Page 12 of Lovetown, USA

Trey

City Hall looks just like how I remember it.

The building itself is right at the center of the town square. It’s moderately sized, but the stately white columns are quick to remind you that some serious shit goes down in here.

Inside, it’s even colder than my office. Heels click loudly across the checkerboard marble floor. Walls are covered in framed photos of the mayors who once governed these halls. Most are white men. A few black men, an Asian man, and then there’s our very own Mayor Daphne Davis.

I check my watch, irritated as hell that I closed up early for this. I’ve been sitting in this hard, narrow chair outside her office for over an hour. My leg bounces repeatedly, earning me a side-eye from Monica, the mayor’s aide.

“How much longer?” I call to her.

She shrugs and tosses another almond in her mouth. She’s been crunching on those things for thirty minutes, now.

Finally, at long fucking last, the door opens and there she is, leaning against the frame like she just stepped out of a photo shoot. Bright red dress, red lipstick, high heels. She’s bad as fuck. Always has been. That’s not even in question.

I stand just as her perfume makes it way to my nostrils. “Mayor Davis.”

“Doctor,” she says with a voice wrapped in velvet. “Come on in.”

I keep my expression neutral as I follow her inside.

The wide mahogany desk gleams under the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

It’s way too large for a lady of her stature, but she looks right at home sitting behind it.

An arrangement of white roses sits next to a picture of her shaking hands with our governor.

It, like the desk and the woman herself, says power, order, and control.

I take the chair across from her desk, heaving a sigh as I do.

“You okay?” she says, tilting her head. “You seem tense. Was traffic bad?”

“Traffic was fine when I got here. An hour ago,” I add.

She smiles. “I’m a busy woman.”

“I’m aware.”

She studies me for a beat, then leans forward slightly. “You were a lot more fun last time I saw you.”

“Last time you saw me, we were both naked.”

There it is. The loud, melodic laugh that tells anyone in the vicinity that the mayor is at the function. That she’s at the center of the function, and you better not forget it.

“Touché,” she says. “But that was then.”

“Ancient history,” I agree.

“I’ve always loved history. Especially Black history.”

That gets a small twitch of a smile out of me before I smother it, but I can’t control the images my brain inconveniently conjures—her office, after hours, shadows on the walls, her skirt bunched at her waist, pins hitting the floor as her hair fell out of her bun…

“Let’s talk business,” I say, eager to leave the past in the past.

“Fine. Monica gave me an overview, but refresh my memory.”

“My clinic.”

“Ah, yes,” she says with a finger snap. “The clinic. You’re having trouble getting permits.”

I nod.

“Well…” she trails off, clasping her hands together on the desk. “I could look into it for you.”

She lets that dangle in the air, her voice lilted just right to let me know there’s something lurking behind that offer.

It worked. I’m intrigued. “Yeah, that would be—“

“But,” she interrupts smoothly, “I’d need something from you.”

“I figured.”

She gives me a sly smile. “Rumor has it you’ve been spending some time with a certain beautiful journalist.”

My eyes narrow. “Where are you going with this?”

Because I know where my mind just went. I’m sitting here wondering if this is the second woman in Lovetown who wants a taste of Lane.

She rests her chin on her hand, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the side of her face. “I’m concerned about what she’s writing about our city.”

“Oh. So pull her up. Talk to her.”

Daphne sighs. “I’d prefer it if you kept an eye on things. Since you’re so often in her company.”

I laugh at that, short and sharp. “What are you worried about? One little exposé isn’t enough to hurt business.”

That earns me two raised eyebrows. “Exposé?”

Fuck.

Maybe I wasn’t supposed to mention that.

So I try to steer us back to the purpose of this little parlay. “About the clinic—“

“Back up, back up.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m still stuck on exposé.”

“Look, I misspoke. I could be wrong. But whatever she’s doing doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” she says with a laugh that sounds decidedly less cheerful than the last one. “Let’s cut to the chase, Trey. Not only do I want you to watch her and keep me updated, I want you to pursue her. Bring her into the fold.”

“Come again?”

“Romance her. Bring her around to our point of view. Make her a fucking believer.”

I huff out a laugh as I realize she’s serious. “You really think I have that kind of power?”

She fixes those feline eyes on me and stares into my soul. “You did with me.”

I swallow hard as I remember the way she used to look at me. Like I hung the moon. And how I had to tell her I didn’t feel the same. I thought she’d retaliate in some way, but she took it well enough.

“So, just to be clear,” I say slowly, “you’re telling me you’ll remove all my roadblocks if I get that girl to fall in love with me?”

“I don’t care what you call it,” she says. “I don’t care how you do it. Just make sure whatever she writes about this town makes us shine. Do that, and I guarantee you’ll have everything you need to open your clinic.”

We both stand at the same time, the silence thick around us. There’s a brief standoff wherein I stare at her, she stares at me, and neither of us says a word. Then I stick out my hand.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say as we shake on it.

Her hand is soft in mine, but firm. She holds it a little longer than she needs to, her eyes pinning me in place.

“Talk soon,” she says as she finally drops my hand, effectively dismissing me. And I’m grateful, because I’m starting to think about what I just agreed to, and the guilt is settling in.

I regret it already.