why are you meeting me here, if you’re having lunch with your brother?”

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