Chapter 18
Noah
E merson joins me backstage of the Alexander Hotel conference center, where our kick-off event is about to start. “You go on in five, after Mayor Michaels finishes his address. Are you nearly ready to take the stage?” She smiles.
I take a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You know the very first mayor this town had was a Harrington,” Emerson says.
“He’s not someone I aspire to be, Emerson.” I know the story, my father lived for it. Something about this town belonging to us Harringtons. The Founders’ Day parade was his favorite day of the year because it was all about our family heritage.
“Can you believe your relative was a pirate? And captained the ship that supposedly took this town from its original owners.”
“I’m sure the story they tell on Founders’ Day is an embellishment of the truth, but knowing some of my relatives, it’s not unlikely.” I laugh lightheartedly as I watch our mayor address his loyal constituents; their cheers fill the air as he wraps up his speech about how much he loves this town.
Beckett, smirking, catches our attention from across the stage. Cocky and full of shit. The man’s ready to lie through his teeth to get what he wants. Irritation gnaws at me. Not because of him. I’ve known for years he’s a manipulative shit. Both the Prescott boys are. They turned out just like their father. My irritation is because she stands next to him, my girl, looking way too perfect in a black fitted dress and killer heels. She catches me checking her out, and her sassy red lips turn up at the side, like she is taunting me. Then she looks back to Beckett, taking his tie in her hands and fussing with it. My fists clench in irritation. Touching him is not part of her job description.
“How can he run for mayor anyway, isn’t there some law stopping it from happening? Conflict of interest and all that,” asks Emerson, glaring in his direction as well.
“Apparently, Beckett has stepped down from his role in the company for the term of the campaign. And even though it seems like there should be a law about this, as long as he discloses his ties to Prescott Media, there’s nothing else anyone can do about it,” Margo fills her in.
“But it gives him a massive advantage,” Emerson complains.
“I didn’t realize you were so into politics, Em.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. I can’t take my eyes off Paisley with him. But I can’t show them how much it’s affecting me. I need to keep my cool so I can go out there and dominate this Q and A. I’ll deal with Paisley later for taunting me on purpose. Because I’m sure that’s what she’s doing.
“I’m not, I just really hate the Prescotts,” she huffs, still watching Paisley and Beckett.
“Don’t we all,” Margo agrees. And I have to wonder what he’s done to her. Ever since we started working side by side on this campaign, I’ve been able to feel her distaste for him. It’s like she has a personal vendetta against the man. But I guess it’s not that unusual around this town; most people don’t like the hold his family’s company has.
“Not Paisley, she’s Beckett’s new bestie.” Emerson sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is resting on her shoulders alone. “Look at the two of them.” But I don’t have to, my eyes haven’t left them. Paisley is reading to him from her phone, and he’s watching her intently. A little too intently. My jaw ticks. I can’t stand seeing the two of them together.
Knowing I need to pull it together before I go on stage, I glance back at Emerson, wondering why it’s twisting her up so much inside. I get that the paper did some real damage to the hotel’s reputation last year, but that wasn’t one hundred percent the Prescotts’ fault. Is she just as jealous of the two of them as I am? Could little Alexander have a crush on big bad Beckett? “Why does it bother you so much?” I ask, trying to shift the focus on to her.
She looks up at me, and I notice a flash of guilt in her eyes. “If she’s going to be anyone’s campaign manager, it should be yours,” she snaps, anger creeping into her normally light and pleasant tone. And I can tell this has nothing to do with me.
“I have a campaign manager.” I smile at Margo, and she nods happily. “And besides, you know we would kill each other if left alone to plan this campaign.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “What did you do to her to make her hate you so much? I’ve never seen her so passionate about anything.”
“It’s a long story,” I grumble, not wanting to get into it this morning.
Margo’s hand comes to my arm, pulling my attention back to her. “One she could use against us?” she asks, her eyes wide and worried.
I had considered the same, but there is no way she would leak what we once were to each other. It wouldn’t help her fight against me, and she wants it kept a secret more than I do. “No.”
“So, you guys had some sort of romantic thing, and now she hates you because you hurt her?” Emerson searches my eyes for answers.
“If Paisley hasn’t told you girls, then I’m not saying a word.” I zip my lips.
As my name is called, I walk confidently onto the stage to join Beckett and answer the questions of the townspeople. We are met with eager anticipation. It’s just like a post-match press conference. Local reporters are seated in the front row, with cameras lined up to the side. There’s a mix of familiar faces from around town, local business owners, and some people I haven’t met.
