Page 2 of Someone to Tempt
"No one andnothingis being sacrificed," I counter through gritted teeth.
She pretends to study her nails, and I remember the moment last week when she asked to leave early to have them done to match the outfit she was wearing to the Apple Harvest Parade.
I said no, and this is payback. I’m certain of it.
"Can you schedule a meeting with the spirit committee for next week?” I glance at my watch. “Gloria is particular about punctuality.”
Jodi shakes her head with an exaggerated sigh. "How’s it going to look if you send away important members of the community? They’re concerned about theintegrityof the town.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I swallow it down. Jodi is thirty-two, a year younger than me, and has been in her position since her uncle hired her a week after her high-school graduation. Homer Moore spent almost fifteen years as Skylark’s mayor, but suffered an unexpected—and fatal—heart attack six months ago. Jodi made a play to be named interim mayor, but the town council appointed me instead because of my initial success with the community partnership role.
I love this town, but I’m not a Colorado native and only moved back a year ago when I was hired as Skylark’s Director of Community Partnerships. I’ve tried my best to form a solid working relationship with the assistant I inherited. However, due in large part to her resentment over me getting the job she wanted, coupled in larger part with my mother’s past relationship with her late father, it all went to shit from the jump.
But I underestimated her. She waited until this moment, when I'm meeting with the woman who could be the linchpin for the career I want, to really throw me under the bus.
"You're right." I finish tucking in my shirt and roll my shoulders. "I should be the one to talk to them. I'll explain it. They'll understand."
Jodi’s smile is smug. "Good luck with that.”
She doesn't straight up give me the middle finger, but I get the message.
And it's my own fault. My friends from book club told me I should fire Jodi when I became acting mayor, but I didn't want the history and heartache our parents caused to have power over either of us. I'm all about breaking cycles and doing things differently. But now it's come back to bite me in the ass in bigger ways than missing staplers or reports I have to review with a fine-tooth comb because she's inadvertently—or intentionally—left out key pieces.
Sabotage is one thing, and I looked at rising above it as a personal challenge. Now that she's put my potential connection with Gloria at risk, the gloves are coming off.
I walk past her and open the door. There's a moment of quiet as eight sets of angry eyes focus on me.
Crap. I hope I don’t sweat through my shirt and end up with nervous pit stains. I should have picked black instead of pale yellow.
My eyes meet Gloria’s. She raises a curious brow in my direction, and I offer a bright smile in return. "I'll be with you in one moment, Mrs. Johnson. I need to ensure these concerned citizens know I'm committed to hearing what they have to say.”
Just like I'm committed to kicking my assistant's ass.
Several snorts of disbelief greet my words, but I’m also committed to killing them with kindness. "Can I get anyone a glass of water? Fun-size Snickers? I keep a stash in my?—”
"We want answers,” Marla Smythe, retired homemaker and chair of the Community Spirit Committee, demands. She takes her job seriously. “We want to know why you'reruiningthis town."Veryseriously.
I automatically shake my head. "Marla, I'm not ruining anything. I'm trying to balance supporting our busy calendar of community events with other initiatives that need funding."
"The events are what make Skylark special.” George Morrison, owner of the largest realty company in town, earns a round of nods from the peanut gallery with his comment. “If you have your way, we’re going to be known as the place where fun goes to die.”
Fantastic. My political legacy is going to be as the mayor who killed fun.
2
IRIS
An hour later,the barrage of complaints that rained down like golf ball-sized hail have left me shredded inside and out.
"You didn't have to stay for all that," I tell Gloria as I slump forward in one of the chairs at the large conference room table.
"Where fun goes to die," she murmurs with a grimace.
Gloria Johnson looks like a quintessential grandmother—snow-white hair styled in a neat bob, twinkling blue eyes behind understated glasses, and a face lined with experience. But there’s more to her than that. Her years in office were marked by pragmatic decision-making and unflinching determination to do what she believes is right.
I make a noncommittal sound in my throat.
"It's a catchy tagline, but not one you want associated with your term as acting mayor. And definitely not one that will get you elected this fall.”
