“Looking for you.” The mayor’s eyes slide to me, cool and assessing, before returning to his son. “We need to talk.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“Now, Arthur.”
The mayor steps closer to his son, lowering his voice like he’s delivering state secrets.
“Do you haveanyidea the position you’re in?” he says. “TheRag’s running stories about your bartender girlfriend sneaking around with Lance, and you’re out here with him like nothing’s wrong?”
I straighten off the wall. “Mr. Penngrove, it wasn’t like that. I was just walking her home since Art was busy with you.”
Franklin laughs. “I don’t give a shit. You know what people will remember? Thatmy soncouldn’t keep a leash on his friend or his woman.”
Every muscle in my body goes taut.Leash.The word burrows under my skin like it knows exactly where to prick.
“Is that what you want?” he asks Art. “For everyone to see you get cucked by your own friend?”
My jaw tightens.
“Dad, come on.”
“You’ve been hiding that girl away for over a year, and now people are filling in the blanks themselves, just like Itoldyou they would. You should have left her in whatever back alley you found her in. Because now, they’re making you look like a fool, and that reflects badly onme.”
My weight shifts forward before I catch myself and lean against the wall.
Art shrinks. “You’re the one who said to keep her low-key.”
“She’s not an appropriate match for you, Art, but if you insist on keeping her around, then for God’s sake control the narrative.”
Art’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t argue.
“Bring her to Paxton’s anniversary party.”
“What?” Art’s head snaps up.
“Dress her up and flaunt her publicly,” Franklin says. “Before I’m forced to fix your mistakes for you.”
Art swallows. “Yes, sir.”
“Lance.”
I give him a chin jerk. “Mr. Penngrove.”
“How’s your father?”
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”
“Hmm.” Franklin’s lips curve. “Probably for the best he’s not witnessing you in the headlines this way.” He adjusts his cuffs. “Tell Paxton I said hi.”
He doesn’t wait for a response—just turns and walks away, his footsteps fading into the night.
Art’s still standing there, looking like a kid who got sent to the principal’s office, and I hate that his father can do this to him after all these years.
“You good?” I ask.
He flashes me a grin. “You know it.”
“Your dad’s a dick.”
