Page 51 of Don't Make Me Beg
“Don’t tell him!” Fergus cuts in. “We need an unbiased opinion. Otherwise, you know he’s just going to pick Scarlett’s.”
Miss Scarlett bats her eyelashes and shrugs, but as soon as Fergus turns his head, she tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear and lets her gaze drop to the poster on the left.
I pretend to study the nearly identical designs, then nod and tap the one I now know is hers. “This one is my choice. It’s definitely the best of the three.”
Fergus narrows his eyes at Scarlett, visibly annoyed to have lost whatever competition they’ve been playing all these years.
Miss Scarlett just fans herself and blows him a kiss. “Sorry, Gus. I can’t help it. I’ve just got a great eye. What can you do?”
“You cheated,” he grumbles. “Probably bamboozled him with your cleavage.”
Miss Scarlett shimmies her shoulders and winks. “It is rather bamboozling tonight, isn’t it?” She leans in and whispers behind her fan, “My secret’s bee pollen. Add it to my morning oatmeal every morning.”
Fergus’ face turns beet red. “Come on, Clyde. We’re sitting in the front row tonight.”
You’d think the actual festival planning would be the most stressful part of this gig, but I’ll take logistics over playing referee any day. I swear, I don’t know how Mayor Stone does it.
The sound of chatter and chair legs scraping against the laminate fills the room as people file in and take their seats. It may be a weeknight, but the place is packed. My first instinct is to think it’s because they’re all so nosey, here to see if I’d actually show up after last time…
But I also know how important this festival is to everyone in this town. This is so much bigger than me or any of the resentment I feel toward any of them.
Everyone in this town wrote me off the moment I was sentenced to prison, so why the fuck would I waste any energy trying to win them back? I don’t need their approval. I don’t need them to like me. If they’re still clutching their pearls over something that happened years ago, that’s their problem.
So while I may put on a friendly face and plan this festival. I’m not doing it to impress anyone. I’m doing it because I was assigned the role. Unlike Scout, I don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval. I can act with integrity—or not just because I fucking feel like it.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I’m at it…
I make my way to the podium, mentally reviewing my notes, when my eyes find Scout sitting in the back of the room. She’s got that soft smile on her face, the one that barely lifts the corners of her lips, and her eyes are bouncing around like she’s soaking in the chaos and loving every second of it.
She looks… different. Lighter. Nothing like the hollow version of herself that showed up here not that long ago.
But looking at her now, I can see that sparkle in her eyes starting to return. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was happily married, riding high on newlywed bliss.
Of course that couldn’t be further from the truth…
Which begs the real question. If being married tomehas her looking this happy… how fucking toxic was her life before?
A high-pitched ringing draws my attention back to the room, just in time to catch Fergus ringing a triangle that he’s apparently brought with him.
“Everyone, please take your seats. It’s six o’clock, the meeting has officially begun,” he calls from the megaphone he’s also somehow produced out of thin air.
I clear my throat as the room quiets and people start settling in, my eyes catching on Scout again. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, looking nervous.
I have to look away before my dick starts getting ideas.
The last thing I need is to pop a boner in front of the whole fucking town. Talk about giving them a reason to clutch their pearls.
I clear my throat. “Uh… Thank you… Gus… for that… Let’s jump right in with it, shall we?” I hand the stack of papers to Miss Scarlett to pass around just as Jett pushes through the doors.
“Oh good… he made it,” Gus mutters under his breath. I swear this man has beef with every other business owner in town. God only knows what he and Jett are sparring over now.
Jett slides into the seat behind Clyde and gives me a nod to keep going.
“Right… So… I guess we’ll pick up where we left off last time.” I rock back on my heels as I glance around the unusually silent room. “Why don’t we open it up. Get some ideas flowing.”
“Are the rumors true?” I hear someone call out from the back.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd,” a woman hisses. “You know Judge Sinclair would have a heart attack if it were.”
