See You Again (Wishful 8)

“I remember that about you. I remember a lot of things about you.”

The specter of the past seemed to float between them, a barely acknowledged ghost he didn’t want to deal with. He wasn’t fool enough to go down this path again. Was he?

The waiter interrupted the weighted silence, reeling off the specials. By the time he scampered off to turn in their orders, Trey had himself under control again. Mostly.

“So, the Babylon is, unfortunately, out. Both the ballroom and the rooftop gardens are booked that day for other functions. I checked as soon as I got in this morning.”

She studied him for a long moment, those hazel eyes full of questions. At last she said, “What exactly do you propose?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re smart people. I figure between the two of us, we can come up with something.” And maybe by the end of this dinner, he’d come up with a way to put these feelings to rest.

~*~

Sandra thanked God for the fact that it was a Tuesday and the Mudcat Tavern was about to close for the night. That meant fewer prospective witnesses to the stupendous freak out that had been simmering inside her since she’d walked into the solarium at The Spring House. But no, she couldn’t think about that. Not yet. As mayor, she had a certain image of control to maintain at all times. Beyond that, she didn’t want the inevitable gossip to get back to her family. If she lost it in public, the entire messy clan would hear about it and be after her for explanations she couldn’t give.

Only one other living soul knew about her history with Trey, and she currently moved with smooth efficiency behind the U-shaped bar, racking glassware and chatting with her regulars. There weren’t many at this hour and none that Sandy knew to speak to. Small blessings. She stepped up to the bar, laying her clutch on the polished wood.

Adele Daly scanned her from head to toe and, with the privilege of long friendship, declared, “You look like crap.”

Sandy grimaced. Exactly what you wanted to hear when you’d just shared a meal with your ex, the billionaire. Except Trey Peyton had never been anything so simple as an ex.

“You want a drink?”

No. The one glass of wine had been enough. “I’m driving. Do you have a minute to talk?”

Without hesitation, Adele looked over her shoulder. “Joe, can you come finish this up, please?”

“You got it.”

Swapping places with Joe Fowler, her second in command, Adele slipped out from behind the bar and jerked her head toward the kitchen. Sandy followed her back, through the swinging doors, where scents of grease and sizzling beef mixed with the sharp tang of detergent. They kept going, into Adele’s little hole of an office, where a battered metal desk, painted fire engine red, was crammed in with a desk chair and a creased leather loveseat. She sank down on the latter as Adele shut the door. Only then did she begin to shake.

Adele dropped onto the sofa beside her, reaching for her hands. “Honey, what’s wrong? Is this a hide-a-body kind of crisis? Because I can go get my truck.”

Sandy laughed. “No. No truck necessary.” Although she was rethinking that drink. Her deep breath did nothing to calm the nerves jumping like a cat on a hot tin roof in her belly. “Have you ever met Gerald Peyton?”

Adele blinked. “The guy who owns The Babylon?”

The boutique hotel and spa was only one of a myriad of projects Peyton Consolidated had its fingers in around town. Norah had recruited him as an investor before she’d even taken on the job of city planner. He had to have known when he signed the memorandum of understanding with the city that Sandy was mayor. Which explained why, since their initial partnership, her future daughter-in-law had been the primary liaison between the company and the city. In a year and a half, the pair of them had done wonders for Wishful’s flagging economy. And Sandy had suspected nothing. Resentment prickled.

You made your choice years ago. I was simply honoring it.

She pulled herself back to the conversation. “Yes.”

“I don’t think a rich real estate mogul has much cause to frequent my bar, especially since his hotel has one of its own. But he did come in for drinks with Brody Jensen once, back when Brody still worked for him. I don’t remember much. Dark-hair. Suit. Kept to himself. Why?”

“I had dinner with him tonight.”

Adele’s blue eyes went blade sharp, her fists automatically curling. “Was he an asshole? Did he get handsy? Because I can get that taken care of, millionaire or no.”

She loved Adele for her instant readiness to defend. But she’d never been good at letting others fight her battles. Look at how things had turned out with Trey.

“Billionaire. And no.”

“Then what’s the problem? What did he say to upset you?”

Sandy clasped her trembling hands around her knees and shook her head. “It’s not what he said. It’s who he is.” She lifted her gaze to Adele’s. “It’s Trey.”

For a long moment, Adele’s face was blank. Then comprehension dawned and her hand tightened on Sandy’s arm. “Oh. Oh, damn. How did you not know this?”