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“What did he offer?” Pocus asks again, his tone low and dangerous.
“You remember Damien, don’t you?” I ask sarcastically. “You remember when I made that deal with the chief of police to help him investigate the child trafficking happening in the city. You told me I was a dumb ass to make that deal, and you were right.”
“This is different.” He glares at me. “You did that for your own reasons.”
“And this wouldn’t be?” I ask, incredulous. “Pocus, the last thing I want to do is make another half-baked deal with a city official. It almost ruined us.”
“Mayor Prudent will ruin us,” Pocus grumbles, finishing his own drink. “You think the Bayou Reapers wouldn’t jump at the chance to have the future mayor in their pocket? Davis Thompson doesn’t give a shit about what we do. In fact, our take-downs have made his career. He’d turn a blind eye for a small price.”
“Snake isn’t here,” I remind him. “Who exactly would be digging up the dirt on Prudent? It’s not like we’re technical geniuses.”
“So get him on a plane!” Pocus barks. I know he’s barely hanging on. “Bring him home right away and help the club out. Davis will probably be a shitty mayor, but he’ll leave us alone. And he’ll owe us big time. There’s no reason not to do it.”
“Will it always be like this?” I ask, suddenly furious. “No matter what decision I make, you’ll always second guess me. It’s exhausting, Pocus. I can’t abide by it anymore.”
“Shove off, Seer,” He stands up suddenly. “This isn’t about me questioning your leadership, it’s about me questioning your sanity. You have the opportunity to get this man, the future Mayor of New Orleans in your pocket and you…what? Just decided not to? Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’m not being an idiot,” I tell him calmly.
I stand up too, facing him at my full height. We’re nose to nose, close enough that I feel his breath on my face. I look down to see his fists clenched, but he won’t hit me. That would be insubordination, best friend or not. He knows he can’t fly off the handle without consequences anymore.
“It’s a stressful time. And you’ve had a bad morning. I think maybe you should go home and calm down before you have to pick up your children from school.”
“Don’t be like that.” Tension drops suddenly from his shoulders. “Don’t shut me out, Seer, I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m stressed. I’m not trying to be an asshole.”
“You never are.” I turn and head for the door. “I never hold you accountable for it. All’s well, Pocus, just go home. I have a lot of work to do.”
He thanks Buffy for the drink, something he never does, and brushes past me as he goes to the front door. When he reaches it, he turns and looks at me.
“See you tonight for dinner?” he asks. “Abigail is making lasagna.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him sincerely. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
He nods and leaves. I let out a sigh of relief and go to my office. Tension radiates through my body. I know Pocus means well. It can be hard to take a step back and focus on family. When Tori’s out in the bayou with Mama and I have to take care of Nicky, it’s tough.
At his core, I’m not sure Pocus will ever truly get over not being the Prez anymore. I felt sorry for him for so long. I needed him for even longer. I second-guessed myself so much, thinking that I should step down and let Pocus take the reins again. That’s not the case more.
I’m good at what I do. I know that I’m right. For once, I don’t have any qualms about my decision. Davis might be a good mayor, but I won’t utilize my resources to help him get there. As for Mayor Prudent, we’ll have to wait and see what happens. Who knows, maybe it won’t be as bad as we fear. Of course, it could be much, much worse.
CHAPTERNINE
The morning after the attack, I wake up with a huge hangover. I immediately text Meredith and tell her I’m sick, praying she’ll believe me and not ask questions. She texts back a sad face and tells me she hopes I feel better soon. I lie in bed for a long time, replaying the whole scene for the millionth time. I barely slept, plagued by nightmares about my attacker.
After dinner, James drove me back to the center and made sure I was sober to drive back home. How could I admit that after spending time with him, I was completely fine? That would have been way too mortifying. Instead, I drove home and drank half a bottle of vodka straight.
It’s come back to bite me in the ass. I feel like I’ll throw up any second. I run to the bathroom and dry heave into my toilet for several minutes. When nothing substantial comes up, I remember how I threw up in the bushes, right in front of James. Embarrassment washes over my body and mixes with the hangover. I could curl up and die on this bathroom floor. Everything about last night was so bizarre and surreal. I don’t even want to think about it.
Unfortunately, my mind hasn’t gotten that memo. It replays the whole night in a loop. Did I really tell James that everyone thinks he and Meredith are having an affair? Or that he’s in the mafia? Fuck my life, he probably thinks I’m psychotic. I was acting crazy last night. I blame the trauma of being attacked, but that feels like a cop out.
I told him so many secrets, even that I’d been watching him for months. In addition to thinking I’m a psycho, he probably thinks I’m a stalker. Fantastic. As far as first impressions go, that’s the worst one I could have made. I’m such an idiot. I finally throw up, ashamed by everything that happened in the last twelve hours. I crawl back into bed and throw my comforter over my head, unable to face the day.
I sleep most of the day, only waking up to eat a couple of times. By the next morning, I’m refreshed, though still mortified. It’s Friday, the day James stops by the center. I decide I’ll skip my break today so I won’t have to see him. Hey, maybe he’ll go back to ignoring me. That would be great. I’ve never wanted him to ignore me so badly.
I breeze through the center, popping into Meredith’s office quickly to apologize for yesterday. She tells me she understands and she’s glad I’m feeling better today. I smile brightly and head to the dance room, getting set up for my first class.
During weekdays, the center functions as an a la carte daycare. Rather than having age groups for the kids, we have classes the parents can sign the kids up for. There are about twenty preschool-aged gifted kids, apparently a huge amount. I’ve learned so much from Meredith since I started.
“It’s truly unusual,” she’d told me during our hours-long interview. “When I was younger, a handful of gifted kids existed in the whole state. In the last few years, I’ve met hundreds of gifted kids in New Orleans alone. It’s like a mutation, getting stronger with every generation.”
