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I tossed another octopus into a buttered pan, sprinkling it with herbs. “Not for long.”
“It’s probably about GS Properties.” Rhy unscrewed a bottle of S.Pellegrino, taking a long sip. “She might have info she doesn’t want you to be ambushed with later today.”
That got my attention. I grabbed a dishcloth from my station and wiped my hands, dumping it onto the butcher block. “Give me five. I’ll meet her in the upstairs office.”
I made a Rose Kennedy, double the vodka—her favorite—before trudging my way upstairs. Allison and I had never meshed well. She was the wrong type of go-getter, the kind that ran people over on her way places. She had tried too hard to impress me, to keep me, to seduce me, which resulted in me breaking things off before I’d even had a chance to take her for a spin.
When I pushed open the door to my office, Allison was already there. Perched on the edge of my L-shaped desk, legs crossed in a tight gray pencil skirt and a white blouse, the first three buttons undone.
She had scarlet hair and matching lipstick, and red-soled heels higher than Willie Nelson. At twenty-six, she was the youngest mayor in the United States. Impressive, even if Staindrop had fewer citizens than some sheds.
“Ambie.” She looked up from her phone, setting it down and uncrossing her legs à la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. “I see you brought me my favorite.” Her ruby lips parted alluringly.
“Pardon my shitty manners.” I placed the cocktail on the desk and stepped back, resting a shoulder against the wall. “But what brings you in, Al? I gotta wrap things up before the town hall meeting tonight.”
“Actually, the meeting is the reason I stopped by.” She took a demure sip of her cocktail through the tiny black straws, blinking at me through synthetic lashes.
Allison always checked the pulse to see if I might be interested in taking her out for dinner—and having her as my dessert. It always flatlined. Monogamy wasn’t my thing. I didn’t want a family. Didn’t want kids. Didn’t want any dependents. The less responsibility I had, the fewer chances I had to fuck something up. Artem’s voice chuckled in my head, Simple math never lies.
What’s more, I had no idea why she was interested in me. She had seemed just as bored as I was the couple times we had gone on dates.
“Anything I need to know ahead of the meeting?” I pulled a cigarette from behind my ear, lighting it up. No Cal around to chide me for killing myself, thank God.
“Yes, there is.” She glided from the desk, smoothing her hand over her skirt and trotting her way toward me. She slid one hand up my chest, her fingernails toying with the collar of my shirt, scraping the skin beneath it. Her nails were red, like the rest of her.
Anger flared through me. Yesterday, I’d been hoping the hot, desire-soaked need to plow into Cal and fuck her until she was boneless was the result of being abstinent for too long. But no. Carrying a muddy, disheveled, panicked Cal to safety apparently made me harder than having a willing woman in a full sexy librarian outfit try to undress me in my back office. Clearly, there weren’t enough years in my life for the amount of therapy I needed.
“Spit it out.” I clasped her wrist, removing her hand from my chest. “And don’t start with the regulatory bullshit. I spoke to the developers. They said the zoning falls just outside of the historical landmark’s limit.”
“It is. Well, technically, I guess.” Her manicured fingernail trailed down the seam of my chef jacket again. “Still, I would feel soooo much more comfortable if you withdrew from the deal altogether.”
“I’m not compression socks.” My jaw clenched. “I’m not here to make you feel comfortable.”
“Ugh. Ambie, be realistic here.” She balled her fists, pounding them on my chest before letting out a brattish snarl. “This town has been historically maintained for the hundred and ten years of its existence. I cannot have it all go down the drain on my shift. You know how much money Daddy spent to make this happen?” She motioned toward herself. “I didn’t come this far only to come this far.”
Ah, the famous Tom Brady quote. Only, Allison and Tom both had it wrong—sometimes, you needed to know when to quit.
It was no secret Mr. Murray had dropped serious bucks to make his little darling the most important person in this zip code. He wanted Allison in Congress and had the means to make it happen. I knew Staindrop was just a pit stop on her way to D.C.
I slanted my head sideways. “I think what you mean to say is this place has been at a standstill for decades longer than it should have been. People are fleeing it by the dozens. Your population’s been shrinking for nine years straight.”
“Those who stay here like it the way it is.” She curled her fingers with a pout, checking her pointy fingernails. “They’re going to blame me for letting it happen.”
“What do they expect you to do, murder me?” I arched an eyebrow.
“If that’s what it takes.” She screwed her lips into a scowl. “I contemplated this, but the odds weren’t in my favor. With your size? I’d be lucky to give you a paper cut. Anyway, people are blaming me for what you’re doing, and that’s disastrous for my career trajectory.”
“It’s not ideal,” I agreed.
“See?” She perked up. “Totally not ideal. It’s not too late to—”
“But it is also not my fucking problem.”
“Ugh, come on!” She threw herself at me, and now we were chest-to-chest, face-to-face, groin-to-groin, and my anger morphed into fury. This woman was all over me, and my dick was softer than a bath sponge. Yesterday, up to—fine, and including—the time I’d found a dead fucking coyote on my property, my erection could have been detected from Mars. In fact, that Cal hadn’t noticed I was sporting a stiffy the size of the Empire State Building while showing her around attested to how out of it she had been.
I wasn’t horny. I was just horny for Cal. Problem was, if I scratched that itch, I’d shed my flesh until I hit bone. I also didn’t want her to do McMonster dirty. Which was fucking deranged.
Because I was McMonster.
