Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (17 page)

After a shower and half a pot of coffee he gave in, allowing himself to wonder what life would be like without splitting time between Harmony Falls and Washington. He had three offices now: one in D.C., one on Main Street in Harmony Falls and one next to Will’s in the MCI building. That last one was sorely underused. He wanted a more active role in the family business, but congressional work kept him busy. And this ridiculous bid for the presidency absorbed the rest of his time, pandering to this one, catering to that one. Not even an extra-long shower after party social events could rid Justin of the filth that came along with courting powerful people with questionable motives.

So why did he do it?

He glanced at a picture on the living room mantle. His father was about thirty, dressed in a three-piece suit, standing in front of an American flag. That was why he did it, because he thought it would make his father proud. But did the man even know? The one and only time Justin poised that question aloud, Reverend Miller assured him his father knew. If that was the case, did his father know about Alice?

Justin choked on a mouthful of hot coffee as memories of last night collided with thoughts of fatherly pride. It wasn’t that his father wouldn’t like him being with Alice — no, Marvin wasn’t as much of an elitist as Robert Parrish — it was more like his father would question his intentions toward Alice. Marvin was a deliberate, honorable man — the kind of man Justin spent years trying to be, the kind of man last night proved he wasn’t. There was little caution and honor in what he and Alice had done in the theatre. And yet, he loved her. There had to be honor in that.

So now what? She’d asked the same question in the theatre, and he’d brushed her off, preferring to savor the moment without the disapproval time and clarity would allow. He planned to see her again, be with her again, at least until he left for Washington, and he’d see her when he came home on weekends and breaks, but how long could that last before she wanted more, before he wanted more?

And what was more? A public relationship for sure, but a place by his side at fundraisers and family dinners, a ring? He stopped the mug at his lips, knowing he’d never be able to swallow the coffee even if his hand stopped shaking long enough to take a sip. Fun with Alice was a given, but life with Alice wouldn’t be so easy. Her flare for the dramatic and propensity toward reckless spontaneity wouldn’t win her acceptance in his harshest circles. Even if he could temporarily harness that enthusiasm, some people would never accept her, namely anyone with allegiance to the Parrishes. Funny, that group used to include Justin. Now he couldn’t think of anything more gratifying than cutting the strings that tethered him to Robert Parrish. But that wouldn’t be easy, either.

Without Robert’s backing, could he maintain his seat in Congress? If not, could he make a comparable positive impact in people’s lives simply by working at MCI?

He didn’t know.

A small scratching sound caught his attention as he passed through the hall on his way to the kitchen. He poked his head into the laundry room where two little faces peered up at him with big blue eyes, eyes like Alice’s, so damn sweet one look could cause cavities. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Foolish maybe, but work could wait. Hell, he was in the middle of an existential crisis. Playing with a couple kittens was hardly the worse thing he could do.

He sat, suit and all, and let the kittens climb into his lap. His brothers would verbally castrate him if they ever got a look at this.

“Which one are you?” Justin asked the kitten with a smattering of white across his face. He didn’t know if the kitten was male or female, but the swipe of color splitting its face into a work of geometric art gave it an edge. “I’m going to guess you’re Oscar.” The smaller one dug microscopic claws into his lapel. Justin tried to pry her loose, and she meowed. “You do not look like a Hammerstein. There’s nothing hammering about you.” He chuckled, thinking about seeing Alice at her theatre tonight — with his hammer. The smile that stretched across his face scattered his earlier funk.

Sure, he had worries, but he also had options, which made him luckier than a lot of men.

With pats to the kittens’ heads, he filled their bowls and snatched his coffee mug from the counter, determined to get to work. More questions than answers filled his head, but he knew at least one thing for certain. He wasn’t interested in the White House, and admitting that was a game changer.

So to whom was he going to make the admission first?

Thirty minutes later, the decision had been made. As Justin pulled into the MCI parking lot, the sun blinded him while perfectly weighted, warm summer air doused his face and Bob Seger blasted his ears. He was on the right track. He could feel it. After talking with Will, he’d be one step closer to living a life of his choosing rather than one powered by plans from decades past and power-grubbing manipulations.

