Mayday (4 page)

Task one proved easy enough, especially given how the fluorescent overhead lights struck golden sparks in Helen's hair. She'd turned her back to the front of the room as soon as the meeting ended, so he knew she couldn't see his approach. Probably for the best. He had a distinct feeling she'd run for the hills if she noticed him.

“I want the name of that old woman,” he heard the blonde say to Helen. “Because I'm going to beg her to adopt me.”

“Lord, Angie,” Helen said. “You don't know how desperately I wanted to agree with everything she said. Because the Maypole
is
a gigantic cock. And come on, a round garland of flowers? Like
that's
not totally a vagina. But I couldn't say so. Not as a representative of the library.”

At the word
cock
, he glanced around, but didn't see any other people nearby. Thank God.

The blonde—Angie?—patted Helen's arm. “Better you than me, Hel. I'd probably have gotten the library embroiled in a lawsuit and the mayor impeached.”

“In that case,” Wes said, “thank you for having Helen do the honors instead.”

Both women swung around at the sound of his voice, and Helen finally met his eyes. He couldn't read any expression in them behind those cute glasses, though.

“I'd probably have been okay with the impeachment part,” Angie said.

He decided to ignore that comment and focus on his second task. “Helen? Could you possibly come see me in my office? It's just down the hall.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Unless the meeting concerns May Day and the library's role in the city's festivities, I don't have time.”

She'd focused her gaze back on his shirt, and her voice contained no inflection. No sign that she'd once welcomed him into her arms and her body.

“It won't take long,” he said.

“When it comes to you, that's what I've heard,” Angie remarked.

With a manful effort, he ignored that observation too. He focused on Helen and Helen alone, willing her to meet his eyes. “Please. I have some things I need to say to you. Things I've needed to say for months now.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, obviously lying. “No. Not unless you want to address a matter that concerns the library.”

He floundered, trying to figure out how to get her to change her mind and give him a chance to explain. Hell, to acknowledge him in any sort of personal way.

He reached out and touched her shoulder with a single, gentle fingertip. “Helen, can't you even look at me? I feel like a kid on the playground being given the silent treatment.”

She jerked away from his touch and raised her eyes to him. When she did, though, he regretted having provoked her into it.

“Fine,” she said. “Given my childishness, I'm sure you don't want to waste any more of your valuable adult time on me. Good evening, Mayor Ramirez. May the rest of your evening contain women who meet your standards for maturity and sophistication.” She paused, adding through gritted teeth, “Please feel free to contact me about areas of
professional
concern in the future.”

She whirled and stomped out the door, her bright curls bouncing with each step.

Angie gave a long, low whistle. “Holy shit, Mayor. I haven't seen Helen that pissed in years. Congratulations, I guess.”

“I wasn't trying to call her immature,” Wes said. “I swear.”

“Well, that's clearly how she interpreted your remark.”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. “So it seems.”

“So what
were
you trying to say?” Angie asked.

“I just . . .” He sighed. “I just wanted her to look at me.”

So he could search for even a small measure of forgiveness in those brown eyes. So he could begin the process of trying to fix what he'd damaged. So he could get to know Helen at last, after over thirty years and one subpar romp in bed together.

“Let me be blunt, Mayor,” Angie said. “If you're anticipating attempt number two at a fuck-and-run with Helen, don't hold your breath. She didn't enjoy it that much the first time, even before you said she was too much of a nerdy nobody for you.”

“I never, ever said that to Helen,” he declared. “First of all, it's not true. Second, even if it were—which, again, it definitely
isn't
—I'd never say something so cruel to anyone, much less a woman I'd . . .”

“Screwed and immediately kicked out of bed?”

For the first time in years, he felt his own cheeks heat. But he fought against the embarrassment, knowing that if he couldn't even convince Helen's friend of his sincerity, he had no chance of persuading Helen herself to give him another chance.

