A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(37)

“I never liked Drew being in charge anyhow, Daddy,” she announces, eyes suddenly hooded. Contempt shoots out of her eyeballs as she gives me a look her old friend Mandy could have easily extended. It’s condescending, haughty, and designed to convince Marshall that she doesn’t want me.

It’s a ruse.

“I told you that from day one.”

Day one. Lindsay’s been home for a handful of days. So much has happened.

Too much has happened.

And I know it’s only the beginning.





Chapter 13





“I’d like a word with you,” I say to Lindsay.

“No!” Harry and Marshall are in stereo.

“In private, away from the windows and anyone with a camera. That too stalkerish for you?” My words are addressed to Harry and Marshall, who look at each other as they decide. Not Lindsay.

She ignores them, grabs my arm, and yanks me angrily into the kitchen, where Connie is arranging fruit and cheese on a plate. Her head bobs up and she grabs the tray, busily walking down the hall to Harry’s office. People tend to skedaddle when tempers are close to blowing.

“I haven’t even had my first coffee of the day and you get yourself fired?” Lindsay hisses.

I pull my biceps out of reach and turn away, opening a cabinet.

“What are you doing?” she asks, furious.

“Looking for the coffee beans. I can’t have this conversation right now. Not when the taste of you is still on the tip of my tongue and your father just confronted me about sleeping with you.”

Not to mention the scarves set me the f*ck up.

“Daddy what?”

I shrug.

“You have the most robotic range of emotions I’ve ever seen in a man, Drew.”

I find the coffee beans, pour some in the grinder, and before I press the grind button, I lean into her and whisper, “You didn’t think so when we were naked and in bed an hour ago.”

BZZZZZZZZ.

She can’t argue as a florid blush fills her gorgeous face. I know she wants caffeine as much as I need a distraction. Harry and Marshall aren’t going to give us much time together. Loose tongues can be found in any politician’s household, no matter how careful security is with background checks and ongoing evaluations.

Trust me.

I know that all too well.

How in the hell did someone snap that photo of me punching Blaine yesterday?

Anya appears, her face pale, eyes narrowed into glittering blue slits that make it clear I’m not on her list of favorite people.

Not sure I ever was.

“You okay, Lindsay?” she shouts over the grinder, the ever-present folders in her arms, her face lined with exhaustion. Anya’s been part of the background of Harwell Bosworth’s political world for years. And then I remember.

Back in the day – way back, before she came to work for Harry – she worked for Nolan Corning.

“I’m fine,” Lindsay shouts back. “Just trying to talk to Drew.”

“Looks like he’s not cooperating.” She glares at me.

I glare back.

“I’m making her coffee!” I smirk.

Anya’s perfectly manicured finger points to a spot over my shoulder. I turn.

A giant silver carafe full of coffee is on the counter behind me.

Lindsay rolls her eyes.

“I make better coffee than that mud.”

“Hey!” Connie’s offended voice comes up behind me. “That is organic Fair Trade ‘mud’ made from beans produced in a Guatemalan coffee plantation that Mrs. Bosworth has supported for years through her humanitarian efforts.”

“Fired,” Lindsay whispers to herself, blinking hard, looking at me askance.

I cock one eyebrow. “Let’s grab coffee and some privacy.”

“Privacy? Here?” She snags a mug next to the big coffee dispenser and makes a cup, her palms encircling the china, her sigh full of so much stress. Earbuds dangle from around her neck, the little nubs brushing against her nipples outside her t-shirt. She sips, her eyelids down, then she looks up at me.

The sad smile guts me.

“They set me up, Lindsay.”

“I know. And Daddy knows it, but he’s all about winning. Have to keep up appearances.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

She shakes her head, a wry smile on her lips. “No. I just have the drill memorized. Daddy only has a few plays in his playbook, Drew. And they all revolve around getting elected.”

“You know I’m not what the newspaper – that’s just a bunch of lies.”

“Of course I know that!” A few sips later and she’s pensive. No one interrupts us, but in the background I hear phones ringing, copy machines and printers churning, the muffled busy-ness of a politician who has just declared his candidacy for president.

“You sure?” Every nerve in me is like a candle wick, on fire and burning down the line.

She squares her shoulders, the ear buds dropping, her pony tail bouncing slightly. “Yes. I trust you.” Looking around the room, she takes the chance, stepping into my space. My heat.

My body.

Her hands go to the nape of my neck as she leans in, hot breath against my jaw, and whispers, “I trust you. I know that now. Nothing you do could make me doubt you. Nothing.”