Page 45 of Resisting Temptation

“When I was having lunch with him today, it felt like he was threatening me. He kept saying you winning was more important than he could even tell me, but you had to win. Like he had a lot riding on it. What was that?”

He looks me over, thinking on it. “Maybe it’s the significant amount of money he just invested in me?”

“Why did he do that?” I search Beckett’s face for answers. I just don’t get it but maybe this is something he’s done before.

“It seems safe to assume that he doesn’t have a liking for Noah. So, he wants me in,” Beckett says like it’s simple.

I understand what he’s saying. There’s some history with Noah I don’t understand, but I feel like there is more to it as well. He looked agitated, almost desperate for me to tell him that I would help make sure Beckett was the winner. Obviously, that’s just insane, I can’t make that happen. It’s for the town to decide. “Come on, Beckett, I know you think this is odd as well. Something fishy is going on here. And I want to know what it is.”

He thinks on it for a second. And I know he agrees with me. “Let me have a look into it, see if Hamilton can dig up anything useful.”

“Thank you.”

“And Paisley, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here for you, okay? I know you’re feeling distanced from your social group because they’re all camp Noah.”

I nod, wondering why he’s being so nice to me. He’s the last person I expected to find friendship in. But we’re so similar in a lot of ways, I guess it makes sense. I wonder what Noah would make of it. Then just as quickly, I scrap that thought. It shouldn’t matter what Noah thinks.

Chapter 26

Noah

Margo arrived bright and early this morning to go over our campaign tactics for the week. She believes Beckett is going to play dirty, and she’s just waiting for him to make his first move. But I think he’s already doing it. I watched him drop Paisley home last night. They sat in his car and talked for a good half-hour before she got out. He’s winning her over with his charm, and I don’t like it.

Margo’s laptop is set up on my kitchen table, and I’m sitting across from her, scrolling through my socials as I have my morning coffee. While she concentrates on what Beckett’s up to, I try and think like Paisley. She was up very early this morning. I know that can be normal for a florist, but she doesn’t visit the flower market on a Thursday, normally. I pull up her Instagram profile, telling myself this is for work. ButI know it’s not. I’m becoming obsessed with knowing everything about her. And conveniently having the house next door, I can keep pretty close tabs, but sometimes my stalking has to take on more serious levels. Especially when I’m worried about her, after what happened with her dad yesterday. Part of me thought she would have reached out to me over it, looking for answers, but she got in late last night and went right to bed.

Her latest post is of her and Beckett posing with a plate of pancakes topped with a stick of butter and drizzled maple syrup. Her lips are red, her smile stunning as always. The backdrop is town square. “Paisley’s posting about some fundraiser breakfast Beckett’s hosting this morning in town square. Should we be fundraising as well? She has photos of Beckett rubbing shoulders with locals. Kissing babies and handing out flowers.” I show her my phone.

Unlike me, she seems unfazed and smiles sweetly. “Since you signed up, I’ve had an online store selling merchandise with your name and face on it.” She brings something up on her computer, and I look over her shoulder to see what she’s talking about; this is the first I’ve heard about it. “It’s doing really well. Not that I’m surprised. This town loves you.”

T-shirts adorned with my face, hats perched proudly atop heads, and bumper stickers decorating cars—it’s a whirlwind of support, almost feeling like a mini-brand in itself.

“In the first week of your campaign, we even had an anonymous benefactor swoop in with a substantial donation to back you,” she says with excitement.

“Is that... usual?” I inquire, a sense of unease creeping over me. Why didn’t she tell me about this earlier?

She gently touches my arm. “Not really, and since we’re up against the Prescotts and their media capabilities, there was no way I was declining. We need every bit of support we can get.”

“Right.”

“I have a donor dinner confirmed for Friday week as well; it’s going to be a grand affair, lots of high-profile guests. It’s going to put Paisley’s little breakfast to shame. Trust me, Noah. We have the edge when it comes to this stuff. I’ve been doing this job for a long time, and I know what I’m doing. Poor Paisley doesn’t know what she’s signed up for.” She scrolls through a few more of her images on Instagram then hands my phone back to me. “Remove her profile so you don’t have to see her posts. I’ll keep track of it for you.”

Delete her profile. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Since she’s taken to ignoring me, this is all I have to keep tabs on her. “Are you hungry?” I ask, feeling peckish myself for a tasty treat, and Paisley’s pancakes sound like perfection this morning. If she will get close enough for me to have a taste.

Confused, Margo glances up at me, the pen she had tucked behind her ear falling to the table.

“I might take a walk through town. See if I can get us some breakfast?” I smile cheekily.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to cause some trouble, Noah?”

“No idea.” I’m not planning on causing trouble for anyone but Paisley. She thinks she can ignore me, can ignore her feelings that I know she still has. Well,I might just start showing up to every event she’s hosting. She can’t pretend I don’t exist forever.

With a sassy smile, she quickly snatches up her handbag. “I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t.”

As we cross the street and head toward town square, I can tell Margo is deep in thought. She’s been unusually quiet this morning. I know she’s working her butt off for me, and I appreciate it. I couldn’t do this without her. “Is there something I need to be concerned with?” I ask.

She glances at me, puzzled.

“You’re stuck in your head this morning.”

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