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Touching base. Had a slight change in plans that we need to discuss. Your order is quite...aggressive.

I swallow, knowing exactly how to handle the fallout for an “order” like this one. The aggressive nature had a purpose, but I anticipated this text. She prefers in-person meetings when this type of business is being discussed. But I don’t have time for that.

The mayor interrupts and asks another rhetorical question. “And you think moving the budget away from infrastructure and into things like parks and recreation is the way to do that, Foxx?” It’s like he doesn’t want this town to move forward. Either that, or he really is an idiot.

Finding my patience, I look at the governor when answering.

It’s his cooperation I need and his signature on the dotted lines.

“We’re moving into the spring and summer months, and we have the luxury of underwater caves and caverns.

Places for people to explore, climb, dive, create memories they’ll share on social media.

It’s an attraction. We just need people hired to keep those places clean, safe, and monitored.

It seems like exactly the right time to move the budget into something that’ll be visible and positive to Kentucky.

As far as new attractions and businesses, I have plenty of ideas we can explore. ”

Bourbon is my occupation, and I run it well.

But there’s more I care about beyond it.

Keeping my family safe and strong is the biggest one, but there are also plenty of people who don’t have the same luxury.

I’m not a hero by any stretch; I have no problem with violence if it’s necessary, but not with people who don’t deserve it.

The good people of Fiasco deserve some life breathed back into them and their livelihoods after the past year.

“I like your thought process. You have any estimates of the numbers that might bring in?” The governor looks at the mayor, as if he should have these details, but he doesn't. That’s what I was doing here.

Governor Hawkins wants to treat our state like a business, so he’s getting the businessman.

And one of the best tactics in my line of business is warming them up, getting them comfortable, and then getting what I want.

Ignoring the mayor, I give the governor a nod and tell him the only thing that’ll sway a long-standing politician with his level of attention.

“There’s also quite a bit of tourism possibilities I’m considering investing more in.

How about we discuss that over one of my specialty bottles. ”

Thirty minutes later, the low lighting mixed with the cool air inside Midnight Proof the mood changes entirely.

It’s the best spot in Fiasco, hands down.

The vibes are unmatched. The drinks are well done.

And there’s entertainment worthy of being a destination.

Hadley knew what she was doing when she built this place.

I’m not quite sure how, considering she’s always been a bit of a princess about life and hard work.

But she turned an old bar and a run-down building into one of the sexiest speakeasies on the map.

“Governor,” Hadley says smoothly, a warmth in her expression that would draw anyone in.

But that welcome is all for show, since nobody noticed the brief glare she gave me as I came in.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Her eyes flit to mine again as she says, “Ace hadn’t mentioned exactly who he was bringing with him. ”

He extends his hand across the bar. “Pleasure, as always, Hadley. My brother was just talking about you.”

I grit my teeth and flex my hand at my side, recalling watching Hawk’s hand squeezing her ass this morning. It isn’t my business that the men she flirts and sleeps with are rather pathetic choices.

She smiles, ignoring the way the governor blatantly stares at her chest. Plucking a couple of bottles from below the bar, she starts making a drink as she asks, “Are you planning to be back in town again for Derby weekend? You very much enjoyed the afterparty at Foxx Bourbon last year, if I recall.”

He had until he lost a decent amount of money to Laney.

My brother’s wife cleaned the floor with him in a nice game of Texas Hold ’Em.

Grant had to step in when everyone realized he wanted to raise the stakes and play for one of his horses.

Laney had been a hand away from taking one home, but she folded and called it a night before he embarrassed himself much further.

Hadley, on the other hand, is unpredictable. Disturbingly beautiful, easily the smartest person in most rooms, and she carries herself with more confidence than she knows what to do with. Right now, however, I need her to chill the fuck out.

“Hadley Finch ,” the mayor says, making his way toward us. I thought we had shrugged him off after dinner at Hooch’s. No such luck.

My eyes narrow on him. The spineless wonder wants to make everyone in this group aware of the social threat she poses by being a Finch, but the governor knows who she is, as he’s been to many gatherings at her father’s home over the years. Asshole.

He sips his drink out of a cocktail straw and then adds, “You’ll need to remind me which horse of yours ended up in the winner’s circle last year. Can’t recall if I’m rememberin’ correctly or if it was another one of Finch & King’s fillies.”

The backhanded question has my nostrils flaring.

I want to slap the stupidity right off his face.

But Hadley simply wipes her hand on the towel slung over her shoulder and smiles.

She isn’t going to exchange niceties, though.

Nah. She’s taking inventory. Planning all the ways she’ll make her words linger long after they’ve been said.

She’s the kind of woman who will start a bar fight and watch men fall over themselves like idiots to finish it.

Because she can—her charm is so damn sweet sometimes that it’ll make your teeth hurt.

That’s only around the people she liked.

Then there were moments, like this one, when she recognized a gauntlet being thrown and she showed up like a fucking gladiator.

Smiling at the mayor, she says, “That would be my girl, Fergie. But it's been a long time. That was years ago now.” Then she shrugs. “And yes, we’re all aware of who my father is—my last name matches his. Isn’t that right, Governor?

