Page 112 of Treason's Temptation
“I am hungry,” Navie added, her bottom lip poked out, evoking thoughts that would have her looking at me like a caveman.
“You’re always hungry just to eat two bites.”
She lifted her chin after I called her out, likely not expecting me to pick up on it.
“Well, that’s settled. The boss is hungry, so we’re going to eat,” Evie’s tone slammed the imaginary gavel, delivering her final ruling.
I pulled Navie into me, my name coming from an unfamiliar voice, until I turned around to find the local news anchor holding a microphone toward me.
“Congressman Westbrook, Victor Jackson’s campaign has suggested that your relationship
with Navie Dixon shows poor judgment. Given the resurfaced allegations surrounding her mother, Sloane Bishop.”
Navie’s posture didn’t change, but I felt the weight of her silence beside me.
I met the reporter’s eyes. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
I glanced at Navie standing beside me, her face showing every dark thought on her mind. My hand grabbed her ass, and I almost broke character at the way her eyes shot to me.
“There is growing suspicion that Sloane slept her way into influence, particularly with men in politics, law enforcement, and media. Some fear Navie is just like Sloane, seducing successful men and playing the long game. First Lorenzo Strathmore and now you.”
Before I could say anything, Evie’s sharp lips took over.
“All that—” she jabbed a finger toward the nearest camera, “is a crock of bullshit.”
The reporter froze. I swear, even the cameras paused for breath.
“Why don’t you worry about the potholes big enough to swallow a Buick on Jefferson Avenue? Or the water bills folks can’t pay because half of Madison Pointe ain’t had clean pipes since Reagan. Or the damn rats bold enough to wave at you when you take the trash out in Midtown. How about that? How about y’all stop sniffing around people’s personal lives and start asking why the schools don’t even have working air conditioning when it is a hundred and five in the shade?”
Reporters shifted, some trying to hide their smiles, while others stood wide-eyed, stunned by the spectacle. Thankfully, Ward pulled up. There was nothing else to say after Evie’s rant. Navie was noticeably quiet on the ride to Evie’s favorite brunch spot. I laced my hand in hers, listening to Mom warn Evie to be on her best behavior. Helping the ladies out of the truck, we walked inside, and I extended my hand to the owner.
“You know everybody,” Navie said over her shoulder, following Inez to the table.
“I’m supposed to. It’s my city, Blue.”
We settled at the table, everybody skimming the menu except Evie. Navie ordered more food than her stomach would hold, but she tended to do that when she was hungry.
Mom leaned in whispering, “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Nothing, just tired, Mama.”
“I don’t know how he runs like that every day. I try to make him rest, but he’s hard-headed,” Blue snitched.
“Beat him,” Evie says, almost making Blue choke.
“Damn, Gram. You gonna let somebody you just met beat me?”
She looked at Blue again, this time intent behind her gaze, “Beat him! I’m telling you, it whips them into shape.”
“Don’t start today,” Mom chuckled.
“What? You told me to be nice. I’m being nice.”
“Yeah, to everybody but me. Did you beat Papa?”
“Twice on Sunday.”
I could get used to watching my favorite girls enjoy each other. Navie half ate her food, too busy laughing at Evie’s mouth. Mom tried to do the impossible and contain Evie, but failed. Even the server enjoyed Evie’s flamboyant personality. She was currently requesting that the DJ play “Oochie Walley” while Mom groaned.
