Page 4 of Their Sweet Haven
“And the people who like the old news still have all the power. Don’t write it off.” He takes a deep sigh, slurping his own coffee on the other end of the line. “I’m going to hang up. Got a bunch of emails to fire off before I call it a day.”
“Take it easy, Dad.”
“Taking it easy never got anything done.” The phone beeps, indicating the end of the call.
I set mine down, and continue to stare out the window.
Dad is one of our state’s senators. Not the type that goes to Washington, just to the state capital. A long line of businessmen who have been clawing up the chain, only getting so far due to lack of charisma and connections.
The meeting with the governor was meant to secure an endorsement for my run for Smithport’s city council.
Something I personally don’t care for.
I was supposed to be the missing charisma, he said. The pretty boy, the distinguished gentleman, the actual first man in our family to look good in a three-piece suit. He talked me up, saying I could be mayor, governor, senator, president, god-emperor of mankind with how he was fluffing me up.
I want none of it. I’m sick of it. I had a front row seat to it all growing up. I want my own destiny, not to be a vessel for my father to live through, just because he has no hope of his dreams due to his own bumbling nature and crypt of skeletons hiding in his closet.
The clock ticks toward five p.m., where I can call it a day. I ponder what to do with my evening, knowing it will not include schmoozing with the elite or going golfing.
“Mr. Lawson?” I hear over my PA speaker. “Sorry to bother you, but there is an incensed woman out here. She is shouting and demands to talk to the city’s health commissioner and won’t leave until she does. Should I call the cops?”
Health Commissioner? There’s a job that I have that I don’t feel like I’ve earned.
I go to my laptop, and click over to the security feed, curious to what exactly is going on out there.
The feed of the cameras isn’t exactly 4K quality, far from it. It’s enough to just get an idea of what’s going on, and if you should look into it more.
And I wanted to look into her more.
This curvy brunette in a sweatshirt and jeans doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, but seeing how she carries herself and the energy she has, I have to say I’m intrigued.
“No. No need for the cops. Send her in, I’ll hear her complaints out.”
“If you say so, Mr. Lawson. Careful, she seems feisty.”
Just the way I like it, I think.
The remote lock on my door loosens. She wastes no time in seizing that opportunity and busting right through the door, moving with fire and fury.
I’m a bit smitten. She’s absolutely gorgeous, having a bit of a charm that I haven’t seen in most of the women I’ve met these past few years. Sure, there've been plenty of curvy brunettes I’ve met, but this one? She’s different. Something about the fire in her eyes, and perhaps just the naturalness of it all. She seems real, her dark hair slightly messy, pulled back in a ponytail. The way her form just is, her chosen exercise being long walks instead of dedicated body sculpting at the gym.
“Hello there,” I say, putting on my best smile.
She takes one look at me. There’s a brief smile at first, until she remembers she’s here to be angry, and quickly fixes her demeanor. “You? You’re in charge here?”
I nod, and cock my head, trying to look as handsome as possible. It’s weird, I usually don’t go out of my way to try with women. Especially ones who are here to cause trouble for me. “Elias Lawson, health commissioner of Smith County. How may I help you?”
“One of your goons just showed up to my bakery and shut it down on a bunch of bullshit violations.”
I raise an eyebrow. Oh. It’s going to be one of those. My heart sinks, she’s not the first to come in and try to explain why food poisoning is a myth pushed by the government to deny them the joys of chicken tartare.
“I run a bakery in Evergreen Valley,” she begins, her hands on my desk, looking me right in the eyes. “One of your inspectors came in, and tried to claim that I just left raw chicken breasts sitting around on the counters next to my mixers and flour.”
“And you’re suggesting you don’t?”
“I don’t even sell anything with chicken in it. Except for eggs. Which I guess are chickens on a technicality. And when we discussed that, he accused me of lying.”
What a strange accusation to make of a bakery. “And who might this inspector of mine be?”