“I don't want a repeat of that night,” he said. “God help me, that's the absolute last thing I want from Helen.”

“So what do you want?”

“I want to apologize for what happened. Maybe see if we could start over from the beginning and get to know each other. Find out if there's anything between us.” He put every ounce of honesty he possessed into his words.

“Hmm.” Angie eyed him with speculative green eyes.

“Really,” he said. “I've regretted that night for ten months now.”

“Then why didn't you track Helen down earlier?”

“I wasn't ready,” he said.

“Why?”

“That's none of your business,” he said. “But if Helen actually lets me talk to her, I'll tell her. That's a promise.”

She tapped a finger against her chin for a minute as she watched him, and he fought to stand still under her regard.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I believe you. But you should know something.”

“What?” he asked.

“If you hurt her again, I will personally make you very, very sorry that you ever laid a finger on her. I can ensure the May Day celebration turns so raunchy that the citizens of Niceville will run you out of town. And that's not even considering what the rest of Helen's friends could do to you.”

“I believe you,” he echoed, eyes wide.

“Then get to work, Mayor,” Angie said, and gave him a harder-than-necessary punch on the arm. “You've got a lot of groveling to do.”

“S
o much for building my reputation as a professional representative of the library,” Helen told Constance the next day. “During my presentation, various citizens of Niceville began shouting about penises, and then I threw a hissy fit directed at the mayor.”

She dug her lunch out of the employee break room refrigerator, grateful that she and her best friend were alone in the room. She didn't need to act respectable. Thank God.

“He deserved it,” Constance said.

And thank God for the unshakeable loyalty of friends
, Helen mentally added. Popping her plastic container into the microwave, she turned to lean against the counter. Con was in the midst of demolishing a large sandwich and bag of chips. As usual, she managed to look disgustingly elegant, even in a pair of faded jeans, boots, and a heavy sweater.

“Maybe.” Helen sighed. “He hurt my feelings, Con. But what did I expect when I decided to sleep with a man who didn't even know my name five minutes before we went home together? Can I really blame him for that?”

“So you're going to give him another chance?” A long strand of Con's hair fell into her eyes, and she batted at it. The heavy mass, as usual, had started slipping from the haphazard knot on top of her head. Probably because, as usual, she'd decided to hold the whole thing together with two pencils and nothing more.

“Hell, no,” Helen said. “I'm not making myself vulnerable to that man ever again. But I can at least behave with civility and professional decorum in his presence. For the sake of the Community Outreach position, if nothing else.”

Constance snorted. “Professional decorum? You're such a nerd, Hel.”

“Shut up.”

“You realize telling your coworker to shut up isn't exactly the height of professional decorum, right?” Constance asked before taking a big bite of her chicken and avocado sub. Over the top of the sub, her dark eyes glinted with mirth.

“Shut up squared.”

“Again. Nerd,” Constance said through a mouthful of sandwich.

“The good news is that I have a week to gird my loins before the next May Day meeting. By then, I should be able to act like a proper library representative.”

She hoped. That had also been her intent last night, of course. But maybe another week could accomplish what several months hadn't.

Her friend took a swig of soda and sat back in her chair. “If the mayor's after you, that loin girding had better be thick. The man's hot enough to melt the hide off a rhino.”

“Melt the hide off a rhino? What the fuck, Con?” Helen couldn't hold back a giggle. “Are rhinoceros hides especially impervious to flames?”

The door to the break room swung open, and Tina walked in. Still giggling, Helen grabbed her container from the microwave and took a seat next to Con.

Tina peered at the two of them for a long moment, and then shrugged. “I guess I don't want to know.” She held up a computer printout. “Helen, I received an e-mail regarding you this morning.”

“It's from the mayor,” Tina added.

Tina placed the paper on the table in front of Helen. “He's requested a private meeting with you late Thursday afternoon in his office. He wants to discuss the library's role in the May Day celebrations.”

