Page 85 of Catfish

“My personal life remains my own, I won’t be told what to do or—”

“That’s where I’m going to have to stop you, Miss Shelton,” he intercedes, leaning forward. “I’m running for president of the greatest nation in the world, I can’t have you making headlines while being linked to me. Whether you’re a huge partier or like doing a line of cocaine in your free time, it won’t be something I’ll concede to.”

Cocaine?

My lips part at his bluntness while my temper begins to simmer at his words. “My extracurricular activities will, in no way, harm your election, Mr. Lockwood.”

One of his brows slowly starts to rise. “And what are these activities that you take part in, Miss Shelton?”

Threesomes at bars with random men.

Smoking weed to calm my nerves.

Dancing in random bars to erase the day.

“Reading,” I deadpan.

“Reading?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“No offense, Miss Shelton, but you don’t look like a bookworm.”

“No offense, Mr. Lockwood, but you don’t know me." His lips curl into a half-ass smirk, letting me know that I'm not in on one of his little secrets, but as quickly as it appears, it fades.

He's probably already done a background check on me, further proving my point that he's meticulous and probably a pain in the ass.

“Fair enough,” he alludes. “But whatever hobbies you have, they will need to be discussed with me. I already have enough on my plate, I can’t have you as a liability.”

“I’d only be your event planner,” I retort. “I’m not involved with you in any sort of—”

“Anyone within my party is involved with me.” His blues narrow in on me, obviously exasperated at me for having my own requests. I’m highly doubtful that the governor has anyone giving him demands.

"Mr. Lockwood," I begin slowly. "I've worked extremely hard to get where I currently am now; obviously you know that."

He crooks his neck to the side and averts his attention. “I don’t know much about you, my assistant insists I hire you on.”

And you couldn’t hide how much you don’t want to.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re sold on me,” I chide easily.

He lifts his shoulder in half a shrug. “I don’t dally in parties. I have plenty of other things to work on.”

“Such as?”

Fuck.

Fuckity. Fuck.

The words escape before my intelligence tells them not to. Now I know why Marty used to tease me about wanting to buy me a muzzle.

Could’ve used it right now.

He sizes me up in my chair, thinking I’m either a lunatic or I’m the dumbest thing that has walked into his office. I’ll vote on the latter because my mouth certainly has a bias against him.

Politicians and I obviously don’t seem to vibe very well. Not only did I date then get engaged to one but, when working in close quarters, they tend to get a little vocal on “who they are” and “what they need to accomplish” to help get them what they want.

That's why I preferred to work with their wives or gay husbands. They were lighter to speak to, and they actually give two shits that you know where to find their off-the-wall trinkets and wines for their social gatherings.

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