Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(20)

“If I’m elected.”

“Oh, you’ll get elected. You are beloved, not just in Tennessee, but by everyone. My grandfather has already written in support of your candidacy. Senator Parker from California has already said she’ll endorse you—she’d make a great vice-presidential running mate by the way, when the time comes. You’re smart and gorgeous and way too charming when you decide to be. You have no skeletons in the closet because your closet is empty. Plus, the accepted spin on the whole Razor Dennings thing is that you single-handedly caught a serial killer and are responsible for saving the FBI’s case. You. William Winston saved his brother’s life and ended the June reign of terrors. The press is in love with you, Twitter is in love with you—the memes, Billy! My secretary showed me the Twitter account—what’s it called? Congressional Beard?”

I continued to track the wasp while Dani spoke, certain now it was the same one as before, hurling itself against an invisible, impenetrable barrier with the idiocy of either an insect or a man.

“Where, I guess, they tweet about how your beard basically seduces men, women, and children with its gloriousness? Something like that. Anyway, it’s epic. I laughed so hard.”

I hadn’t seen the account. I’d never been on Twitter, or Facebook for that matter. Staff members wrote all my tweets. I wasn’t a fan of the platform. Any website encouraging people to consume misleading headlines over facts seemed counterproductive to the survival of the human species. It was like folks had become willing, voracious consumers of propaganda. Bizarre.

Plus, Cletus was always asking me to live-tweet stuff, like going to the grocery store during blueberry season or getting my beard trimmed at the barber shop.

“Your point?” I asked, unable to look away from the persistent and foolish wasp. Tap-tap-tap. Why doesn’t it leave? Why doesn’t it give up?

“My point, Gruffy McGrufferton, is just this: if you ultimately decide to run for that senate seat next year, it’s yours. And maybe that’s our problem. If we want something, we work and work and work and push and push and push until it happens, and then it always happens. But with Curtis . . .”

I listened as Dani gathered a deep inhale, the sound overlaid by the tap-tap-tap of the insect. Her melancholy sigh the melody of futility; that imbecilic wasp provided the percussion; my silence was the accompaniment.

“Pushing gets me nowhere with her,” I stated stoically. “I know that already.”

“And yet,” she said with a hint of sadness, “you can’t help yourself, can you? You still push.”





Chapter Four





Billy





“I’d always secretly believed that a love as fierce and true as mine would be rewarded in the end, and now I was being forced to accept the bitter truth.”

Alma Katsu, The Taker





The door to my room opened as I was leaving the bathroom. Unable to see who’d opened it from where I was standing—or much of the hall either—I stopped and gripped the towel at my waist to ensure it wasn’t about to fall. I’d just taken a shower.

“When I walked by, I heard you talking to someone, so I know you’re up. If you’re awake, then you can eat.” The sound of Scarlet’s voice hit me right below the ribs mere seconds before she—in profile—came into view. Wearing a pale pink summer dress that ended above the knee, held together at her shoulders by mere strings, she walked down the two stairs into my room, carrying another of her food laden trays.

Her eyes were affixed to the steps and the tray, not the room. Torn, I took a hasty step backward but then stopped. My clothes were in my suitcase, several feet beyond where Scarlet now stood.

What could I do? Turn around and hide in the bathroom until she left? No.

. . . Maybe.

“I didn’t wake you up for dinner last night, you were sleeping so peacefully, but you do need to eat more than once a day. So here I am, and I’ll be back with lunch in a few hours.” She set the tray on the corner of the bed. Her back to me, her hands lifted to her hips as she finally looked up. I braced as she turned at the waist, searching the room. “Where are you hid—oh my God!”

Well, she saw me.

Scarlet faced me, her hand flying to her chest. Eyes wide, her stare grew distracted, then hazy, then mesmerized, and it never lifted higher than my neck even though her cheeks were turning pinker with every passing second. I didn’t move other than grind my teeth, just let her look. I was certain at some point she’d realize she was gaping at my body and probably run out of here embarrassed.

With any luck, her thoughtless behavior might mortify her enough to send someone else with the tray from now on.

So, I waited. As predicted, Scarlet flinched again, apparently coming to herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then covered them with her hands.

“I—um, I just—you’re—I brought you—you have—” Huffing harshly, her hands fell from her face, which was now bright red. She pointed at the tray behind her, opened her eyes, anchored them to the ceiling, and yelled, “FOOD! Okay? I brought food!”

I said nothing, nor did I make a move, too busy trying not to notice how cute she was, flustered and aggrieved by the sight of my bare chest. I reckoned I had only a second or two to look my fill before she stormed from the room and slammed the door. Or maybe she’d rush out without closing the door, darting down the stairs and fleeing to parts unknown in this gigantic villa, beyond my sinister reach.