Page 64 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 29

Grayson

It’s the morning of the South Magazine interview and photo shoot. I must have told Poppy that I love what she did to my home a thousand times. Every time I walk through the house, I find something new. She’s transformed it, highlighting bits of my personality throughout. I’ve heard her talk about incorporating a person into their space, curating special pieces unique to each client, but I really didn’t understand until she did it for me.

She’d listened to what I wanted: professional, comfortable, functional, fun, sophisticated, dog friendly. And she’d delivered a space that was exactly all those things. She showcased pictures I’ve either never seen or forgotten existed. The day me and O graduated Harvard (together—the brilliant bastard took a year less than me to finish, and he double majored); Jake and I in high school standing in front of our football team (we were captains); a shot from behind of my parents holding hands on the farm porch (their 20th anniversary); my siblings with me—smiling in front of the cottage when we were young (my 12th birthday); her, me, Harp, and Gunner by the lake on the Fourth (My future).

She blew up pictures of important places from different periods in my life. The giant canvases frame the wall behind the couch. The new couch that Gunner’s having a virtual love affair with. Heck, I am too; it’s just so comfortable. I’m just surprised it’s not already covered in dog hair and drool. I should probably give my cleaning lady a raise. Poppy’s added small touches of her and Harp, leaving their mark. The pictures are obvious signs, but I love the small secret hints to the women in my life. A vase of poppies sits on the entry table next to a small bronze horse. Neither have failed to make me think of my girls every time I walk through the door.

There are a few things here of hers and Harps; items left in my drawers, my closet, my bathroom. I can count on one hand the amount of nights they’ve spent here, but I like having their things here. I’d like to have more of their things here and on a more permanent basis. I’m planning on popping the question soon. No, not that one. Although it has crossed my mind. I’m asking them to move in with me. Right after I win the election.

Which, I will win. First, I need to show the town how corrupt Sanders has become. He’s been abusing his power; using his seat on the council to further push through permits that will increase the family business’s and his personal wealth. He talks a good game about greenhouse gases and depleting ozone, but he’s a huge environmental offender. It’s a wonder he’s hidden it so well for so long. Shady. I’m convinced he established a friendship with Rusty solely for his benefit. It was convenient that Sanders had the largest press outlet in town in his corner, and, perhaps, in his pocket. I don’t know if he actually paid Rusty, but at this point; I wouldn’t put anything past either of them.

The man chosen to temporarily fill the position Rusty left vacant, Beckett Kendall, has already proven himself much less biased than his predecessor. Well, when it comes to coverage of candidates anyway. His friendship with Cannon was forged over cocktails at the Townsend Gala, then reaffirmed over the ‘Poppy Scandal’ (as they’re calling it now), and it’s only grown stronger. Apparently, Ruby’s older brother has a thing for blond haired, blue eyed, blue bloods. And Cannon has a thing for Greek Adonises. It’s a match made in buff bod heaven. He’ll be hosting the debate in town hall in a couple weeks, and I can’t help thanking God that Rusty lost his mind when he did.

Sometimes resentment and revenge can eat away at a man until there’s nothing left. I hope he can get some semblance of himself back, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a long hard road for Rusty. I don’t know that I can say I wish him well; he hurt Poppy. He got what he deserved, and he should be glad I didn’t hit him with a defamation suit, among other things. You know, like, my fist, in his face. Physical violence has never really been my style, but seeing the pain and fear in Poppy’s eyes, nearly drove me to it.

Speaking of breaking noses, we haven’t gotten any closer to the a-holes behind the missing money, which is what I’d like to do when we find whoever it was that did this. We don’t know who it is, how they did it or why. It’s frustrating to say the least. I thought bringing in a government agency and a hacker would be enough to come up with some answers, but it’s only brought more questions. The culprits have completely vanished without a trace, taking a huge sum of money from several members of the community.

My mind is flying around; I need to focus on the interview. They emailed the question list to Bev last week and Cannon I went over it several times. I’m confident I can formulate charming, intelligent answers. I could, at least, if Poppy would stop bending over like that in front of me. I know she’s not thinking about me right now. She’s worried about the room photographing well. But, it’s the fifth time she’s rearranged that stack of books, candle and golden pineapple on the coffee table with her delectable ass swaying in front of me. A man can only take so much.

“Come here, Sweet Cheeks.” I grab her waist, and she practically tumbles into my lap (Pop’s not the most graceful, but she more than makes up for it with her other attributes).

“Gray,” she gasps, turning so her hip rests directly over my cock. The light contact is enough to get him excited. I know she can feel it. She smiles and places her palm on my cheek. “I don’t want to wrinkle your clothes or mess up your face,” she says quietly. The make-up and wardrobe team got here early this morning. I can’t stand being fussed over like that, but I know it’ll make me photograph better under the harsh bright lighting. So, I deal with it. My public life is one of pure spectacle; Poppy is slowly growing accustomed to it. At least, I hope she is. If it came down to it, I’d give it all up for her. Buy an island, live off the land, with her and Harp and Gun. Maybe Uncle Sterling’s on to something there. Sounds like heaven.

“It’ll all be over soon enough. Just be your usual charming self. You’ll do great.” She sweeps my hair from my forehead as she kisses my cheek and whispers, “Harper’s staying with my parents tonight, so as soon as you’re done here, you’ll have me all to yourself. All. Night. Long.” She punctuates each word with an open-mouthed kiss along my jawline, then pulls back with a smirk, bending to stand.

I reach around her again, pulling her to me and grind my erection against her. “Evil woman. I’m set to interview in less than two minutes. Now all I can think about is sinking deep inside your tight, wet pussy.” If I have to wait in agonizing anticipation, so does she. These past few months, I’ve learned a lot of things, one of the most important being, dirty talk turns Poppy on. Like soaks her panties in seconds. She groans and grips my thighs, grinding herself back against me. Fuck, I am seconds from pushing her dress up and sliding inside her, interview be damned. I whisper in her ear, “on a scale of one to ten, how wet are your panties?”

“Zero,” she breathes. Then giggles.

Huh? Am I the only one turned on right now? She turns, kisses my cheek again and stands, getting away from me while I’m momentarily stunned by her admission.

“I’m not wearing any,” she winks and turns. Walking away from me with a sassy little sway to her hips. She tosses a ‘good luck,’ heavy on the sass, over her shoulder and leaves the room. I’m so damn hard I can’t think of anything right now but Poppy. Ripping that dress to shreds, bending her over the couch and… The magazine people choose that moment to make their appearance, and I’m completely taken off guard. I forgot we were doing this. That’s how far gone I am. I was two seconds from chasing after that little tease. She is so fucking getting it when I finish this damn interview.

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