Page 2 of Always You (A Lilac Bay Novel)

Apparently, that was enough for the mayor. In the five years that I had been working for him, he had never shown any interest in the changes or innovations that I proposed. Our website hadn't been updated since probably the year 2000. When I suggested an overhaul, Mayor Jones hemmed and hawed in that way of his, promising me he would think about it, before eventually deciding that we should leave things as they were. “If it isn't broke, don't fix it,” he would always say. Abouteverything.

I hated that expression. The idea that we would automatically lose our charm and uniqueness with a little innovation and improvement was baffling to me. What was the point in always staying exactly the same? Why was I the only one in the whole of City Hall that thought we could be something more?

Andrew chuckled softly, the noise snapping me back from the rant taking place in my head.

“What?”

“What? Seriously, Riley? I can tell exactly what you're thinking right now—you know that, right? You have aterriblepoker face.”

I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork rather harder than necessary. “And what am I thinking?”

“You’re wondering when the people in this building will wake up and realize that you’re always right.”

“I don’t think I’m always right.”

He tilted his head, just looking at me, clearly not buying my statement.

“Fine,” I muttered, pushing the chicken around on my plate. “I think I’m rightabout this. It's just so frustrating! What's the point in even having a tourism department if they don’t want to increase tourism?”

“People around here tend to like things the way they are,” he said, around a mouthful of potato. “This is new information for you?”

“Of course not. But that doesn't make it any less annoying. I have good ideas, Andrew. It's the reason I was promoted to this office. So what was the point of promoting me if he’s not going to listen to any of those ideas?”

“I think he will," Andrew said encouragingly. “I mean, he has to, right? Look at all the work you did. It would be ridiculous for him to ignore that.”

He had a point. I had put so much effort into this campaign, trying to balance new ideas with a sense of continuity, determined to show him that we could retain our spirit while making changes. It seemed unthinkable to me that anyone could look at the information I had gathered, the statistics and research, and think that it wasn't worth a try. How could any city in the twenty-first century—even a tiny one like ours—think it was acceptable to operate without a strong web presence? There was so much we could be doing that we were simply weren’t.

“Hey.” I looked back at Andrew, whose face was suddenly looking a little concerned. “You shouldn’t be taking this all so personally.”

“Who said I’m taking it personally? I just want this office to join the rest of the world in the twenty-first century. Is that too much to ask?”

“You mean you just want towin,” Andrew said, a smirk flirting with the corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t say it really has anything to do withwinning—”

Andrew laughed. “You’re gonna try that one on me?”

“What? I’m just—”

“What did you say earlier? That’s right—I know you better than just about anyone.”

I frowned. It was kind of uncanny how well he could mimic my voice.

“Come on, Riley. You're the most competitive person I know. You might just be the most competitive person on this island. You really want me to believe that this is all about the good of the island’s economy? That it hasnothingto do with winning?"

I scowled at him and reached out for his plate, pulling it towards me across the table. “If you’re going to insult me, maybe I won’t be so eager to share my lunch with you next time.”

“Eager? You call that eager?” Andrew grabbed the plate and pulled it back towards him. “Anyhow, I'm not insulting you. It'sgoodyou’re competitive. It's your thing.” He opened his eyes a bit wider. “Just because you look at everyone around you as competition just waiting to be crushed beneath your far-superior heels—”

“I do not.”

He just watched me, refusing to validate my argument with a response.

Okay—so maybe I was a tad bit competitive. Maybe it was because of my history as an athlete, or maybe it had started way before that, but if there was one thing that I really loved, it was the thrill of winning. A race, a pickup game of basketball, a card game, an assignment at work—it really didn't matter. If there was competition, I was in.

But what was so wrong with that? What was so wrong with wanting to do well?

I rolled my eyes. “I’m so sorry that I happen to be driven.”