Misconduct (31 page)

I
planted my hand on the ornate marble railing and took a sip of my whiskey, gazing out over the bustle of cars, carriages, and lights in the cool evening of the Quarter. Conversation and laughter drifted outside from the Halloween masque through the doors behind me, but I narrowed my eyes, watching the gutter punks in the doorway down on the other side of the street beg for beer money instead.

Their ratty clothes, stringy hair, and “fuck it” attitude were something I had never understood, mostly because I’d barely noticed them before.

I guess, on the rare occasion I’d actually looked, I’d presumed they liked their lot in life. They were smiling as they chatted, after all.

But now I found myself wondering – as I felt my clean, crisp tux against my skin and the fragrant smell of the rich food from the ball going on behind me – where would they sleep tonight?

How long since that dog they were petting had eaten?

Where the hell were their parents?

I’d slowed my life considerably, trying to do a few things well instead of fifteen terribly, like my father wanted, but the more I’d taken the time to notice the little things around me, the emptier I felt.

Maybe they wanted more out of life and were just trying to get through the day. Or maybe they didn’t, because they didn’t know everything the world had to offer.

But I did know they’d be grateful for whatever money they got right now. They’d be grateful for food, drink, and a cigarette – or anything that made them feel good.

I wanted a lot of things, but – I realized, looking down at them – almost nothing I wanted would I treasure. Barely any of it would make me pause to feel grateful.

I’d missed what was truly important. I’d chosen wrong.

My phone vibrated from inside my breast pocket, but I just tilted the glass back up to my lips, ignoring it.

Jay was inside, constantly texting that I needed to get my ass in there and start chatting with people, but the luster was gone. It had slowly dwindled away the longer I went without her.

“Soooo,” I heard a woman’s voice say from behind me, and I looked to see my father and his wife smiling at me.

“When will you officially announce your candidacy?” she asked.

Rachel Marek was my father’s second wife, and while I liked her, I barely knew her. My father didn’t remarry for another ten years after my mother’s death when I was fifteen. I’d long since moved out and started my own life by then.

I looked over, seeing Jay march through the French doors, clearly on a mission to find me and bring me inside himself.

I gave Rachel a halfhearted smile. “Somewhat redundant, I think. Everyone is aware of my intentions anyway.”

But then I caught my father’s “try harder” look, and I softened my response for her.

“Within the week,” I assured her.

Jay stepped up next to me, and I nodded, telling him silently I would get my ass back into the party.

“Will you relocate to Washington, D.C.?” she asked, clutching my father’s arm.

“Let me win first,” I countered, trying to keep my expectations reasonable.

“Sorry.” She laughed, glancing at my father. “We won’t jinx you. We’re just very excited for the next year. I love campaigns.”

“We’re all excited,” Jay jumped in. “I’ve stocked up on PowerBars and Wheaties.”

And I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was doing.

How the hell could my desires change so quickly?
I’d planned for this. Dreamed of this.

And now everything in my life except Christian felt fucking worthless. Worthless and pointless.

“Give us a minute,” my father said, and I looked up to see him hand off his wife to my brother.

They headed back inside, and my father tilted his head, gesturing for me to walk with him.

“Senators, in a way,” he started, leading me back inside the dim, candlelit ballroom, “have more power than a president,” he told me. “While presidents come and go, with term limits, a senator can be a senator for life.”

I already knew that, and my father, having a doctorate in political science was also well aware.

“I’ve known Senator Baynor for more than thirty years,” he explained. “He tried to hire me to work on his staff, but I turned him down.”

“Why?”

We circled the perimeter of the ball, the other guests congregating around tables and on the dance floor.

“I wouldn’t have found it rewarding,” he admitted. “It’s too glamorous a life for me.”

I laughed under my breath, liking how candid he could often be. Most people didn’t associate politics with glamour, but it most certainly was glamorous. Power, wealth, and connections with people who could make or break you.

