Harry shook his head, clucking his tongue in a gesture of mock chastisement. He stood up and slowly paced the length of his office, his arms clasped behind his back. Sam followed him with his gaze. “First of all, Sam, you might be my sister’s husband, but you’ve been back in her life for less than two weeks and her spouse for less than three days.”
Sam’s jaw went rigid. “So?”
“So,” Harry continued, paying no heed whatsoever to Sam’s belligerent mood, “Gwen could only guess how you would react to those NAM notes based upon her experiences with you when you were still a kid. Until less than two weeks ago, my friend, my sister hadn’t had contact with you since you were twenty-three. And even then, she hadn’t spent real quality time with you since you were twenty.” Harry stopped pacing long enough to throw Sam a knowing look. “Do you remember how headstrong and temperamental you were at twenty? I do.”
Sam nodded his head begrudgingly. He hated to admit when he was wrong, but in this instance, he was. Everything Harry said made perfect sense. “I see your point,” he muttered under his breath.
“Do you? I hope so, Sam. I really do. Because I’m damn happy to have you in the family and I’d hate for you to force Gwen to run in the opposite direction merely because she was worried about you.”
“Worried about me?”
“Of course.” Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned charmingly. “When I suggested on the phone this morning that she should tell you about the notes, Gwen adamantly refused to. When I questioned her further, she informed me that she could easily envision you hauling off and hitting Larry Green or Webster Carr—who we all believe to be behind the notes—then spending the first year of your marriage in the county lock-up, bumming cigarettes off of a fellow inmate named Bubba.”
Sam stopped himself from laughing, but couldn’t control the small smile that escaped him. “I don’t smoke.”
Harry winked at him. “I know.” He glanced pointedly at the new dent in his wall. “But you do need to learn some anger management skills.”
Sam sighed deeply as he stood up to take his leave. He felt like a horse’s ass, reprimanding Gwenyth the way he had after they’d left the police station. And all because he’d been jealous of her brother—his brother now. “Thank-you, Senator Jones.” He grinned boyishly. “I owe you one, Bro,” he softly admitted.
Harry stood up straighter. “Senator Jones,” he repeated, letting the new title roll around on his tongue. “I confess I rather like that.” He chuckled as he walked Sam to the door. “By the way, I want to take the family out for a private victory dinner tomorrow night. Are you and Gwen game?”
“Of course—”
“Harry, there’s a gentleman here to see… oh, Mr. Tremont, I didn’t realize you were still here.”
Sam smiled at Harry’s personal assistant, Monique. It was obvious to everyone but Harry that the poor little thing worshipped the ground the handsome, newly elected senator walked on. Monique was small and mousy in both appearance and personality. Her hair was always pulled back into a tight bun, with owlish glasses forever perched on the tip of her small nose. Her fashion selections, if one could call them such, were downright geeky. She reminded Sam of a female Einstein.
Still, if there was one subject Sam had been well versed in before his marriage to Gwen, it was women and their potential attractiveness. And Sam could see a lot of potential in Monique—even though the hair, glasses, and God awful clothes did a lot to disguise it. “Now Monique darlin’, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Sam? Just Sam. No Mr. Tremont stuff, y’ hear?”
Monique’s face colored slightly, but she nodded her agreement. “Yes, Mr. Trev—I mean, yes Sam.”
Harry chuckled. He reached toward his assistant and patted her affectionately on the shoulder, much like one would a favorite puppy. The look on Monique’s face made Sam grimace. “Monique is like that. It took her six months before she gave up the Mr. Jones routine and called me Harry. She was raised to be a respectable Southern woman, Monique.”
“Respectable Southern woman,” Monique echoed, clearly annoyed. “Yes, that’s me. Not a daring bone in my entire pathetic body.”
Harry appeared not to notice anything untoward about Monique’s reply, which Sam pretty much guessed was what had her in a snit to begin with. Apparently Harry didn’t notice anything at all about his assistant on a personal level. “Well, I better be on my way.” He waggled his brows at Harry. “I have a lot of amends makin’ to do.”
Harry pretended to flinch while smiling good-naturedly. “I’ll see you and Gwen tomorrow night then. Goodbye, Sam.”
“Bye, Harry.” Sam inclined his head to his brother-in-law’s assistant. “Monique.”
“Well then,” Harry intoned after Sam left his office, “I believe you said there is someone here to see me?”
“Yes. Mr. Camp from the Miami Herald.”
Harry nodded. “Thank-you, Monique. I hope he hasn’t been waiting long?”
Monique shook her head. “No. And I served him coffee and donuts, so he’s just fine.”
Harry inclined his head toward his assistant, clearly approving of her actions. “Excellent thinking. What would I do without you, Monique?”
Monique’s heartbeat quickened until she was certain everyone from here to D.C. could hear it thumping wildly. She smiled tremulously. “You couldn’t do without me, Harry?” she asked softly.
Harry glanced at her absently. “Of course not. You are, after all, very efficient.”
Monique’s face fell and her shoulders slumped. Her heartbeat returned to normal. “Yes,” she mumbled, “efficient.”
* * * * *
