Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(86)
“He’s a pain? How so?” She sounded truly interested.
“He keeps seeing problems where none exist.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s irritated I have a beard. Wants me to shave it off.”
Her frown was immediate and severe. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Please tell me you’re not shaving your beard.” Her arms squeezed me and a spark of something glimmered in her eyes. It looked akin to possessiveness. “In fact, promise me.”
I smiled. “I didn’t know you liked my beard so much.”
“Of course I do. Gives me a reason to touch your face.” As though to demonstrate the truth of her statement, she lightly scratched her nails through it. “I like to pet it. What else is a problem that doesn’t actually exist?”
I pressed her hand to my cheek for a second before bringing her fingers to my lips for a quick kiss, and I answered her question without thinking, “He also says he can’t get me elected unless I’m married.”
Scarlet stopped swaying. In fact, she just full stopped. It took me a moment to realize what I’d said. When I did, my chest tightened uncomfortably, the dull ache throbbing outward reminding me how much this woman controlled every aspect of my physiology.
“Scarlet—”
“Is that so?” she whispered, her hand sliding from my face. “Does it make any difference who the woman is? Or will anyone do?”
“Like I said, I’m firing this guy when I get back. He’s full of shit.” I stared at her intently, wanting to make sure she saw and understood that I was serious.
But her eyes narrowed, seemed to focus inward, like this information gave her plenty to consider. “I guess—” she started, stopped, licked her lips, then gave me back her gaze. “You know what they’ve been calling me in the news?”
I was unable to control the sternness of my frown or my flare of temper. I’d read the news. I knew they’d been calling her Devil’s Daughter.
“They shouldn’t be calling you that. Those people are garbage.”
She managed a weak smile, her arms falling away as I continued to hold her. “Billy.”
“Scarlet.”
“Have you thought about this?”
“About what?” I ground out. Even though I knew exactly what she was about to say, I hoped she’d decide not to say it.
“Do you really think you could win a senate race if you and I were together?” Some of my fury must’ve been visible on my face because she was quick to add, “I mean, publicly. If we were together publicly.”
Careful to keep the volume of my voice low, I asked, “What other way is there to be together, Scarlet?”
She stared at me, her gaze searching, her lips parted like the words were on the tip of her tongue.
“Nope. No way.” I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Billy. If being with me publicly means—”
Still shaking my head, I captured Scarlet’s fingers and pulled her back into the main dining room, through it, and out the door. We were going to talk about this, but I wasn’t doing it with hushed voices on the balcony of a restaurant.
Like we were some kind of secret.
Chapter Twenty
Claire
“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
Ernest Hemingway
I marched into the hotel room, turned when I reached the approximate center of it, and faced a livid Billy Winston. “I’m not saying it would be forever. I’m just saying—”
“Don’t.” He prowled back and forth in front of me, his eyes flashing fire.
Perhaps a different approach would be prudent.
“Don’t you think you’ve already given up enough for me?” I placed my fists on my hips. “In what universe am I going to allow you to throw your senate race—everything you’ve worked for—just so we can go out to dinner in public? We can order in! What is the downside of holding off? Just until-until—” I wracked my brain, attempting to estimate an appropriate timeframe we’d need to wait.
Not next year, the senate race would still be going on.
The year after? But only if my record label agreed to soften their image of Claire McClure. If not, then I’d finish my last two contractually obligated albums for them and look for a different label. So, three years? Four? No. Not four. By then he’d have a reelection campaign.
“Until when?” He stopped pacing. “How long this time? I’m finished putting us on hold. And your name shouldn’t be printed in the same newspaper as your father’s. Your names shouldn’t even be spoken together, he has nothing to do with you.”
“My love, it’s not just him, or that they’re calling me Devil’s Daughter. It’s my record label. They’ve painted me as the vixen of country music—never mind that I sing bluegrass—but even if my father weren’t in the news, taking our relationship public makes no sense for your career.”
“I haven’t decided to run for the senate seat.”
“That’s ludicrous.” I lifted a warning finger. “Don’t you dare end your candidacy because of me.”