Senator Baynor was from Texas, and while he and my father were good friends, I was glad he hadn’t uprooted Jay’s and my life here in New Orleans to pursue a political career.

My father didn’t climb mountains for the sake of climbing mountains. His goals were clear and his reasons made sense. He’d made a good choice.

He stopped and turned to face me, pinning me with a hard stare. “Mason Blackwell has a lot of support, Tyler. He’s very popular,” he pointed out. “However, he doesn’t have the endorsement of a senior senator like Baynor.”

I nodded, but then my eyes flashed to the right, and I stopped listening.

I narrowed my eyes.

Easton.
 

She stood alone across the room, wearing a beautiful, fitted black gown with gold trim that showed off her arms and back. She was staring at a painting and looking so much like she had the night we’d first met.

My entire body warmed, and I felt her pulling at me like she had a rope tied around my heart.

“Is that what you’d like?” My father spoke up. “An endorsement?”

What?
 

I blinked, coming back to the conversation and looking over at him.

“You know better,” I retorted.

I hadn’t asked my father for anything, and I wouldn’t.

He hooded his eyes, looking weary. “I thought so.” He sighed. “You don’t take anything you don’t feel you’ve earned.”

I pinned him with a stare. “You taught me that.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I glanced over at Easton, noting that she was slowly making her way down the wall, taking in the paintings.

“I’m not your teacher anymore.” My father spoke in a low voice. “I’m your father. A father who happens to believe you’re one of the good ones.”

At that I shot my eyes back to him.

He’d always been hard on me, which gave his rare compliments more of an impact.

“I’m proud of you,” he told me, “and I would be proud to see you win this. I can get his endorsement if you want.”

I inhaled a deep breath and shook my head gently. “You’ve never made anything easy on me. Don’t start now.”

And I set down my glass and walked away, leaving him to get back to his wife.

I didn’t know what I was doing – as usual lately – and I didn’t have a plan, but I knew where I wanted to be. And if I knew one goddamn thing about myself, it was that I wanted what I wanted, and right now I wanted to see her look at me.

Coming up behind her, I saw her holding a glass of champagne with her other arm folded over her chest.

I couldn’t resist teasing her as I came to stand next to her. “Thinking of starting a fire?”

She twisted her head and met my eyes. Dark makeup accentuated her eyes, and I could see her shocked look through her gold metal mask before she regained her composure.

Letting her lips curl, she rolled her eyes. “I’m trying not to be so naughty these days.”

Hallelujah.
The idea of her getting naughty with anyone but me didn’t sit well.

“Good.” I nodded once. “I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

She shrugged, turning back to the abstract painting. “I didn’t think I was. I knew I would see you, after all.”

So she’d considered avoiding the ball because of me.

“So what changed your mind?” I pressed.

A stern expression crossed her face as she spoke in a low voice. “I decided I was tired of reining in my life because of men.”

And then a little smile peeked out as she took a sip of her champagne.

I let my eyes fall down her body, where the straps of the long dress across her back only made her skin looked even more supple and glowing.

Her hair was in loose curls with half of it pulled up into pins and the rest hanging down, framing her face.

Her lips were red, her skin tan, and her scent exotic.

And I felt my desire steadily growing, as did my need to lead her away to somewhere dark and quiet.

“I saw your interview,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “I thought it was wonderful.”

I nodded, not really caring to talk about the interview.

She continued. “I don’t know if you still feel like you have something to prove, Tyler, but I can tell you, even if I had never met you, I would vote for you.”

In that moment, as I looked down at her, my lungs emptied.

I’d been told by friends and wives of friends, employees and colleagues, that I had their vote when election time arrived about a year from now, but I hadn’t realized hers was the only one I’d wanted.

She actually thought I was worth a damn.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I stared at the Stricher in front of us. “The first moment I saw you” – I inched closer to her – “scowling at that Degas like it was shit on canvas…” I looked at her. “I wanted you more than I’d ever wanted anything.”