Helen canceled her plans for testicular mayhem, at least until she heard more. “And you think I should accept the invitation?”

Tina's brows drew together. “Of course. This is your opportunity to forge ties to our local government. Unless you have a good reason for declining. Do you?”

“No,” Helen said hurriedly. “Not at all.”

“Then I'll accept the invitation on your behalf, but ask him to contact you directly about any further meetings.”

“Sounds good,” Helen choked out.

With a final nod to both of her employees, Tina left the break room. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Helen dropped her forehead onto the table. Then, for good measure, she lifted it and dropped it again.

“I don't think whacking your head against the table will get you out of the meeting, Hel,” Con said. “Unless you do it hard enough to crack your skull.”

“Don't tempt me,” she muttered.

“So it appears our mayor decided to make an end run around your refusal to meet with him. Clever.”

“I can't properly gird my loins in just two days,” Helen moaned into the tabletop.

“I'm more a fan of improperly girding loins. But maybe that's just me.”

“Shut up,” Helen muttered again.

“Now, now,” Con said. “Professional decorum, remember?”

 

At precisely five o'clock on Thursday afternoon, Helen stopped outside the door to the mayor's office. While taking a deep breath, she evaluated the loin girding she'd managed to achieve in two days. Substantial, if she did say so herself.

Without letting herself delay any longer, she knocked. And heard . . . nothing. No shuffle of steps on the stone floor. No squeak of a turning doorknob. No sign that Wes was even working in his office.

As she turned to leave, though, her foot slid on a folded sheet of paper that had fallen outside the door of his office. Staggering, she managed to regain her balance right before falling on the unforgiving stone underfoot.
Apropos
, she thought as she picked up the paper and headed for the trash can at the end of the hall.
I'm escaping right before serious damage occurs—to me, to him, or to my professional reputation.

But right before she pitched the paper, she saw . . . her name. At the top, where Wes had obviously written it and the rest of the note before folding it and taping it to his door. Ineffectively so, as it turned out.

Dammit. No wonder the man had proven so successful in politics. With a heavy sigh, she trudged back downstairs to the Council Chamber. Someone had propped open the door to the room, thankfully, so she could sneak in without disrupting the proceedings.

Half a dozen people sat in an arc at the far end of the room behind a long wooden table, all with microphones, notepads, and glasses of water sitting in front of them. Some sort of platform raised them a foot or so above the rest of the room, so everyone in the rows of audience seating could see the six people clearly. She recognized Wes, of course. She figured the others must be the five City Council members.

Wes didn't notice her entrance, as far as she could tell. At the moment, he seemed fully engaged in talking to an older man from the audience. The man had come up to a small table at the front of the audience, and he spoke into the microphone placed there.

His narrow shoulders trembled with outrage, and he kept pointing an accusing finger at all six people behind the table. Without making a sound, Helen settled into the first available chair and leaned back to enjoy the show.

The man's finger jabbed at the air again. “I water my indoor plants every day, but they haven't grown right. And my stomach got upset last week.”

He narrowed his eyes and hunched forward, making sure to emphasize his next point right into the microphone. “And it got upset
after
I'd had a drink of water from my tap. Clearly, our city water is contaminated. Maybe poisonous. And I want to know what the mayor and City Council plan to do about it.”

Wes looked around, obviously waiting to see if anyone else wanted to respond to this citizen complaint. The five City Council members all found something very interesting written in the notepads in front of them. A silent sigh raised and lowered his shoulders so subtly that Helen didn't think anyone not watching for it would notice.

“Thank you for coming to address your concerns tonight, Mr. Danbury,” Wes said. “Two things. First, we test the city water regularly for contaminants and”—he took a deep breath—“poisons.”

“But my plants,” Mr. Danbury protested. “They're not growing like they usually do.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. But wouldn't poisonous water kill them, rather than making them grow more slowly?”

Mr. Danbury glared at Wes, mouth set in a mutinous line.

