Page 18 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“Was that a yes or a no in favor of expansion of downtown, Miss Scott?” Gerald pressed.
“It was neither. If you’d been paying attention, that would have been clear. The question was too broad. I laid out the parameters of what needed to be delineated in order for a proper discussion to proceed.”
She was still talking too much and hiding that she wasn’t up to speed on the expansion plans whilesimultaneously knocking Gerald down a notch. Forget breakfast and lunch. Fitz wanted popcorn for this show.
Gerald shook his gavel at her. “You’re talking in circles, Miss Scott. Please answer the question. That is, after all, why we’ve taken precious time out of our busy days, to learn where you, a complete newcomer to local politics, stand on the issues.”
Yeah. Gerald had noted the smack down, and he wasn’t happy about it either. Fitz pulled his phone from his pocket and started texting Everett under the table. Campaign breakfast has turned into a WWE match.
Hallie shook her fork right back at him. Syrup did indeed fly into the spray zone Fitz had jokingly pointed out. “You didn’t make Mayor Montgomery answer the question. He got away with a single smart-aleck sentence before you moved on to me. I, at least, provided context for not only a more comprehensive debate but points which need to be solidified by the town council before we move forward at all.”
Reggie stood again and poked his arm up and down until Gerald acknowledged him. “My apologies. My morning java hasn’t kicked in yet, I’m afraid. You raised some good points. I didn’t follow them all, but you sounded sure of yourself. I respect that. It’s the key to good driving, you know. Surety in your decisions. You don’t hang about, taking your time straddling a lane. When you want to move, you move. Safer for everyone that way.”
After teaching driver’s ed for…well, forever, Reggie found a way to turn almost every conversation back to something car related. Fitz knew that Hallie hadn’t grown up in Swan Cove. She was probably confused as to why the man had veered off on that tangent.
“Here’s what I’m sure of, Mr. Shaw.” Hand over her heart, she beamed sincerity his way. “No matter what, we need more time added to the parking meters. Two hours doesn’t give you enough time to get a haircut, have lunch with friends, and then do a little shopping. The maximum limit needs to be raised on the existing meters and, concurrently, if any are added to a potentially expanded downtown area.”
Son of a bitch. She did know Reggie. Because as much as that man babbled on about driving with every other breath, he liked even more to complain about the tickets he amassed for staying over his meter time.
Hallie was…well, she was pandering to him, giving him exactly what he wanted. It was a beautiful move. Campaign-wise. Except…
Fitz knew that she’d unintentionally poured gasoline on a pile of tinder. Because there were many others in the room who knew how much revenue they brought in from meter ticketing. Plugging a meter with two dollars for four hours didn’t compare to a fifty-dollar ticket for an expired meter.
All that cash rolling in was what prevented them from raising taxes.
And every person in this room knew that—except for Hallie, apparently.
Sure enough, just as Hallie leaned back in her chair with a hint of relief smoothing out the tense pull around her eyes, chaos erupted.
Everyone started talking at once. Fitz was too far away to isolate most of it. But from the closest tables he caught “you’ll bankrupt us” to “you don’t have the right to mess with our taxes” to, worst of all, “shows how little you know.” Not to mention a few grumblings about how a nobody from Crow Harbor couldn’t comprehend the reality of a balanced fiscal plan.
Man, that was going too damn far. Classist bigots.
It wasn’t courteous.
It wasn’t organized.
It wasn’t mature.
It was like a bad comedy movie cliché of a campaign event imploding. Voices raised. Chairs pushed back. Gerald began banging his gavel. The kitchen staff even rushed out, taking protective positions behind the chafing dishes.
It’d be laughable in the retelling…someday.
Right now? Fitz was embarrassed his voting citizens were behaving like seventh graders. Mad at them for turning breakfast into a shitshow. If this was a taste of what the rest of the campaign events would be like, it’d be a painfully endless two months.
Worse still? Fitz couldn’t do a damned thing about it. He had to wait it out and let Gerald try and get everyone back under control.
Not because he thought it’d in any way affect his chances at reelection, but because from his two brief interactions with Hallie, it was obvious she was fiercely independent. And that if he gave in to his chivalric instincts and smoothed things over and redirected the flow of crap aimed her way by the town’s most upstanding citizens?
She’d probably throw the syrup-drenched plate at him.
Even though her face was currently beet red with embarrassment at so obviously having said the wrong thing and caused this mess.
Even though he could see her white-knuckling the edge of her seat.
Even though, even over the din, he could hear her panting as if she’d just run up the stairs of the Empire State Building.
So, Fitz said nothing, did nothing, aside from polishing off his breakfast. It didn’t feel good, but that was pretty much par for the course of his entire tenure as mayor.
