Page 32 of Just a Plot Twist
I don’t have time to get my hair done. A lot of Inez’s responsibilities have fallen to me since she’s had a difficult pregnancy. And I started tweakingmy application for the city manager job again this morning and now it’s a mess.
Grandpa sighs. “Patricia, it’ll be fine.” Is he being supportive or only wanting to keep his wife from spiraling over every tiny, minute detail?
“You’re having an anniversary party?” Benson asks politely, his hands casually behind his back.
“Anextravaganza, for our sixtieth, yes,” Grandma clarifies.
Benson’s cheeks go round as he smiles. “That’s exciting. Congratulations. Sixty years is something.”
“It deserves celebration, yes. Thank you,” Grandma says.
“Sounds like it’s going to be a big event.”
“We’ve invited hundreds. It will be a grand affair.” Grandma’s tone is clipped. She doesn’t care for Benson, does she? There’s no recognition in her eyes, though, so I doubt she knows he’s Tate-adjacent.
I admire her strength in not letting his looks get to her. She turns back to me. “About the swans. They can’t be inside, so the venue is allowing us to open up the floor-to-ceiling doors leading to the patio off the ballroom. Which should be lovely. I need you to make sure the swan handlers can set up the tank on the patio.”
Grandpa leans into the conversation. “She’s been losing sleep over it, so yes, Claire, if you can keep your grandmother informed, I’m sure we’ll all rest easier.” He steps to the office door.
“I’m happy to call right away. Don’t worry.”
“It was nice to meet you,” Grandpa says to Benson.
“Likewise,” Benson says graciously.
But the way my grandpa said it? No, it wasn’t nice to meet him. They totally think we were…making out? Whatever it is, they’re not happy. Imagine how much worse this would be if they knew he was Thomas Tate’s son.
“Yes, we’d better be going,” Grandma adds. “Claire has a lot of work to do.” Her gaze at me is pointed.
They leave my office, but before they disappear down the hall, Grandpa takes a step back towards me. “A certain phone call needs to happen today.” His tone is that old dance between us, a sort of “wink wink” moment.
A push.
A not-so-gentle reminder.
They expect me to begin my quest for mayorship. And they probably want to explain what a horrible idea it is to receive flowers from a man, in a half-undressed state, no less.
I appreciate that they want me to succeed and do my best in life. But where’s the line between support and an unhealthy fixation, an unhealthy involvement?
Will they ever be satisfied with me?
It seems Grandma’s dissatisfaction of me is getting worse by the minute.
Once they’re good and gone, Benson makes a slight whistling sound. “Wow, I have so many questions.” Benson’s dark eyes sparkle, but then his brows jam down and he regards me carefully.
I collapse into my chair, spent. Completely worn out like a gladiator after a fight with a lion. Two lions. “I have questions, too. For instance, why did you refuse to tell me I was half undressed?” I drop my head in my hands. “I could press charges for that.”
A laugh bursts out of him. “Press charges? I didn’t unbutton you.”
Okay.So why are the words ‘unbutton you’ flitting through my body like they’re having a party against my will? “Pressing charges” would beoverkill, of course. I don’t mean it. The thing is, hehasunbuttoned me, metaphorically. If unnerving and unbuttoning could be considered the same thing, then he certainly has.
“I’m just—why didn’t you say anything?” I clutch at the top of my shirt, my embarrassment weakening my spine.
“I tried! You were being sort of…excitable…and I couldn’t get a word in and then your grandparents showed up…”
“Excitable? You’re blamingmefor this?” I shoot back. “Nice.”
“I honestly and truly had every intention of telling you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance.”
