Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You guys know Mr. Lancaster.” I gesture to the tall man on the porch. “Mark, my family.”
“Hi.” Mark smiles, his gaze spending more time on my children and skidding across the ex-husband awkwardly hovering and holding the flowers he brought for me.
“Hello,” Kassim says. “Where are you taking her?”
I cast a half-mortified, half-amused glance up the stairs at my son’s serious expression.
“Um, the Rail,” Mark replies. “It’s this new place a little ways north.”
“I read about that spot,” Josiah says, interest entering his eyes. He’s nothing if not a restaurateur, and the concept intrigues him. “They converted an old train into a restaurant.”
Mark’s smile loosens at the edges, his shoulders lowering a centimeter or two. “It’s getting rave reviews.”
“I heard that—”
“I’ll let you know what I think,” I say, interrupting Josiah. Then I turn back to Mark and nod to the front porch and my escape. “Ready?”
“Sure.” His grin widens, and he gestures for me to walk ahead. Sailing out to the front porch, I close the door on the watching Wades and turn to my date with a bright smile.
“Let’s go. I’m starved!”
Chapter Seventeen
Yasmen
Mark Lancaster could charm the shell off a turtle.
Classic politician, he’s got the looks, and the low, smooth voice that lulls you to lean in. Wealthy. Well-dressed.
Well-hung?
Nope. Not going there. Not finding out tonight. Baby steps. Joisah may be ready for sleepovers, but I’m not. Dinner, drinks, conversation, and maybe a kiss if I’m feeling it. A peck or some tongue, I’ll decide in the moment. Otherwise, this will be a chaste evening. The only thing I’m falling for tonight is the roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes on my plate.
“This food is amazing,” I say, glancing around the train repurposed as an elegant dining room. “And this place is beautiful. Great choice.”
“As the owner of one of Skyland’s best restaurants,” he says, his eyes smiling at me over the rim of his wineglass, “you’re a hard woman to impress, but I was determined.”
“My daughter would say you understood the assignment.”
“The assignment?” Confusion wrinkles his brow.
“Sorry.” I swallow the food and take a quick sip of water. “It’s something the kids say.”
“My daughter would be rolling her eyes right now that I didn’t know that.”
“You have a daughter? What’s her name? How old is she?”
“Her name is Brenna, and she’s sixteen. She hates being in the public eye for the campaign, so I try to protect her privacy. Her mother’s, too, for that matter. Neither one of them signed up for office. My ex likes to say we divorced just in time so she wouldn’t have to go through all this campaign stuff.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Five years,” he says. “I wasn’t the best husband or father. I generally neglected my family in favor of work. My ambition paid off, but it also cost me everything. I’m still rebuilding my life.”
“Is that what running for office is? You rebuilding?”
“Maybe some. My family was gone, and that left me with the business I’d poured everything into. I guess I found it wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be, and I started wondering what else there could be.”
“Well, you’ll probably get my vote,” I say, only half teasing.
“Probably?”
I laugh as he intended and shrug. “What can I say? My vote cost too many people too much for me to just give it away.”
“Seriously.” He tosses his napkin onto the table and leans forward, holding my eyes. “What concerns would you want to see addressed?”
“Many, but the thing I’m really curious about is how you plan to deal with gentrification.”
The same groups bringing money and resources into Atlanta’s historically Black communities are the same ones pushing longtime citizens out.
“I think there are solutions that can benefit all involved,” he says.
“Don’t get diplomatic on me.” My smile holds, but stiffens. “People who have lived in those communities for decades have the right to stay there if they want, not be bullied or taxed out of them, and that’s what’s happening.”
“My plan includes affordable housing for those being displaced and protections for most who live in those communities currently.”
He grins, a rakish sketch of unnaturally white teeth that’s probably been getting him in and out of trouble since high school. “We could spend the rest of the night discussing my plans for the district, but I was hoping for a night off with a beautiful woman.”
I huff out a laugh and resume eating. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrogate you.”
“Hey, if I can’t take it from my date, I’m not ready for the big stage.” He leans back in his seat. “But I can think of a better use for our time.”
His eyes wander over my face, moving to my bare shoulder and then, inevitably, as men always do, to rest on my breasts. I resist the temptation to snap my fingers and remind him that I’m up here, but what’s the use of dressing to draw his attention if I can’t enjoy it when I get it? It’s been a long time since a man looked at me this way, not counting wolf whistles and rude comments from random men on the street. This focused, sustained, intense regard heated by desire. I let it warm my skin and I return his smile.