Page 23 of Smooth Talk

“We bring each other as dates to functions like these. We end up spending most of our time apart, but, when necessary, it makes for an easy rescue.”

“Rescue?” Great. Now I’m just repeating everything he says in question form. Like a parrot. Just call me Polly.

He sighs, “Unfortunately, most of the women I meet don’t have the purest intentions. Presley and I had a mutual agreement— we kind of saved each other from unwanted advances.” He sighs again, taking in my confused expression. “We’re reasonably attractive people and grew up in a realm where money, fame and politics rule. It’s hard to trust that people want something from us besides what our wealth or connections can bring. Our families garner a lot of attention from the media and everyone’s after their fifteen minutes; we’re easy targets. If we don’t officially comment on our personal lives, it keeps people guessing. Most of the time, it works to our benefit. Keeps the wrong sort of people at a distance,” he pauses. Gaging the distaste written on my features.

People are quite despicable sometimes. I don’t blame him for the ruse, it just stinks that he has to go to such lengths in the first place. “I’ve found it’s easier to decline unwanted advances when we arrive together; it also makes for good speculation in the society column. Except, it would appear we’ve done a less than stellar job at keeping our private life out of the public eye as of late.” He takes in my thoughtful expression before adding, “Presley and I don’t have a romantic relationship. Our families have been friends for years, it’s more…”

“Convenient,” I cut in, and he smiles like I took the words right out of his mouth. This new information isn’t leaving a good taste in my mouth. My Fifi is extremely happy he’s not engaged, but my brain is throwing up a huge caution flag. How fake is their relationship? It would seem they’ve had this arrangement going for years. Is it just convenience? Or is it more? Surely, he hasn’t completely closed himself off from anything real in favor of comfort. Some good publicity and a few one-night stands. Well, more than a few, if you can believe the local paper. Not exactly the type of man I pictured jumping back into the dating pool with. And now I’m wondering if his fake girlfriend was just doing her job. Rescuing him. From me. Hence her territorial behavior earlier. It seemed like more than that though. I need him to spell it out. “So, you’re not actually dating; it’s just a front.”

He winks, “My mother said you were smart, seems she’s right, as usual.”

“She seems awfully possessive of someone she’s not romantically involved with.” He looks confused, and I realize my mistake. I smile, “Presley, not your mother.”

“Like a dog with a bone. You sure you’re a designer and not a reporter?” I’ve had it with men hiding the truth from me; Reed was enough to fill my quota. For life. I just met Grayson and want to give him a chance. Not compare him to my ex. He’s been honest so far. And although I don’t want to be rude and press him on an uncomfortable subject, I’d also like him to stop evading my question. My patience pays off.

He sighs, “we had a ‘more-than-platonic’ relationship once upon a time, but it’s been over for months now. Believe me Poppy; we are just friends.”

I nod. While I’m not happy that their fake relationship blurred lines, I’m also not here to condemn him for his past; we all have one. And, hello. My name sounds sinful rolling off his tongue. It briefly distracts me, sending my mind straight back to the gutter. How would he say my name in bed? Breathy? Growly? I bet he’s a growler. I shake the thought off. I don’t even know if I’m interested in dating him. I need to stop thinking about him in the sack.

“I’m assuming she’s not all bad then, if you’ve managed to remain friends. I didn’t get the warmest vibes.”

“Presley’s usually not like that.” He pauses, giving it some thought. “She just had too much to drink on an empty stomach. We typically have a good-natured buffering. I apologize if she offended you.”

“It’s okay. She was just playing her part.” I laugh off the awkwardness of the situation. Now I want to mess with him a bit; lighten the situation. “It’s a hard life when you’re so handsome you need to walk around with your own personal buffer.”

He smiles at my joke, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “If it were just about my looks, I wouldn’t use one. Like I said earlier, more often than not, the women I meet aren’t interested in me. My family name, my bank account, my notoriety, my bed.” His voice gets slightly lower when he says that last part, and it effectually floods my thong; simultaneously, sending stabs of guilt into my gut. I just had to stop myself from thinking about sexy times with the man.

“They think of me as a trophy, but I’m not just a pretty face or a piece of meat. I also have an amazing sense of humor.” I laugh appropriately, and he finishes with, “I try hard to be a good person. I love my family. I’m passionate about my community. I’m one hell of an attorney, and, once elected, I’ll be one hell of a mayor. The public thinks they own a piece of us or know who we are based on the headlines. I’m not a commodity; I’m a person. And for once, I’m enjoying a conversation that isn’t completely one sided, with someone exceptionally beautiful, who’s also not kissing my ass. So, thank you, Poppy.”