The moment I’d set eyes on her, I had to have her.

A thoughtful expression appeared on her face. “A lot’s changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” I shot back.

She turned to me and then looked around at something behind me. “Are you with Tessa McAuliffe tonight?” she prodded, and I glanced back to see Tessa in a beige evening gown happily schmoozing in the crowd.

I hadn’t arrived with Tessa, nor did I plan to leave with her, but we’d had lunch before the interview last week and had spoken this evening.

“Some relationships need to be maintained,” I pointed out. “Even though they’re only professional.”

“She needs you,” Easton bit out. “You don’t need her.”

I reached out, grazing her cheek with my thumb. “I always loved it when you got angry,” I mused, start to feel whole again.

She hesitated, letting me touch her, but then tilted her face away, breaking the connection.

“You must be proud of Christian.” She changed the subject. “Transferring into AP History and also qualifying for advanced placement in Biology.”

I dropped my hand, suddenly needing more air. “Yes.” I sighed. “I’m taking him and some of his friends to an LSU game next Saturday to celebrate.”

“He seems happy.” She shot me a taunting smirk. “I think he’s starting to like you.”

I snorted. “I don’t know,” I grumbled under my breath. “Is one of the warning signs an aptitude for blackmailing me?” I asked. “Somehow he’s weaseled a birthday bash at JAX Brewery out of me if he gets straight As this semester.”

She breathed out a smile, shaking her head.

“Hello, Ms. Bradbury,” Jay chirped, coming up next to me, and I inwardly groaned.

“Tyler.” He leaned in, speaking in a low voice. “The archbishop is here.”

I sighed, frowning.

Archbishop Dias was a big supporter, and I needed to at least greet him.

I glanced to Easton, torn between either taking her with me or telling her I’d see her later, but I had no right to infringe on her evening. I was the one to break it off, after all.

“Excuse me,” I said, but she just turned back to the paintings without a word.

After saying hello to the archbishop and talking about the year to come, I moved from circle to circle, chatting with members of the media, local politicians, influential voters, and it was fucking painful.

I could do it. I wanted to do it.

But over the past few weeks I’d started to feel like I was trying to walk on one leg. Nothing came easy anymore, because something was missing.

I looked up every once in a while, scanning the party for Easton. She eventually moved from the outside of the scene to the center, sitting at a table with her brother and, I assumed, some of his fellow interns as they nibbled on hors d’oeuvres.

After a while I saw her in a group, laughing.

I looked at my watch, seeing that it was ten thirty, and I texted Christian to check in one last time for the night. He was crashing at a friend’s house, since they had gone to the Krewe of Boo parade with his friend’s parents.

How’s it going?
I texted.

I walked up to the bar and ordered another Chivas on the rocks.

We’re hanging out,
he texted back.

But after I’d gotten my drink and tipped the bartender, I continued to stand at the marble bar top, waiting.

Christian?
I prompted again.

Taqueria Corona,
he shot back.

I scowled, checking my watch again.

Are Charlie’s parents with you?
I typed, and hit
Send
.

Except I didn’t get an answer, and heat rose from my neck up to my forehead.

Either get back to Charlie’s, or I’m sending Patrick for you,
I threatened, taking his silence as a no.

Taqueria Corona was a bar. A restaurant bar, but still a bar with a loud crowd, and how the hell did his friend’s fucking parents not have them in the house yet? They were fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake.

Come on!
he challenged.

Are you arguing?
I threw back to him.

The phone buzzed immediately.
No.

I cocked an eyebrow, and another message came through immediately after.

Yes,
he corrected, owning up.
All right, we’re heading to Charlie’s.

I smiled, gloating, as I took a sip of whiskey.

Even though it’s stupid early,
he shot back.

I could practically hear his mope. My kid had an attitude, but I’d be lying if I said it bothered me. The fact that he got sarcastic meant he was comfortable with me. I saw it as a good sign. For now.