Quietly, she crept back into the meeting in time to hear the main point. Unfortunately, all eyes locked onto her as she returned to her chair. Lorraine Talbot, the director of the community center, seemed particularly perturbed that Leanne had ducked out. Lorraine frowned so hard that her eyebrows touched, her rust-lipsticked mouth compressed in a firm line. The color didn’t suit her even slightly, rendering her freckled complexion sallow.

“We were under the impression the mayor’s office takes our concerns seriously,” she snapped, skewering Leanne with a gimlet stare.

Damn Deputy Mayor Dudley. I’m not even meant to be here. This day sucks.

“We do. I’m truly sorry for the interruption. You have my full attention.”

She spent the next hour listening to valid agitation regarding budget cuts. As director of communications, Leanne shouldn’t be dealing with any of this. Both Mayor Anderson and Deputy Mayor Dudley were prime examples of people failing upward, until they plateaued and became someone else’s problem. If the people who’d voted for them had any inkling how much time they spent on the golf course while making staffers pull their weight—

Best not to dwell on it. I’ll end up with resting witch face, and Lorraine will think it’s about her.

At last, the meeting ended, and Leanne offered vague assurances about presenting their reasonable requests to the mayor. Who wouldn’t listen, because he never did. The man had perfected a jovial expression, one that seemed attentive and sympathetic, while he pondered something else. If her job wasn’t to keep his office smelling like roses, figuratively speaking, she’d have let him fall on his face years ago.

If only I’d known what a tool he is before I took this job…

Dan Rutherford, a city councilman, stopped her before she could make her escape. The man…loomed. There was no other word for it. He was tall and broad, dedicated to working out, and she had no doubt that he considered himself a vital and exciting man. Though he dressed well, she hated his affectation in wearing a bolo tie. And don’t get me started on the cowboy boots. It’s not like he’s from Texas or Arizona. His skin was deeply weathered, and he kept his haircut high and tight, showing off a faint and involuntary tonsure at the back of his head.

“Looking beautiful today, Ms. Vanderpol.” His gaze dropped to her boobs, lingering a while before it returned to her face.

She refused to say thanks for a compliment she didn’t want; instead, she folded her arms across her chest. “Did you need something, sir?” Goddess, but it galled her to add that respectful word at the end. She’d rather kick his shins.

“Can you ask your boss to call me? He said something about setting up a tee time, but I can’t get him on the horn.”