I smile accordingly, most of my guilt fading. He thinks I’m beautiful. Same, mister. “Outside of my family, it’s difficult finding people we can trust. I didn’t choose this life, and, believe me, for all my rambling criticisms, I do realize how blessed I am. Rather than become cynical or bitter about some of the negative aspects, I’ve learned to cope the best way I know how.” Suddenly, his charmed life doesn’t sound like all it’s cracked up to be. I never thought about all the pretense that goes along with constantly being in the public eye. It must be exhausting. I’ve been in the spotlight before and I know how harsh it can be. How lonely it is; good thing he has his family to lean on.

“How do you do that?” I’d like to know.

“I keep my circle small. Thankfully, I’ve learned to read people. I’ve made mistakes. I’m not perfect. But I think I know when to let someone in. There’s a lot of pressure that goes along with being a Maxwell. Especially from locals. Everyone expects certain things from us. Knowing there are people I can trust, lifts that weight a little. Luckily, I’m a born people pleaser with an excess of charm.”

I smile up at him. He’s not wrong. His directness is my undoing, and I can’t get enough of his smooth deep voice. It’s like he’s decided to let me into his circle. At least in the outer ring. I have a feeling his inner circle is ridiculously small. Maybe I was too quick earlier in my appraisal of this man. I’ve clearly misjudged him. He comes off as a cocky, handsome playboy, but there’s more to him than that. A genuineness I didn’t see before.

I was guilty of being just like all those women who’ve seen what they wanted to see. Guilty of labeling him; putting him in a box. A very sexy box. But now he’s shown me a part of him I have a feeling few people get to see. Like he let me see behind the mask he wears for everyone else, and I’m intrigued. I’m also having trouble remembering why I was so turned off earlier. His unexpected honesty is super sexy and fractionally dulls his intimidation factor. Enough that every bone in my body is interested in getting closer to him, getting to know him better. “Real smooth talker, aren’t you?” He grins. I swoon. “I wasn’t expecting all that complexity from the ‘South’s Most Eligible Bachelor.’

He smiles turns crooked, popping that delectable dimple, effectively making him irresistible. “Ahh, so you have read up on me.”

“I’ve skimmed some articles,” I say, not bothering to stop the smile that seems an automatic reaction to his. “It would appear you were right in your earlier estimation though. Your buffer act is going awry.”

He looks uneasy with the return to our earlier conversation, and I hate that my words made that dimple disappear. It seems that he really doesn’t love all the press coverage. Yet he’s choosing a profession that will keep him in the public eye. Is it all an act? Or does he genuinely feel called to public service, despite the drawbacks? In the blink of an eye, the dark clouds move away, and he effortlessly brings us back to Flirtlandia. “Technically, I tied with Oliver for the title this year,” he winks. I huff out a laugh. It’s too easy to like him, and I’m being drawn in. “It hardly seems fair that he doesn’t get the same amount press coverage I do.”

“Well, he was the focus in that Maxwell Holdings article last week in the business section of the Willow Weekly. And you got a small mention for preserving WynnCorp’s patent rights, securing hundreds of jobs at their factory, this week.” His smile makes me weak in the knees.

“It seems you have an unfair advantage Ms. Monroe. You know all about my exploits, and I know very little of yours.”

The way he says ‘exploits,’ makes me think he means personal, not business. Now it’s my turn to feel the heat of discomfort. Most people know all about my ex and how my marriage to him ended, but it seems that I’ll have to do a brief summation for Grayson now. He’s been straightforward with me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.

I clear my throat, “I moved to New York for college when I was 18 and met Reed a few months later. We fell in love, got married, had a baby. Our relationship slowly deteriorated over the years. After trying everything I could think of to save it, I filed for divorce. The same day it was finalized, I found out that he’d stolen millions from our friends and neighbors and fled the country.”

If he’s shocked, he hides it well. He just looks at me intently; waiting for me to finish, like he’s not interested in peppering me with ten thousand questions about the case. And I, for one, am thankful for my highly unusual audience, especially considering he’s an attorney.

“Now I’m a 29-year-old, divorced, single mom focusing on my career.” I usually find sharing that story difficult but telling him lifts a weight I didn’t realize was there. He just listened. Without judging or prying. It’s freeing. He’s not what I expected. My attraction to him is growing by the second.

“My mother tells me you’re transforming Rose Cottage. I believe brilliant is the word she’s used to describe your talent on several occasions now.” Not a terrible segue, but I’m thankful for the subject change. I grin as I absorb the praise. “I know how she gets when she has a project. She isn’t commandeering all of your time, is she?”

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