Damn, she broke her three-call rule.
Resigning myself to what had to be done, I answered, every muscle in my body coiling in dread. “Good morning, Mother.”
“Why did I have to hear from your brother that you’ve returned home?” Her crisp aloofness filled my ear like an old friend—a controlling bully of an old friend who liked to trip you in the hallway and steal your lunch money.
Ugh, Brody and his big mouth.
I tossed the apple in the air. “Because this isn’t home. I’m only here until I can pull together enough money to go back to San Marcos.”
“Well, we must catch up now that you’re here.”
I bit into the apple. “I’m on the schedule most days at the cantina. I’m not sure I’ll have time to—”
“Leighton, I’m trying,” she interrupted with a dramatic sigh. “I know things weren’t ideal between us when you left, and I take my share of the blame for that—”
“Ideal?” I choked, fighting to swallow. “Mother, we’ve barely said two words to each other in almost four years. I was a piece of furniture to you. A doll for you to dress up and parade around your campaign functions.”
“It was a very stressful time in my life.”
“Stressful? I lost my father!”
“I lost my husband.”
“Funny, you didn’t even wait until he was cold in the ground before you plucked another one off the replacement tree, did you?” Fire rushed through my veins, her calm response provoking a need to lash out. “He was a ripe one too—all golden and shiny and dripping with money—just like you always wanted.”
“Leighton Brooke, I know I haven’t always done right by you, but I’ll not have my own daughter speak to me this way. I’m the mayor of this city.” Her declaration made me laugh. She wore her title like a badge, flashing it all over town like an all-access pass.
“For now. Polls are reporting a tight race.” I waited for the explosion, but once again, I underestimated her.
“My constituents know the value I add to my community,” she said, ignoring my jab. “They trust I’ll clean up the streets and take them back from this cartel infestation. They’ll come through for me.”
“And if they don’t, you can always buy them.”
Either she didn’t hear me, or she chose to ignore me. “Leighton, darling, I don’t want to fight. Let’s use this opportunity for a fresh start. If your father’s death taught us anything, it’s that none of us are promised tomorrow. It would be a shame for things to end with this rift between us. Don’t you agree?”
I didn’t give a shit one way or the other. I had bigger things on my mind. “I suppose.”
“Splendid,” she cooed. “Finn is throwing me a wonderful campaign party this Wednesday at his country club. It starts at eight o’clock, so try not to be late. You know how I feel about lateness.”
Of course. It’s one of the seven deadly sins.
The apple threatened to crawl back up my throat, but it wasn’t because of my resistance to conformity, or her insulting invitation. It was because the last time I attended one of her campaign parties, I ran away from it in a panic straight into Matty’s arms. Also, she said his name. He was throwing the party.
Finn Donovan.
A shudder crawled up my spine. My stepfather was the main reason I left Houston and never returned. My mother saved face by telling people my hasty departure was just part of my wild and adventurous spirit, and I was all too happy to let her bask in her lie.
“Wednesday’s not good for me.”
“Please, darling, I need you here.”
“Sure, you do. Just like always.” Then it hit me. “Wait, did some journalist find out I was home? Are they wondering why your daughter hasn’t been around for four years? Is your image a little dusty, Mother?”
“Leighton, fresh start, remember?” Her patience cracked. “I’m extending an olive branch. Don’t break it.”
I won’t. I’ll just shove it straight up your ass.
“I’ll think about it.” I hung up without saying goodbye—another one of Lilith Harcourt
Donovan’s cardinal sins. It felt so good I almost called her back so I could do it again.
As I dropped my phone next to me, a cloud of steam billowed into the room before he did. Maybe it was supposed to be a warning because where there was smoke there tended to be fire, and an inferno followed next wearing nothing but a white towel.
“Everything okay?” Mateo gave me a one-sided grin from underneath a hand towel draped over the right side of his face. I watched, mesmerized, as he rubbed the towel over the top of his head, squeezing the excess water from his hair before flinging it onto a chair by the window.
He nodded to the phone still crushed in my hand. “When I turned off the water, I heard shouting. Is there a problem?”
He didn’t leave me.
I bared my teeth in a humorless smile. “Oh, that? No, that was just my mother.”
“Ah, yes, the mayoress of this fine city. I forgot how intertwined with law and politics you Harcourts are. Well, she does certainly play well for the cameras, doesn’t she?”
“Always has, always will.” Looking down, I examined the chipped nail polish on my thumb. Part of me hoped he’d drop the whole conversation.
“So, what did she want?”
Damn.
“Nothing important—just demanding my presence at some campaign function she’s having on Wednesday.” As I obsessed over my non-existent manicure, I snuck a quick glance through my lashes and saw him move closer, the tiny towel shifting open with each step.
Oh, hell.
If I examined my nail any closer, I’d poke my damn eye out.
“What time do you have to be there?” His shadow fell over me, and a drop of water from his still damp hair fell onto my bare thigh. Leaning over, he brushed it away without hesitation.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“In case you don’t remember, I had a hard day yesterday. I don’t think I’ll be in the partying mood, Matty.”
Mateo. Mateo. Mateo. Shit.
If he noticed my slipup, he didn’t correct me. “First of all, the party is four days away. Secondly, your reasoning is invalid.”
“On what grounds?”
“You’re sitting in a room, unarmed, with one of those bad guys.” Never moving his hand from my thigh, he leaned forward, his hair hanging over me like a curtain. “Does that scare you?”
“No.”
Yes. So much yes.
“It should,” he warned. “Remember what I told you at the cantina—the only person you should ever trust is yourself.”
“Why? Do you plan to hurt me?” Despite the bravado in my voice, I didn’t really know the answer.
“I could,” he said, his breath fanning over my face. “In so many ways, little lamb. You’re still so lost, so unaware of everything around you. I’m a different version of the man you knew. I don’t wait for things anymore. I take what I want.”
His words felt like a lead weight on my chest. “What do you want?”