Feeling my night with Addison slip further out of my reach, I drag a hand down my face and get to work, promising myself I’ll make it up to her. And I know exactly how to start.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Addison
Special Delivery at the Mayor-Elect’s Mansion.
Does Getaway Girl Already Have Control of the Credit Card?
—TheTea.com
Getaway Girl’s Other Mode of Transportation.
Hint: It involves a paddle. Click to get her aquatic workout!
—Avant-Charleston
While the Mayor Is Away, the Getaway Girl Will Play.
Addison Potts Spotted with Two Men.
—Southern Insider News
Profile: Addison Potts and the Grandmother’s Legacy She Quietly Upholds.
—Charleston Courier
I give up my frantic purse search with a wounded animal sound, no choice but to face the facts. I’ve lost my earbuds. This morning, when I left the house to go kayaking, I plugged them deep into my ears, turned up the volume on The 1975 to full blast and heard none of the press’s questions. I was tempted to give them all the middle finger as I dove into the back of the shiny government SUV, but something made me smile and wave instead.
It might have been the bone-deep sexual satisfaction. But I think that’s only part of it. I want to make an…effort. If Elijah is going to take a gamble on ex-party girl turned Christmas ornament saleswoman, Addison Potts, the least I can do is be kind to the people who could help or hurt his career.
Inside my chest, my heart starts to wrap against my ribs.
Elijah is kind, isn’t he?
Elijah is everything.
Whoa, girl. These extreme cases of swooning have been catching me off guard all day. And with a bevy of reporters lying in wait, being off my game is not helpful. I can’t help it, though. Allowing myself the tiniest dash of hope that Elijah and I could be the real deal…it has broken an emotional dam and allowed all my suppressed feelings to come flooding in. Before now, I’m not sure I let myself acknowledge how in love I am with Elijah. Now that I have, I’m scared of its magnitude.
Realizing I’ve been sitting in the back of my Elijah-appointed SUV staring into space for long minutes, I shake myself. “Um…” I lean forward to the space between my bodyguards, two friendly ex-military men who take up the driver and passenger seats. “You guys don’t happen to have an extra pair of headphones…?”
“No, ma’am,” they say at the same time, before the passenger turns and smiles over his shoulder. “You ready to go, Miss Potts?”
I blow out a breath and look out at the sidewalk. At least two-dozen reporters anticipate me leaving the vehicle, cameras at the ready. A few weeks ago, there was an occasional run-in with the press. Now, it’s constant.
Kind. I can be kind. No, I want to. That girl who showed up at the church all those months ago, hoping to cause a stir? I don’t harbor that same resentment anymore. Of course some of it still exists, but my resentment was for the upper crust as a whole. The representation of the family that shut out my grandmother because of her daughter’s behavior, without holding my possible birth father accountable at all. Elijah is part of that circle, though. He loves people who are members of it and I trust him. So I’m letting go of any leftover anger a little bit at a time. “Sure, I’m ready.”
“Wait for us to come around and let you out.”
“Will do,” I mutter. I’ve spent less than a day with a security detail and I already know the drill. After Elijah left this morning, I floated downstairs and made a second attempt at coffee. I’d only taken my first sip when Ricky and Kyle knocked on the door, informing me they’d be escorting me where I need to go for the foreseeable future. Yes, even if it’s just a jog along the Battery. Yes, even to buy tampons. Yes, even kayaking. Thankfully, I convinced them to remain on the shore while I snuck across the river to Drum Island—sorry, boys, there’s only room for one in a kayak—but they didn’t like me giving them the slip.
Once again I failed to spread my grandmother’s ashes, still stowed in my backpack. I thought this time I would be able to let go. To set her free. I’m opening myself up to the potential pain that comes from loving Elijah. I’m allowing myself to free fall. I thought letting those barriers drop would make it easier to open the Mrs. Claus canister and let the wind take her, but…I still couldn’t do it. There’s still something holding me back.
After a rap on the window, it opens. Members of the media crowd in around my two security guards, taking pictures and calling my name, fighting for my attention. Flash. Flashflashflash. My hair is in disarray from the wind and I’m wearing yoga pants and a loose, wide-necked top with a bathing suit beneath. Definitely not the uniform for a mayor-elect’s girlfriend. But I climb out, anyway, because I have no choice. Just get to the gate.