“What?”
She leaned against the counter and crunched on the apple. “If I agree to betray Mane and endorse Logan, you’ll have to owe me one massive favor in return. Anything I want, whenever I want it.”
The last person on earth you ever wanted to make a promise like that to was Lee Stone. Honestly, I would’ve preferred a deal with the devil. There was a solid chance whatever Lee would ask me to do would be miles outside my comfort zone and possibly illegal.
But then I thought of Logan. His beautiful, tired face on the other side of the conference table. The way he’d chewed his pen and written out debate notes for hours under our shared blanket. How his eyes lit with longing whenever he talked to me. He’d been working toward this goal his whole life. Year after year of laser focus, putting aside everything—love, a personal life, even his ability to be himself in public—just for a shot.
The tenderness that flooded me left no other option. I’d do whatever Lee asked.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You have a deal.”
23
Projecting
“Release the kittens!” shouted my mother.
Two Happy Homes volunteers pulled away the safety gates and a horde of mewling kittens rushed forward into the giant Happy Homes playroom, where Logan sat in the middle of the floor, wearing a Happy Homes–branded polo that was dusted, like the rest of him, with high-grade catnip. As I watched the wave of cats overtake him—bouncing into his lap and climbing his back like a mountain—it occurred to me that between my mom and me, the Stone women were uniquely skilled at finding inventive ways to torture Logan.
“Welcome to Happy Homes!” he recited nonetheless, spitting cat hair out of his mouth. His face was stretched in a grin as the kittens used him as a human climbing wall. He was doing his best to convey he was having the time of his life, bless his heart.
“Cut!” my mom yelled. Thankfully, between me and the professional camera crew she’d hired, we’d convinced her one long continuous shot was both impractical and a painstaking craft detail no one who watched the commercial would notice or care about. The downside was, my mother had insisted we try out a few variations on the opening. This particular one involved Logan covered in cats.
“Quick break. Logan, I love what you’re doing, you’re a divine leading man. But I’m not getting the right energy from the cats.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Alexis, will you jump in and play with them a little? Get them in the mood. We want the right kind of playful—sweet, not rabid.”
“I’m sorry.” I crossed my arms. “Are you asking me to be a kitten fluffer?”
“Just get in there.” She waved in Logan’s direction. “Get them to deliver.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I left my comfortable perch and walked to Logan. “But has anyone mentioned you’re taking this a little too seriously?” Mom was dressed in head-to-toe black like some sort of auteur filmmaker. I was honestly surprised she wasn’t sporting a beret. Behind her, the team of Happy Homes volunteers widened their eyes and shook their heads at me in silent warning. Touchy subject, apparently.
“There’s no such thing as taking it too seriously,” Mom said sweetly. Lee liked to say she took after our dad and I took after Mom, but sometimes it couldn’t be more obvious that Lee was Elise Stone’s daughter. They were two peas in a very demanding pod.
“No filming me,” I warned. “I’m just fluffing, then I’m out.” I crept through the kittens, then knelt next to Logan. “You doing okay?” It had already been a whirlwind day. After meeting my mom, the crew, and the “creative team” here at the Houston Happy Homes headquarters at the unhealthy hour of 7:00 a.m., Logan had borne a solid half hour of my mom’s effusive thanks, and then he’d been ushered into a closed-door storyboarding meeting I wasn’t allowed to attend. He’d walked into the meeting wearing a suit and a determined expression. He’d walked out wearing a Happy Homes polo, looking dazed.
“Of course I’m doing okay,” Logan growled, clutching a wriggling cat. “I’m covered in kittens. This is the best fucking day of my life.”
“Language!” chirped my mother, and Logan called back, “Sorry, Elise!”
I frowned. “Then why do you look so angry?”
“Because this camera is going to capture me eating my heart out with these adorable fucking monsters—sorry, Elise—and the whole state is going to see me being soft. Mane’s going to seize on my weakness like a shark smelling blood in the water. I know because it’s what I would do.”
“This commercial ismeantto show your softer side.” I lunged, removing a kitten who was about to spring into Logan’s face. “It could win over new voters.”
Logan’s eyebrows drew together. “If you say so.” He eyed me. “Will you get down here already?”
I crouched slowly, checking I wasn’t going to squash any cats. As soon as I was on the floor, I was bombarded by wet noses and tiny claws. I scooped a midnight-black kitten who was climbing a little too deep into my lap. “Getting fresh, Count Dracula.” Around us, the room buzzed with Happy Homes staff and the camera crew, but no one from the campaign. “Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? Did Cary and Nora not want to make the drive?” It was only two hours from Austin to Houston.
Logan shrugged, dangling a string. A tiny calico gave it everything she had, launching her body all of three inches in the air and still missing. “I didn’t want to meet your mom as a candidate. You know, with security and entourage. I wanted to meet her as myself. Besides, they’re all freaking out about the first debate. T-minus two days now.”
“Well, I think my mom likes you, for whatever that’s worth.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Oh, sure. Almost as much as Ben, I bet.”
“Almost? Hey, your mom thinks we’re actually dating.” He watched the leaping calico and frowned.“Almost as much.”