Out of the car, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He might be on the right track, but that didn’t mean the track was smooth.

“Morning, Justin,” Will’s secretary called from the seat of her car. One long leg stretched out the open door and balanced on a high heel piercing the pavement.

“Morning, Georgiana. Need a hand?”

She shifted too many files over the steering wheel to her thigh, snorting when she laughed. “Looks that bad, huh?”

Justin quickened his pace, catching two envelopes before they fell. “Does my brother do any of his own work, or does he stick you with it all?”

She blinked up at him through the glaring lenses of her red-rimmed glasses. “He gives me the easy stuff.”

Rolling his eyes, Justin relieved her of the rest of the files. “If this is the easy stuff, I’d hate to see the hard stuff.”

Out of the car, Georgiana adjusted her skirt and smoothed her blouse before slinging an equally heavy-looking satchel over her shoulder. “He’s got a lot on his plate, what with Mark taking care of your mom and you being gone. It’s a one-man-show around here. He’s doing the best he can.”

If Justin wasn’t mistaken, protection laced through her words.

“Well, I’m here now … for a few weeks, at least. What can I do?”

“Ask him. He’s kind of a control freak.”

That’s the Will Justin knew and loved, but what kind of control freak relinquished a good portion of his workload on a clearly drowning woman? Maybe Georgiana was right. Maybe MCI had become too much for Will. If so, then the conversation they were about to have was bound to please them both.

After delivering the files to Georgiana’s desk, Justin didn’t rush into Will’s office. Instead, he walked the long hall in the opposite direction until he reached a cluttered common area. His breath quickened as he maneuvered between stacks of boxes, locked filing cabinets and mismatched chairs. On the other side of the debris, he twisted a knob. Years ago, this was the hub of MCI, and this dark, but oddly not-dusty office belonged to his father. To anyone who didn’t know Marvin Mitchell died years ago, they’d think the man was on vacation.

Justin circled his father’s desk, the one he used to hide underneath as a boy. With one finger, he traced the woodwork around the edges and tried not to breathe too fast. He hoped his father would forgive him, but after today who knew what would become of the Mitchell-Parrish plan.

“Georgiana said you were here. She saw you come this way.”

Justin turned to see Will in the doorway. “Yeah. I, uh, needed a minute.”

The whoosh of the air conditioner, forcing cold air through a wall vent, took the place of their voices. For longer than comfort allowed, they stood there, staring at each other, Justin not knowing where to start.

“You look worried. Mom’s good, you know?” Will crossed the flawless wool carpet to pat a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Anyone else would’ve been discharged by now, but when your last name is on the ward, you get preferential treatment.” He smiled. “Nothing to worry about.”

“What if I told you I wasn’t going after the White House? And what if not going after the White House turned into not running for re-election? Should I worry then?”

Will dropped his hand and perched on the edge of their father’s desk. He dragged a hand across his mouth and then tucked it beneath an arm slung across his chest. The longer he stayed quiet, the louder Justin’s heart thumped against his ribs.

“That depends,” Will said, looking straight into Justin’s eyes. “What’s the motivation?”

“I want to live a different life than the one I had planned.” The words escaped in a whoosh. “Robert made it seem like we were partners, like we shared goals, but it was a lie. He wanted a puppet in office, and I let my high-and-mighty principles lead me to the role. But no more. I’m done. So I ask again, should I worry?”

Will stood and gripped Justin’s shoulder. “Are you telling me that after this term you could be coming home and working next door to me?”

Justin nodded. “Would you want me?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.” Will drew him into a bear hug. “I’d be honored.”

Justin relaxed — a little. One admission down. One to go. He hoped the next one ended half as good.

• • •

After spending last night away from home, Alice spent extra time with Mouse that morning. She brushed the burs from his coat, cleaned the guck from his ears and fed him scrambled eggs for breakfast. When he took off after the crows, she took off for her theatre. By the time she pulled into the alleyway, it was almost noon and she’d been over the details of last night a million times.

A million times couldn’t dull their clarity or erase her grin.

She hummed as she walked backstage. Eventually the lyrics from
I Feel Pretty
pushed against her lips, and she set them free when she stepped on stage, twirling as she sang her way to the side steps and the orchestra pit. But when she saw the chair from last night, her feet stilled and her mouth shut. Justin Mitchell loved her.

