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“You’re a politician all the way down to your underwear.” Bill eyed me shrewdly and I felt the need to tip my head back and puff out my chest like the troops in front of Patton. “I’d endorse you in a heartbeat. But you haven’t announced your position, and I’m wondering why?”
I might not be right for the job, I thought, the words beating at my lips, words that had never seen the light of day before. And they never would have seen the light of day—ever—if it weren’t for this perfect storm of my mother being back in my life and Jim Blackwell being around to witness it.
“Carter?” Bill asked, looking into my eyes. I found the scrutiny uncomfortable—found any scrutiny uncomfortable, and I was tired of being uncomfortable in my own skin.
“I’m worried about my family,” I blurted.
“Ah, yes, your disreputable family tree.”
“Disreputable.” Understatement of the year.
“Everyone’s got secrets, son. Hell, my father had a boyfriend, and in the eighties, that was a huge liability. But right now, your family is the least of your worries.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re good for this town,” Bill said, and the compliment filled me with pride. “No doubt about it, but right now—you’d be a shit mayor.”
My mouth fell open.
“The Lafayette deal is a good piece of work. And the article in the paper is just an article in the paper—there will be millions of them. But this—” he snapped open the paper to the back inside page and held it up to me “—is going to be the end of you.”
I was sucker punched. Gut shot.
“Holy…” I breathed, taking the paper from the mayor. Zoe stared up at me from a black-and-white picture in the local section. The sign for a free clinic was in the background—she’d clearly been ambushed coming out of her doctor’s appointment yesterday.
The look on her face was pure panic. Pure fear.
She was scared and it was my fault.
“I understand that this woman was supposed to help your public image,” Bill said, “after all that Deadbeat Daddy nonsense.”
“She was. I mean, she is.”
“If you want to be mayor, it’s time to act like it. No comment isn’t working anymore.”
I nodded and folded the paper, hiding Zoe’s face because I couldn’t take it.
“I’ll take care of this,” I said.
“When you walked into my office two years ago, I had you pegged as a fighter. But the last few months you’ve been turning yourself into a politician, which is too bad, because politicians ruined this city. We need someone who will fight for what they want and for what is right.”
What I want, I thought. Fight for what I want. It was a foreign concept, but I was tired of lying back and waiting for my family to take away the things I wanted.
I wanted to be mayor and I wanted Zoe.
I was ready to fight.
I stormed back to my office, a whirlwind of purpose finally forcing me into action. If I wanted to be mayor, I needed to fight for it.
It was time for me to choose my own fate, stop being dictated to by my family. By the mistakes they made.
“Everything okay?” Gloria asked, half standing from behind her desk as I strode by.
“Great,” I said and, surprisingly, I meant it. Dormant action burned in me, waiting to get out. “Get me Lafayette Corp. on the phone.”
“You bet.”
I kicked the door shut behind me and checked my watch; only quarter to eight, too early to call Zoe. I didn’t want to start her day with a phone call about this garbage.
That was assuming Zoe would even take my call. I’d been tempted to call her over a dozen times since Sunday night at Mama’s, but had resisted each time. Now, after this incident outside the doctor’s, who knew if she’d ever want to talk to me again.
I took the folded paper out from under my arm and smoothed it out across my desk and felt my rib cage shrink.
The fear in Zoe’s eyes made me sick to my stomach. The way she had her hands crossed across her belly as if to protect the baby made me want to murder someone.
She looked trapped. Scared.
There wasn’t a story attached, just a caption: Mayor Pro Tem’s Mistress Uses Free Clinic. But I knew who was behind all this continued interest in Zoe—Jim Blackwell. It had to be. No one but him would still care.
Zoe and I were an ice-cold story.
Suddenly, despite the fact that Zoe had been the one to stand up on that chair, I felt wholly responsible for that look on her lovely face.
This had to change. Right now.
The intercom buzzed and I punched the button.
“Janet from Lafayette Corp. on line three.”
“Got it,” I said and put the phone on speaker.
“Hi, Janet,” I said, sitting back in my chair.
