Page 123 of Bona Fide

He nods to my brush. “Need any help painting?”

“Wouldn’t want to mess up your suit.”

“Ah, that’s true.” He points an index finger at me. “You know my ex-fiancée used to live here.”

I try to keep my face blank. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, you know her...Reagan Shelton.” My stomach twists at the sound of her name out loud.

What the fuck this dickhead is getting at, I have no idea, but it’s going to end up with him disappearing if he doesn’t get the hell away from me.

“I do know Miss Shelton,” I reply. “She worked with me on my fundraisers.”

“Moved to New York,” he continues. “Good girl.” I don’t respond, just continue staring at him to make whatever point it is he came here for so he can fuck off.

He shifts his weight to his other foot and adjusts his glasses that rest on his nose.

I don’t know what she saw in him.

Why she let him fuck her when clearly he’s a fucking idiot. How she believed marrying him would do something for her. I can clearly say that people like Grant and Demi won’t make life worth living. There is no gold at the end of the rainbow or anything to write home about.

“Should’ve kept her,” he states. “She was…” He stops his next words, letting me fill them in with my colorful imagination.

Thing is, I don’t need his comments to make my insight or imagination make a play of what he’s done.

I’ve fucking seen it.

I know it. I’m fully aware of how much of a dream it is to live in Reagan’s world, how sweet she tastes, how her violet eyes look when she’s about to come in a cloud of ecstasy that I made for her.

Yeah, I’m fully informed.

“If you’re in need of a boy talk about ex-lovers, Hardison,” I surmise. “I’m not the homie kinda guy.”

Grant chuckles. “My bad, Mr. President. You have more important things to deal with besides pussy—you are happily married, after all.”

“Good seeing you,” I dismiss, needing to get the hell out of here. “Feel free to pick up a paintbrush over there—” I point at a house across the street and away from me. “—and make one of the houses in your town look nice.”

Grant glances down at his maroon suit. “Didn’t come prepared.”

“Did you think we were going to stare at the houses and they were going to magically paint themselves, Senator?” His brows furrow.

Yes, Hardison, I’m still the same motherfucking asshole you heard about before I won this gig.

“Thought I’d leave it to the man who bought himself into our hearts,” he retorts.

My lips curl into a smile. “Something you had to dip out of if I remember correctly.”

That’s when I see his face transform. A line appears between his brows, his face turns a shade of pink, and his hands turn into fists at his sides.

“Personal reasons,” he chides with a seriousness to his tone.

I nod. “Of course. Personal reasons.” I stride in his direction to get off this porch and the hell away from this assclown. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to wrap this up and do an interview. Time’s limited.”

“Absolutely, Mr. President.” I want to purposely bump into his shoulder because that’s what us guys do when we can’t lay into someone’s face, but I do what my role tells me to do and take the higher road.

I hit the edge of the steps heading down to the sidewalk, but the asshole in me isn’t done yet.

“And Senator…” He pivots on his heels to face me. “Next time you want to make a change, come prepared. I’m not going to approve a project you’re not willing to roll your sleeves up and do yourself.”

His jaw tightens, but he bows his head before I leave him there to stare daggers at the back of my skull.

I take that back.

I’ll never approve his shit because of the active role he played with the woman who was never supposed to be touched by anyone other than myself.

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