I confidently outline my qualifications, plans, and dedication to inclusivity and transparency, resonating with the audience by balancing passion and pragmatism. I reflect on how my roots are intertwined with this town after spending my childhood here. Meanwhile, Beckett self-assuredly expresses his vision for the town’s future, emphasizing collaboration and unity, drawing from his vast experience. We both captivate the audience’s imagination, inspiring hope and earning nods of approval as we commit to leading the town toward a better future.
It’s surprising how accepting they are of him. It seems like this might be more challenging than I initially anticipated. But I’m grateful I didn’t have to answer any hard questions about my father. I’m certain it’s on its way—Beckett won’t permit me to evade answering. But for today at least, I have dodged that bullet.
I rejoin Margo and Emerson on the side of the stage. “You did well,” Margo compliments me with a reassuring smile. “I have a few pointers for next time, but you’re a natural at public speaking.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the sudden weight of what I’m up against. I can’t fuck this up, it’s too important. I can’t let him win. Not with the power his family already has over this town. “Yeah, so did Beckett.”
“We all know he’s full of shit,” Emerson snips. “No one believes his lies.”
Margo’s hand comes to my elbow. “Come on, we have some individual press interviews lined up. I also want to grab a couple of head shots we can use for our social media campaign. And I thought the grounds here at The Alexander would be perfect.”
“I’ll have to leave you both to it. But the room is ready for your meetings when you need it.”
“Thanks, Em,” I say, appreciating her help on this. Our entire friendship group is backing me, except for Paisley.
“You did well, Noah. I’m so proud of you.” She smiles sweetly, before hurrying off in the direction of the hotel.
As Margo and I round the corner, we nearly collide with Beckett and Paisley, talking closely, way too closely for my liking. Beckett’s eyes meet mine with a sinister smirk that taunts me.
“Harrington,” he mutters, his voice carrying a subtle challenge. He knows he’s getting under my skin.
“Prescott,” I reply, an underlying edge to my tone. “Paisley,” her name slips effortlessly from my lips, carrying with it a mixture of annoyance and something else entirely. I can sense her suspicion as she eyes Margo, so I take the opportunity to introduce them. Anything to keep her here with me for longer. And if she’s a little jealous of the woman I’m spending time with then good, that might just help my cause.
“Have you met Margo Parish from the mayor’s office?” I smile at Paisley warmly, with a little challenge in my raised brow.
Politely, Paisley extends her hand, the gesture accompanied by a smile that seems a tad too forced. “I’m Paisley Whittaker, Beckett’s campaign manager,” she introduces herself, though her discomfort is obvious. She doesn’t like Margo. Is she jealous? I hope she feels the same jealousy toward Margo as I do toward Beckett. The sight of the two of them together ignites a spark of irritation deep within me, a reminder of the simmering protectiveness I feel whenever Paisley interacts with another man. Especially Beckett. I can’t stand the man, and her supporting him feels like a bitter betrayal. If it was really money she needed, I could have fixed all her problems easily, I would have been happy to. But this is something else. She wants to get at me.
Margo reciprocates the handshake with practiced grace, her own smile unwavering. “Nice to meet you, Paisley,” she says, her tone polite but tinged with an underlying coolness. Then she turns her attention to Beckett, extending her hand in his direction.
Beckett’s gaze lingers on Margo for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he finally shakes her hand. Paisley shifts uncomfortably beside him, her unease becoming more apparent by the second. She loses her cold edge toward me when others are around, and her anxiety is more obvious.
Margo’s hand returns to my back, a subtle signal that it is time to move on. I’m not sure Margo’s aware of what she’s doing, but the flare of Paisley’s eyes makes it extremely obvious she is in fact jealous. A little hope ignites within me. She’s not over me at all. “Sorry we can’t stay and chat,” she apologizes smoothly, her words laced with an air of formality. “We have photographers waiting for us. You understand how it is.”
“Sure do,” Paisley agrees. Beckett wraps an arm around her shoulders, and my body stiffens. The two of them are way too close already.
“Got places to be ourselves, don’t we, Paisley, kitten.” He sneers in my direction, and I can tell he’s trying to bait me. What the fuck is that nickname for her.
I take a deep breath, trying to control the anger simmering below the surface. My focus stays on Paisley so I don’t lose it. She stares back at me, searching my face for something, then shakes her head. Shrugging out of Beckett’s grip on her, she turns and walks away. He follows her, catching up by her side. I can’t stop watching her. The way her ass sways in her tight dress is a fucking dick tease. But it’s the way she looked at me just now that has my stomach twisted up in knots. What was that look? I’m not sure what’s going on with her and Beckett, but I intend to find out. If he is anything like his father, then she could be in real trouble. It’s why Parker’s organized someone to watch over her while Beckett’s around. We can’t be too careful, especially since she wouldn’t hear our warnings.