“Not much. Hung out mostly. How about you?” I put all the beers save two to keep cool and handed one to Grady.
“Saw my brother, and he took me to a club. I met a friend of yours.”
My brows pinched together. “You did? Who?”
“Bailey Marks.”
I smiled as I scrolled through my delivery apps to order us food. “Bailey’s a fun guy. Smart lawyer. He’s got a solo practice in the city. We saw each other about a year ago.”
“Yeah. He mentioned that.” He took a pull from his beer. “Said the last time you were trashed.”
Heat flashed through me. “Uh, yeah. Just a bit. I lost track after four Tito’s.” I grinned. “Or was it five?”
“Damn, man. That could be dangerous.”
You have no idea.
“Well, you know how it is at conferences. Pizza should be here in about twenty minutes. Want some chips?” I busied myself, pulling out a bowl and a bag—anything rather than focus onwhere the conversation seemed to be headed. Bailey had seen Brenner and me dirty-dancing.
Grady blinked. “Bailey mentioned you and Brenner were going at it.”
My face burned. “Going at it? What the hell does that mean?” I drank half my beer in one long pull.
“West. Take it easy. I’m not here to give you the third degree.”
“Sounds like you are. There’s nothing to talk about. Yeah, Brenner and I were going at it like we usually did. Sniping and one-upmanship. But I told you, we’ve decided that’s childish and stupid and made a pact to be civil.”
With a face full of skepticism, Grady met my eyes. “Okay. That’s good. I guess the days he spent here after the attack were productive.”
“Yeah, you could say so. Let’s go in the living room. Game should start soon.”
I grabbed the bowl of chips, and Grady had his beer. My phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
“Problem?” Grady asked around a handful of chips in his mouth.
“Must be the pizza delivery guy. Maybe he can’t find the place. Hello?” I knew I sounded like a dick, but I was hungry and impatient.
“Is this Weston Lively?”
“Yes. Who’s this? Are you the delivery guy?”
“No.” The yet unidentified person laughed. “I’m Noel Lane fromPoliticlout.”
“Okay. That doesn’t help me much. I still have no idea who you are. What can I help you with?”
“We’re a political news source, and—”
“Let me stop you right there. If this is about my father, my only response is no comment.”
“But don’t you want—”
Cutting him off again, I tried as best I could to keep a tight rein on my anger. “No. I don’t. I have no input or any insight into my father’s campaign. I’m completely removed from politics.” The buzzer rang. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someone at my door. Good-bye.”
I ended the call and answered the buzzer from the lobby announcing the pizza had arrived. After I carried it to the coffee table, I gazed down at Grady. “Another beer?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I brought them along with some paper plates, and we each took a slice. “God, I’m starving.” I eyed the set. “Damn, the Mets scored in the first inning? When the hell was the last time that happened?”