“Second, how often do you drink tap water?” Wes asked.

“Every day,” Mr. Danbury replied. “At least, that's what I did until I figured out our city drinking water was contaminated.”

Wes asked his next question in a cautious tone. “Is it possible that your illness last week stemmed from causes other than city water?”

Mr. Danbury drummed his fingers on the table at the front of the spectator area. “Maybe.”

“Would it make you feel better to tour our water treatment facilities? You'd be able to view the safeguards we have in place to protect our water supply from contaminants.”

The older man's fingers stilled, and his stern mouth softened. “I suppose.”

“Then please see me after the meeting to set up a tour. And if the tour doesn't fully address your concerns, we can schedule a private meeting to discuss the issue.”

“All right,” Mr. Danbury said, looking mollified. “Thank you, Mayor Ramirez.”

The older man hobbled back to the seats, moving past Helen on his path. Wes's eyes followed him, but then came to a dead halt when he saw Helen.

He nodded at her, grinning.

She blinked at him, stone-faced.

With a little shake of his head and a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, he leaned forward into his microphone. “Anybody else have concerns to address before the meeting ends?”

When no one came forward, Wes declared the session finished and dismissed the City Council. The audience began to file out of the room, and Helen rose with them. With a single finger, Wes pointed at her and then down to her seat. Twice. The message was clear.

You. Sit. Stay
.

With a harrumph, she obeyed and dropped back down into her chair. A few quick strides brought him to the rows of audience seats, but he bypassed her to talk to Mr. Danbury. After a minute, the two concluded the conversation with a firm handshake.

Then her grace period ended, and he made his way to her. She steeled herself to meet his eyes, in exactly the way she hadn't been able to the other night. At the May Day meeting, she'd let embarrassment overwhelm her, along with worry that seeing his handsome face might override her common sense. Today, though, her loins contained enough girding. She knew it. She could look into his eyes, completely unaffected.

Put on your big-girl panties, Hel
, she told herself.
Take control of the discussion.

“You know, I thought working the circulation desk was rough,” she made herself say politely. “But I have to admit, you handled a tough situation very well.”

To her surprise, she wasn't lying. The few minutes she'd seen of him at work—both tonight and at the May Day meeting—had impressed her. The man had a nice way of dealing with fractious citizens, calming them without blowing smoke up their asses. In fact, she'd never seen another local politician with such an easygoing but authoritative manner.

She couldn't help but think he was wasting his talents here in Niceville. Wes should probably consider state office at some point.
Yet another reason not to let him get too close
, she reminded herself.
He'll move on to bigger and better things sooner or later. Sooner, unless I miss my guess.

To her grudging amusement, her compliment clearly discomfited him. He looked down at the floor, his broad shoulders shifting uneasily beneath his fitted charcoal suit jacket.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She considered the man squirming in embarrassment in front of her, all because of a tiny bit of praise. Was he really so unaccustomed to approval? And why did the sight of his discomfort make her relax so quickly? Why did she suddenly want to tease the big lug a little?

“Wes, can't you even look at me? I feel like a kid being given the silent treatment.”

At that, his head jerked up. A slow smile grew on his face. “Are you calling me immature?”

“If the bootie fits,” she said, trying hard not to match his smile.

“I'm not sure now's the appropriate time to discuss my booty,” he said.

She sputtered. “I wasn't—”

“Just kidding, Helen,” he said. “Why don't we go to my office?”

Following him down the long hall, she fought to keep her eyes from their favorite spot: where his strong thighs flowed into a tight ass. God, she'd wasted so many hours admiring that ass when he'd sat in front of her in algebra class. And now that she'd seen that ass up close and naked, ignoring it proved even more difficult. She wasn't a hormonal teenager with only a vague idea of male anatomy anymore. Now she was an adult woman who knew what that ass could do, the power the muscles there gave him as he surged into a woman's body.