She swept a hand out, painting the scene. “Picture this: close-ups on the faces of our poor sweet pups and kitties who came from bad situations and need forever homes. You can see the longing in their eyes, hear the narrator talk about how they’ve been neglected and abused—”
“Ugh, Mom.”
“Well, some of them have! How do you think we feel? Anyway, the camera cuts to Lee—”
“Lee?”
She shrugged. “She’s the most famous person I know. The SPCA got Sarah, and I have Lee. So Lee walks around Happy Homes and tells viewers we’re reinventing the traditional shelter model, making sure our furry friends get the best care, but we need steady adoptions, otherwise we can’t keep bringing in new animals.”
“So it’s guilt, followed by bragging, rounded out with a threat?”
“It’ll be great. But for some reason, I can’t get Lee to call me back about an audition.”
I snorted. No surprise there. Lee loved her two cats, but I’m sure she wasn’t chomping at the bit to star in a maudlin animal shelter video. “I’m sure she’s super busy,” I said, schooling my face.
“And when areyoucoming down to adopt one of these kittens? You’ve been talking about it forever.” Mom got a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “You could take Mischief.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I remembered how Zoey said I was one cat away from sad spinsterhood. “Maybe one day.”
“You know,” Mom said thoughtfully, “if Lee isn’t free to do the commercial, youwerejust on TV...”
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, turning to the stove, where I rustled a phantom saucepan. “My onions are burning. Ahh, it’s a fire! Sorry Mom, gotta go, love you, byeeee!”
13
All Eyes on Us
The waiter bowed. “May I help you into your seat, sir?”
“For God’s sake,” Logan grumbled, tugging the seat from the man’s grasp. “I’m a grown man, I can pull out my own chair.” He demonstrated by pulling his chair out slowly from the table and slipping into it, watching the waiter suspiciously.
“Thank you,” I said, as a second waiter finished helping me slide up to the table. He accepted something from the hostess that turned out to be an exact replica of my cream-and-gold chair, except in miniature. He picked up my purse from the floor and placed it gingerly in the tiny seat. It looked upon the room with regal haughtiness.
“Oh,” I squeaked. “The purse gets a chair.” Of course it did. And here my whole life I’d been resting purses on the floor like a plebe.
Across from me, Logan eyed the waiter, who was now unfolding his white napkin with great ceremony. “Don’t you dare,” he said, as the waiter moved to place it in his lap. Logan raised an eyebrow, and the waiter, finally seeing reason, dropped the napkin and scurried away.
Logan nodded to himself, satisfied, then caught sight of me. “What?”
I couldn’t help grinning. “You hate it here.”
He gestured around the gilt ballroom. “You mean this shiny, gold-plated peacock parade? Of course I hate it here. Looks like King Midas barfed it up.”
“No reflection on you,” I assured the new waiter, who’d stopped by to fill our water glasses. “So why come, then?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Nora insisted. Something about this being where politicians go to see and be seen. The crème de la crème, in her words. Twatville, in mine. Oh, hi, Senator.” Logan waved and grimace-smiled at an older man a few tables over. “King Twat,” he muttered under his breath when the man looked away.
I eased back, resting my shoulders against the seat. I’d been nervous walking into Apex, my first Michelin-starred restaurant, especially after so many heads had turned to watch us make our way across the dining room. But Logan’s disdain for the place was a tonic. “Well,” I said, “I do think this might be the fanciest place I’ve ever been. So thanks for the experience, at least.”
Apex always made Austin’s best-of-fine-dining lists. It was built into a grand old mansion in a part of the city where the streets turned residential, a charming neighborhood full of shops and eateries and million-dollar homes. No steel or skyscrapers here. So even if Logan changed his mind and canceled our business date right now, I’d chalk the evening up to a success. I’d gotten to wear my emerald dress, the silk one I never had a chance to wear, a Town Car had picked me up at my front door, and when I’d walked into the restaurant, Logan had been waiting at the hostess podium in a black suit so sharp it set off his stubbled jaw and thick black hair. He’d been talking to the hostess, but stopped midsentence when he saw me. The look in his eyes before he’d swallowed and schooled his face had caused a return of that fizzy feeling in my stomach.
Now, across the table, Logan’s expression softened. He cleared his throat, then took a large sip of water. “Places like this are the opposite of how I grew up. They remind me that some people have so much, while the rest of the world is struggling. That’s why I don’t like it.”
I cocked my head and studied him. The lighting in Apex was low and moody, and the single ivory candle flickering between us cast shadows under his cheekbones as he frowned. His eyes were dark and serious. “You don’t even like campaigning,” I realized.
He started to say something, then stopped. When he spoke again, he did it carefully. “I want to be governor more than anything. But yes. I’ll admit I don’t like playing the game. Schmoozing, kissing rings. It doesn’t come natural to me like it does to Mane or even that old fart Senator Abington over there. But it’s the price of entry. If you want to be in a position to change things, you’ve got to do it.”
That sounded like a line Nora had drilled into his head. I wondered if convincing Logan to play nice had been part of the turnaroundThe Watcher on the Hillhad described in his blog post—the switch to more mannered behavior that had won Logan his recent spike in approval. “Was it different when you started out?”
