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“I’ll believe that, barely,” Carrie grumbles, and relief slithers through my shoulder blades. “Okay, well, I’m here if you wanna talk about it.”
“Thanks, Carrie. I’m gonna start driving. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say before we hang up, and I bluster a massive, strangled sigh. Cupping my forehead, I close my eyes and sink into my seat. “What a mess.”
The silence grows thicker until my phone rings, catching me off guard. But I don't recognize the number, and my throat tightens with suspicion. Blood rushes to my ears; if I answer and it's Jack, I'm going to scream! I reach tentatively for the green button and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” I call, but there is no voice. Faintly, I can hear honking through the line, and I sit up as alarm bells ring in my head. “Hello? Who is this?”
But then the call ends, and nervousness worms its way through my veins. What the hell? My thoughts raced; Jack had entered his phone number into my phone. He wouldn't call from a different number, would he? Just to torment me?
CHAPTEREIGHT
Jack
I stroll up to the restaurant where Mayor Shaw is currently eating, leisurely tapping the back of my phone. We'd met at restaurants several times to discuss her campaign, and she always ate like she had two stomachs. It was impressive for such a small woman. I pause to open the door for a couple who have just arrived. I slip my phone into my breast pocket and look around the posh Italian restaurant until I spot her.
Shaw's hair is duller than I recall, or maybe she just has more grays from being a government official. Her long sleeves are rolled up at the tops of her forearms, exposing thin muscles that adhere to small bones. She's tall for her size, and her face has an elf-like quality to it.
That's why I backed her in the election two years ago. Shaw is a puppet with a body and a mind. As she delicately cuts into a massive lasagna that shouldn't fit in her, I tilt my head back. That's right, she'd be an empty porcelain doll if I hadn't given her a nice dress and a part in my marionette play. I walk toward her, smirking, and she pauses when she notices me. With a hefty sigh, I take the chair across from her; her eyes flickering with panic.
“You sure can inhale a ton of food, can’t you, Mayor? It’s one of the things I like about you,” I say leisurely, flagging down a wandering waiter. He veers towards us, and I order a coffee, on Shaw’s tab, of course. Her money is my money. Hell, she’s a fucking red investment if I ever saw one. Turning to her, my eyes narrow as she sets down her fork and grabs a glass of water to take a sip. “I never understood how you can pack away all that.”
“You know, it’s rude to be so demeaning about other people’s eating habits,” Shaw says, and I grin amusedly. “You don’t know what’s going on with them. They could have a medical problem.”
“But you don’t, and I’m talking about you, someone I’ve known for four years, who I’ve worked intimately with,” I purr, and Shaw’s fine wrinkles deepen around her eyes and mouth when she frowns. “Speaking of what’s going on with you, I’ve had a little birdy whispering some not-so-good things in my ear, Franny. Concerning things about you and what you’re doing... or, I suppose, the more accurate way to say it is what you’renotdoing.”
Fran Shaw stills, her eyes widening, and I know I’ve caught her. I can see it in her face as she wonders who betrayed her and if she had a plant in her office monitoring her. Obviously, I had several. However, her unease is amusing to watch, as if she had never considered such things before.
“Jack,” Fran Shaw sighs, setting her water glass down. Seriousness sets deep in her delicate face, sparking interest in my chest. Oh-ho, what’s she gonna say? Goosebumps of excitement pockmark my skin. “I guess that means you found out about the bridge job being canceled. Trust me, I’m aware that you don’t like it, but you need to understand that I’m only in power as long as the city allows it and I don’t get voted out. There have been protests about this bridge, Jack! No one wants to cut through that park for a bridge we as a city don’t even need. I can’t even justify it to my constituents anymore, and my rival politicians are using it as an example to try to throw me out of office.”
I’m surprised; I didn’t think Shaw would go this route. Even though she’s not talented, she’s not an idiot, either. She did get on my radar for a reason, and I suppose this is one of those times; one of those moments where she twists things for her benefit.
“Continue,” I reply, and relief eases the tension etched deep in her face. She picks up her fork again, taking a bite of salad. No doubt, she’s buying time to organize herself. As much as I may not have expected it of her, she would not anticipate me to listen to her.
