Page 50 of The Summer of Us

“What are your plans?”

“I’m working with my team to decide,” I lied smoothly. “Something benefiting the town.”

“Your team?”

“Webber Holdings Inc.”

His eyes widened. He had heard of my company. He knew the power I had. What I could do for him if I chose to do so. I could feel his mind racing—wondering how to leverage this for himself.

“I plan on spending more time and money here,” I murmured. “As long as things go according to plan. Otherwise, the house will sit, empty and abandoned.” I tsked. “An eyesore.”

“Why don’t you sell it?”

“No,” I snapped, then backpedaled as his eyes widened. “Too many memories.”

“Ah. I always wondered why you never joined your father’s company. He said you had other aspirations.”

He was digging. I held my temper in place and chose my words carefully.

“I couldn’t compete with his image,” I explained.

He grunted. “The master.”

I barely withheld my snort of derision. “Something like that.”

“Let me call my office.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to look abashed. “I was there, sir. I’m afraid your wife misunderstood me and thought I was threatening her. I was simply upset. Dealing with all this is very personal, as I’m sure you understand.”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Of course. Your father was your idol. Let me make a call or two. That’s what we do, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

“Of course,” I lied again. The only thing I planned on scratching was an item off my list.

* * *

Three hours later, I had my permit. I refused to leave until I knew it was complete. We moved inside to the clubhouse, and I spent three hours listening to the man drone on about my father. All the great things he’d done for the town. Then he went on about the way the town was prospering. “Business is up, rent is down, and the occupancy level is high everywhere,” he boasted. “Even better than when your father was around. We’re very solvent.”

He neglected to tell me it was due to the mysterious benefactor, instead making it sound as if it were his doing. I let him ramble, the alcohol he was imbibing loosening his tongue. There was no doubt who ran the show here—and it wasn’t him.

He tapped his head. “I’m constantly projecting expansion. I have more great things planned.”

I crossed my legs. “I would be interested in hearing them.”

He floundered, then waved his hand. “My group is coming. We’ll have to put that off for another day.”

“Uh-huh.”

The mayor’s golfing party reappeared, not seemingly put out he hadn’t rejoined them. I made sure to keep him plied with an endless supply of rye and water, followed by lunch. His wife had not been happy on the phone. I had heard her loud argument from where I sat on the bench, sipping a bottle of water. Not the actual words, but the tone of her voice was enough to let me know she was furious. Still, somehow, the paperwork was miraculously found and approved. When I received a message from Abby telling me she had the paperwork in hand, I was grateful I could leave. I’d had quite enough of the mayor, his wife, and his stories to last me a lifetime.

I stood and shook his hand. His eyes were clouded with all the alcohol, his words slurred. “Remember, you owe me,” he said, pointing his finger at me. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You do that.”

I walked away, trying not to laugh. He’d probably not remember any of this, or if he did, the details would be sketchy. All I had done the entire time was make a lot of noises and nod my head. Like all politicians, no matter how small-time, he liked to hear himself talk. I stopped at the clubhouse entrance and spoke to the manager. “The mayor is a little under the weather. Make sure he gets home safely. Don’t let him drive.”

He looked past my shoulder with a resigned stare. I had a feeling it wasn’t the first time the mayor had been under the weather at the course. But I refused to allow him to drive in case he had an accident. I didn’t want that on my conscience.

There was enough there already.