On a giggle, she shuffle-skipped along the center aisle. Sometimes love wasn’t enough, but it sure felt like enough today.

Through the double doors and into the lobby, Alice heard a knock on the front door.
Justin.
Her heart slammed against her chest wall, carrying her feet across the ratty floors. If it weren’t broad daylight, she’d slip her shirt from her shoulder and flash a little red bra strap. That would start her day off right. But she’d have to settle for something less showy.

She twisted the lock and yanked open the door, her smile plummeting and shattering in the pit of her stomach the minute she saw Harold Parrish on the sidewalk.

“Oh,” Alice managed despite her disappointment and shock.

“Little lady.” He tipped his silly derby hat. “You look like you were expecting someone else.”

“No, I … was in the middle of something.”

He nodded, and the up-and-down motion narrowed his eyes. “Can I come in?”

“For what?” Even if Justin hadn’t told her about Harold’s interest in the theatre, she wouldn’t let the weasel in. He was the kind of man who made her skin crawl, the kind of man who looked at her too hard and long, leaving her skin to peel.

“Well, now, don’t get scared.” When he chuckled, a fleck of something hanging from his nostril fanned in his exhales.

Scared? Grossed out was more like it. As much as she didn’t want to go anywhere closer to him, she stepped out of her theatre, closing the door behind her, hoping the message was loud and clear.

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” He wrinkled his bulbous nose, but then quickly smiled, a smile that had the hairs of her neck standing on end.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Parrish?” she asked, keeping her voice pleasant, her breath steady and her shaking hands behind her back.

He looked her up and down in a way that rolled her stomach along with his eyes, and then he settled his beady gaze on her theatre. “This place is a hellhole, little lady. Why not let me take it off your hands?”

It was a showdown. On Main Street. At high noon. While cars drove by and people passed, Harold Parrish leveled the challenge. With her hands shaking and her heart racing, all Alice could think about was not causing a scene. She breathed in and out to calm her anger. She even managed a loaded smile.

“That’s awfully nice of you, Harold,” she said, stressing the awfully and channeling her best Annie Oakley impression. “But this theatre is all I’m holding, so I can manage just fine.” He didn’t know that losing the grant complicated things, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.

His black eyes glistened like frozen earth. “You like being trouble, don’t you?”

She wouldn’t dignify his question with a response. Instead, she lifted her chin, widened her smile and greeted Mary Clemmons, who was walking her poodle.

Harold followed suit, tipping his hat, but as soon as Mary was out of earshot, he leered. “You want trouble. I’ll give you trouble.” He slipped a sweaty hand underneath her elbow and squeezed. “How ’bout I drag you back inside, turn you over my knee, and give you some real trouble?”

The contact turned her stomach inside out, and she recoiled from his touch.

“Don’t.”

Cars rolled past, and she managed to make her clenched teeth resemble a smile … she hoped.

He looked around. “What? You think any of these people would care? About you?” His chuckle drowned the buzz of the workday.

She had news for him, somebody would care, somebody pretty damn important, somebody who loved her. For some reason, the thought stung her eyes, and she blinked in rapid-fire succession to stop the burn. When she did, she glanced across the street at the window four stories above them and wondered if Justin was there.

“Mitchell? You think he cares?” Harold laughed louder. “Aw, honey.” He stepped closer and brushed his rough knuckles across her cheek. “Don’t be stupid. A man like Mitchell will say whatever it takes to get at what’s in your panties.” He dropped his gaze below her waist. “But even if there’s gold in there, it’s not enough to keep him.”

Alice cracked. Street or no street, she wasn’t going to be sexually harassed and not fight back. She slammed a palm against Harold’s face and lunged for the theatre door. She had no idea if he tried to catch her, no idea who witnessed the scene. All she knew was that she managed to get inside and lock the door behind her. She sunk to the dirty floor and waited for the pounding to start, surely he’d want revenge. The thought of him beating down the door caused her to shudder, but even in a fit of rage, she bet Harold could hold his temper better than she could. He’d call the cops instead.