And Jimmy is right. Shaw is well aware that she has the upper hand here. If the FBI truly supports her, she has a stronger fist, but with campaigns resuming in a year, she can simply refuse to run. She has the right to refuse if she uses this argument against me.
Before Shaw opens her mouth, my lip twitches in frustration.
“As much as you might hate it, Jack, you can’t keep making me do things that don’t benefit the city. The whole point of your backing was to use me. I know that. I made a deal with you. That’s not the problem I’m having right now, wrestling with my conscience,” Fran Shaw continues solemnly.
The last two years had paid off, giving her opportunities to learn to be devious and twisted while seeming genuine and innocent. “The problem is that if this bridge job is a taste of what’s to come, you need to realize that I’ll be voted out next term in a heartbeat. That would suck for both of us. You’d lose out on your projected profits, and I’d go back to being some obscure middle-politico, and Iwon’tlet that happen. As a businessman, you should know that you have to adjust with the flow of public opinion, even just a little bit.”
“That’s very convincing,” I answer, stroking my chin thoughtfully. Fucking bitch has me by the short and curlies. Across the table, her cheek twitches in a smirk—the smirk of someone doing a good job. Not someone who has accomplished something. So, she was coached. That expression is one I'd recognize anywhere, and I grimace darkly. “But you don’t get to make that decision, Franny. If you were of this opinion, you could’ve come to me and explained exactly this, and I would’ve sided with you. Instead, you took the cowardly way. Instead of looking to me as if you were intuitive and willing to follow my decisions, you shut down the job without telling me and are only now doing damage control, quite badly too. I'd like to remind you, Shaw, that you're replaceable, and if necessary... I will replace you, regardless of public opinion.”
Fran Shaw stiffens at my sharp, cold words, and I stand up. Putting a hand on the table, I dig out my wallet from my slack pocket and pull out a dollar bill. “That’s always been your problem, Franny. You panic too easily and leave a mess in your wake because you don’t think of alternatives. You just do what’s most immediately satisfying. I would’ve backed you had this conversation happened weeks ago. But now, I know I can’t trust you to do what I need you to do. For the coffee.” I throw the bill onto her lasagna, now a congealed, lukewarm mess of cheese and sauce, and walk away. My threat lingers behind me, and I can feel her glaring daggers at me. I don't look back as I leave the restaurant, and the midday sun warms my face.
It's not quite Autumn yet, and I look up through the trees lining the palisade's sidewalk. I tap my foot against the concrete, looking around at the shops that form a wide arch around me. When I see Heather, my chest tightens and I squint to make sure it's her. She walks with purpose to a small farm-to-table health food store, but her face is haggard beneath her large sunglasses.
“She took that disgusting hangover remedy she searched on the internet,” I mutter, pulling my phone out of my pocket to navigate to the app my tech had installed. It’s a direct line to Heather’s phone; I wander to my car to climb into the back seat. The video feed of her face is crystal clear as she steps into the shop.
“My list,” She says, her voice hoarse, and takes off her sunglasses. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I purse my lips thinly when she reaches to rub them with her free hand. “Why couldn’t that ass have done something nice for me while hanging around for an hour and restocked my fridge? That’s what you do— you butter people up if you want their help.”
Fond amusement warms the space between my lungs as I listen in on Heather grumbling to herself. Propping my elbow on the door, I hold my cheek on my fist as she sighs harshly. God, I love it when she talks about me, even if it’s to herself. She’s damned cute when she thinks no one’s watching.
“Maybe, I should do something nice for her,” I murmur to myself as she puts her cell back into her purse. I close the app and lock my phone, tossing it onto the seat next to me. My mind churns. “But I don’t want her knowing I’ve tapped her phone. The way she thinks is just so unique.”
My own thought spurs a realization. I need to persuade Heather to work for me. I must, at the very least, warm her to the situation. I should, in her words, "butter her up." I lick my lips, thinking about her staring at me.
When we first met, she realized that trying to run would give me an advantage. She knew it was pointless, and by not doing so, she maintained her own stability. Heather, unlike Shaw, understood the power play and how to level the field. She knew how to seize what little power she had without appearing desperate or closing herself off to other options.