” She pours out three shots along the bar.

“Daughter to the deplorable Wheeler Finch.” Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispers loudly, “I’m not a fan either, just share some DNA.

Less intentional of a connection than some, I’d imagine. ”

I swipe my hand along the back of my neck and suggest, “Gentlemen, I’m going to head up. Hadley, I’ll take the bottle I’ve requested when you have a moment.”

She looks over her shoulder and nods to one of her waitresses before looking my way. “Of course, Mr. Foxx,” she says too sweetly.

Mr. Foxx? Jesus Christ. I clear my throat and nod, knowing the kicker is coming when I see her back straightening ever-so-slightly as she glances at the mayor.

“Oh, and Mayor,” she says, holding up her finger, “the next time you walk into my bar ready to insult me, you'd be wise to remember my last name you so quickly pointed out. It may still be splashing the tabloids, but your friends”—she glances at Governor Hawkins—“have enjoyed a few cocktails in my father's home over the years.

Interesting that little tidbit was left out of all those articles about the fall of Kentucky racing, don't you think?”

Neither the governor nor the mayor has the gall to respond, only nodding dumbly. And with that, she winks. “Have a nice evenin', gentlemen.” She salutes us with two fingers at her brow. Her middle finger lingers in the air a second longer, like she couldn’t help herself from flipping him off.

I wipe my hand across my mouth, trying to hide my smile, and then move up the stairs.

The private balcony room at Midnight Proof is vaulted above the main floor and looks out among the dark velvet curtains draped along the walls and the chandeliers placed in various spots throughout.

It provides an excellent bird’s-eye view of the entire speakeasy for prime people watching.

The warm glow around the room gives off just enough light to squint at menus and find drinks, but allows for enough shadowed space for couples to slip hands under tables or skirts.

Midnight Proof is just the right mixture of a vintage-style speakeasy brushed with the modern appeal of a forward-thinking cocktail menu and nostalgically sexy entertainment.

“My brother got the better deal with that one,” the governor says as he looks out. “Pretty little thing.” His attention stays focused on Hadley. With a smirk on his face that I have the sudden urge to slap off, he adds, “Lucky bastard.”

The insinuation makes my stomach sink. I hate knowing as much as I do about Chief Hawkins and Hadley’s rather cliché situation.

She’s never been tight-lipped about her sex life.

I’ve narcissistically always thought it’s because she wanted me to know.

And I stupidly listen too closely to her conversations with Lincoln about it.

I study the governor as he watches her. It pisses me off that he’s even looking.

I need to pivot his focus. “Still pulling the same funding for your upcoming campaign?” I ask, taking a sip of my bourbon. It’s a loaded question.

If I had blinked, I would’ve missed the way his shoulders tense and he pauses mid-sip.

But he plays it off when he tilts his head to the side with a sly smile.

“Why, Foxx? You interested in donating to my campaign?” Sipping my bourbon, he continues to leer at Hadley.

“Your support is always welcome. But I still have the funding I need for getting elected another term.”

I doubt that. The details I have on Governor Hawkins’s background are mostly predictable.

On-again-off-again women, never married.

But his brother is his only family. He has investments that prove lucrative, but have been shuffled with curious timing to the current events in my small town.

Add that to the fact that his campaign donations are mostly private and anonymous.

Anyone who paid attention knows the governor and Wheeler Finch rubbed elbows for a long time.

There have been plenty of events where both were present.

I watch the mayor out of my periphery lean forward to take in the burlesque performance that was just beginning.

My soon-to-be sister-in-law, Faye, puts on one helluva show.

She’s also an incredibly talented private investigator, a certain skill that not too many know about.

A little detail that I, as well as the local PD and FBI field offices, have found valuable recently.

My phone vibrates, allowing me a brief escape from watching these men embarrass themselves with how oblivious they are to their own lack of power and influence.

LUCIFER

A heads-up about the company you’re keeping today would have been nice.

ACE

Heads-up, the governor is going to make a pass at you.

LUCIFER

You say that like it’s anything new.

ACE

You’re seeing his brother.

LUCIFER

Sounds like a challenge.

ACE

Please tell me you’re joking.

LUCIFER

Why? You worried about me, Daddy?

I puff out my cheeks and blow out an exhale.

Jesus Christ, that nickname. Pushing my buttons is her favorite hobby.

I’m going to learn my fucking lesson one of these days.

I don’t know why I engage. When I do, it’s like fuel for her.

And then I end up in a bad mood, slightly dizzy, and with a fucking hard-on.

I can’t recall exactly when she turned into a fixture in our lives, only that it happened overnight.

I hadn’t been paying attention, and all of a sudden, she was there.

Dinners turned into fishing trips and Saturday morning card games.

Lazy moments and long days before the years seemed short and our lives became too hectic.

She’s been here, and it’s been an incessant hurdle to avoid looking like I care.

Smiling at whatever the governor’s rattling on about now, I pocket my phone and glance at the bar to find her attention up here and on me. I’ve become exceptional at masking feelings and schooling reactions to every sideways bullshit that crosses my path. Except when it comes to her.

Her mouth tips up a fraction of an inch. She knows she got to me.