Page 78 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“Of course. The old lady only wants attention from her daughters. She wants a trained and appropriately pricey professional for everything else.” He shook Preston’s hand, then circled the table to shake Fitz’s. “Mr. Mayor.”
“Good to see you, Lloyd.” Fitz put an arm across the back of Hallie’s chair, effectively including her in the conversation. “Have you had a chance to meet Hallie Scott? She’s our fantastic librarian, and a formidable opponent for me in the campaign.”
Ohhh, she appreciated him so much at that moment. It was like the cherry on top of her telling-off-Preston sundae.
Lloyd hustled right over, which, to Hallie, signaled he had to be in sales rather than simply a trust fund social flitter. “Lloyd Saxby, president of Harborside Bank.”
“Nice to meet you. Your tellers are always personable and accommodating.”
He thrust out his chest, palm on it like Napoleon. “You bank with us?”
Awkward. No. Quite simply the interest rates were better at big corporate banks.
“The library does. You’ve no idea how quickly all those late fees add up and need to be deposited.”
“Ha!” He grabbed her hand that he’d just relinquished and patted the back of it. “You’re like a meter maid, making money for the city off stupid transgressions.”
She didn’t care for the condescending pat, but it was obvious Lloyd was making an effort, and more so than two of her tablemates, so she’d cut him some slack. “I prefer to think of myself as a conduit to information and entertainment, but sure, that, too.”
Then Lloyd slapped Fitz on the back. Big toucher, that one. “It’s a hoot to see you breaking bread with the enemy, Fitz.”
A meter maid and a hootable enemy. Wow. This guy was a real charmer.
Fitz looked at him with a blank expression as if Lloyd had just accused him of pogo-sticking into church. “Ms. Scott’s not my enemy. We both want the same thing—what’s best for Swan Cove.”
“Not much of a delineating rallying cry, you wanting the same thing.” He guffawed.
Fitz continued as if the other man hadn’t spoken. “And we do this at every campaign event. You should come out to the one this weekend at the community center. We’re talking about ways it could expand.”
“After the marina expansion, of course. Bigger money there than at a community center. Funny you should mention that. My nephew mentioned just the other day it’d be great to have a mini-golf course. Indoors, of course. Big fun for the entire family.”
“We’ll both make a note of that,” Hallie said hurriedly. It seemed prudent to remind Lloyd there were two candidates. “Feel free to think on it more and send over any additional suggestions.”
“Will do.” With a wave, he left the table.
Too bad. It’d been nice to have one more person who didn’t actively loathe her in the conversation.
“I noticed what you didn’t say, Ms. Scott.” Disapproval rolled off Caroline thicker than the layer of butter she’d slathered on her poppyseed roll. “You really ought to bank with Lloyd.”
It’d be useless to ask how her personal finances were any of Caroline’s business. Clearly, the woman felt everything in Swan Cove was her business. “Then he really ought to lure me with better rates. I’ve got to accrue every cent I can.”
“Money is not all that matters. The optics matter.”
Hallie couldn’t wait to see Megan’s eyeroll when she told her that quote. “See, the only people who think money doesn’t matter are the people who have oodles of it. Now, if the mayor here threw the town budget out the window and doubled my salary, then I’d consider banking local.”
“No can do, unless you want to pull a double salary and actually be the meter maid?” They both laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
Preston and Caroline did not.
Preston placed his fork, tines down, on the plate. Then he caught the eye of the nearest waiter and lifted his chin, indicating it was time to clear for the next course. Was he like Queen Elizabeth? Was everyone supposed to stop eating just because he was done?
“Well, I suppose the optics don’t actually make a difference in your case since you won’t actually becomemayor.”
He’d hammered that point home tonight. Again and again and again.
“Dad!” Fitz said harshly. His voice boomed above the clatter of silverware against china, and the buzz of conversation, loud enough to have several couples near them neck-twisting like owls to ogle them. “Enough.”
“I’m not being insulting, or mean. I’m simply stating the fact that not only is Ms. Scott not a Montgomery, she’s from Crow Harbor. She won’t win.”
That was the moment.
The one where Hallie realized that even if she did win by some miracle, she’d never be truly accepted. Not by the old guard in the town. Not by the Montgomerys, who owned and ran everything and were friends with everyone. And they definitely would never accept her as Fitz’s girlfriend.
Not that they’d talked about that. Hallie and Fitz had spent almost every night together for the past two weeks. Texted constantly. They were twining together like two vines…but they hadn’t even driven by the border of discussing dating after the election. They were happy and that was enough.
For now. Well, until right now.
She’d been tilting at windmills this whole time—and look how badly that ended for Don Quixote. Concentrating on facts and figures, expecting they would be all the ammunition necessary.
How could they be when the bias against her was pure snobbery and wholly emotional? How could she possibly fight that? For the mayorship…or for the chance to keep her handsome, caring lover?
