Chapter Twenty-One
ShaeLynn Samuels lives in a townhouse in a better neighborhood than Lauren and I live. When we pull up in front of her place, I tell the driver to stay there, and I go up personally to fetch her.
This is due to my instructions from Chris. He said the senator has already been briefed by him, so I’m going to go with what I’ve been told.
I ring the bell and she answers the door herself a moment later. She’s already wearing a sweeping overcoat that hits her mid-calf over an ankle-length royal blue dress and matching heels. Tonight, her hair is swept up into a chic twist, and she’s wearing contacts.
“You’re right on time,” she says with a smile.
“Thank the driver,” I say.
She sets her alarm and locks the door, and I offer her my arm for the walk down to the car, holding the door open for her. Once we’re on our way, she gives me another smile. “Ready for your big debut, Mr. Markos?”
“That’s Kevin, Senator.”
“You can call me Shae.”
“Maybe in private, but not in public, ma’am. We’re going to control the optics from this moment on.”
“Ah.”
“Remember, this is a senate race on steroids with a double heaping of adrenaline rush and a splash of batshit insane. Assume everything is an open mic, assume people can hear your every word, assume you’re always being filmed on a cell phone. Always. One careless sentence can sink a campaign, especially if it’s pulled out of context and retweeted as a sound bite.”
“Duly noted, Kevin.”
“People are going to come gunning for you and try to knock you out before Iowa,” I tell her. “You and I need to sit down this coming week and go through the dark and dirty stuff.”
One eyebrow elegantly arches.
I know what she’s thinking. “The stuff I don’t know about,” I clarify.
“Ah.”
“I need to know everything I might get blindsided with. Because I hate surprises.”
“I think pretty much everything’s been aired out during my previous senate races.”
“Good, but we need to go over it for my sake. I haven’t been an expert on you, but I need to be. I’m also going to need your voting record since your first term. Because I need to know that inside and out.”
“Do you have hiring ideas? This is your show. I’m not going to assume it’s okay to just bring the same people back.”
“That’s a conversation for this week, Senator.” I turn to face her as much as my seat belt will allow. “I want to know who’s worked for you in the past. We may be using some of them, we might not want others. Until I see them, I won’t know. And I have some thoughts on pollsters and IT. We’re going to need a headquarters, and an IT department. Please tell me you already have the website URL?”
“I’ve had that for years.”
“Excellent.” I tick those points off in my head on my rapidly exploding to-do list. Just because I resent the fact that I’m sharing my boyfriend with her doesn’t mean I won’t give my best effort to getting her elected.
In fact, I’m guessing if I can get her elected, that might actually give me more time with my boyfriend, because she’ll be too damn busy running the country to be sneaking around getting some from him.
Of course, I’ll be pretty damned busy helping her run the freaking country, so that could backfire on me, I suppose.
* * * *
Tonight’s event isn’t a political fundraiser, it’s more a see-and-be-seen kind of DC political high-society event. It is a fundraiser for a children’s athletic league organization I’ve heard of but know little about, the kind of feel-good charity that only assholes like my father would have a problem with, so people from both sides of the political spectrum will be in attendance.
Shae told me my father will not be present.
He wasn’t invited.
I think I can safely gloat about that without being called an asshole.
When we arrive at the hotel where the event is being held, I get out first so I can help her out, and stupidly enough, as someone on the rope line snaps our picture, it hits me why Chris was so adamant I couldn’t tell anyone he was my boyfriend.
The senator is single. I am single, and have an ex-wife. I’ve never given anyone a reason to believe I’m gay.
The initial optic is now set into place, especially once people learn who I am to the senator.
Considering how much we’ll be seen together, there’s no honey to dig out of that hive. No whispers that we’re cheating with each other. Let people wonder if we’re doing each other. Who cares? Two consenting, single adults.
I can live with that.
And I owe Chris an apology for getting pissy with him over it. He owes me no explanations. One of the deals I made by agreeing to this was that he’s in charge, he has final word, and if he wants to explain, that’s up to him. I’m to trust.
I need to trust.
She looks up at me with an odd little smile. “What’s going on?” she quietly asks.
I shake my head. I can explain it later—definitely not here and now. Meanwhile, I remember to slow my stride as we walk into the hotel. Lauren hates heels and usually can keep up with me with no trouble, but she’s also a little taller than Shae.
Once we’re inside at our table, I subtly scope out the surrounding tables. Sure enough, right where Chris told me he’d be, I see Calvin Mattis. I’ve never interviewed him before, and something else Chris was correct about was the man’s distinctive, braying voice. I’ll have zero trouble overhearing him.
I feel a hand touch the back of my arm and I turn to find Jorge Gonzalez standing there, one of the current morning FNB anchors on the show the hour before Lauren’s.
“Hello, Kev. So how are you doing, buddy?” From his too-wide grin and his too-perfect hair, I’ve never liked the guy. He’s always rubbed me wrong.
He’s only five five, which is impossible to see when he’s sitting behind a desk in a chair that’s jacked up higher than his other co-anchors, or literally standing on a box so he looks taller.
And he’s a total fucking bitch if you forget his box, or if he’s not sitting higher than his co-anchors.
Or if he’s awake and breathing.
Seriously, he’s a bitch.
And I am most definitely not, and never have been, his “buddy.”
I smile, giving nothing away. “Doing well, Jorge.”
The practiced TV concern comes out, including the appropriate head nod. “We’ve all been sooo worried about you.”
Yeah, riiiiight. I nod back. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Soooo. You doing okay?”
I plaster a commentless smile to my face. “Doing great.” That’s all he’s going to get from me. Shae’s turned away from me, talking with a senator from California, and it’s not obvious that we’re together, unless someone saw us walk in.
“Where’s Lauren?” Jorge asks.
I hope my smile doesn’t slip. “I don’t know.”
You know, I’m actually enjoying this cat-and-mouse game with him.
His façade cracks just a hair as he realizes he’s going to have to dig deep if he wants any answers. But then Shae turns and touches my arm. “Kevin, I’d like you to meet Senator Catherine Monroe.”
God, I wish I’d had my phone ready to snap a picture of the jaw-gaping shock on Jorge’s face when Shae hooked her arm through mine.
“Oh, hello, Mister…Gonzalez, isn’t it?”
I fight the urge to laugh out loud. That was deliberate on her part, I’d bet money on it. He’s now not only shocked my who I’m obviously there with, he’s crushed she seemed uncertain of his name.
Maybe I can figure out a way not to hate her for fucking my boyfriend.
Except, of course, I guess the converse is true.
She’s been in a relationship with Chris far longer that what I had with him. Here I am, sweeping in and moving in with Chris.
Shit. And she’s not being the slightest bit bitchy or standoffish with me about it, either.
But I leave Jorge standing there with his chin resting on his ugly-ass Ferragamos as Shae naturally leans into my left side and I slide my left arm around her waist. “Senator Monroe, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” I shake with her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jorge standing there, speechless.
Okay, tonight was definitely worth it just for this.
We end up taking our seats a few minutes later, and I stick with water. Shae has iced tea, but no alcohol. I don’t know if that’s due to an order by Chris or not.
As I sit there chatting with the others at our table—none of whom have outright asked what the fuck I’m doing there even though their curiosity is killing them—I’m aware of a wave of heads turning to look at me, a wave that likely corresponds with Jorge’s path through the room.
Oooh, I’m really enjoying this now.
Finally, Tom Simone, a GOP operative from Washington State sitting directly across the table from me grows a set and asks it. “Kevin, that was a very…interesting and impassioned statement you gave a few weeks ago. What are your future career plans?”
“He’s my campaign manager,” Shae chimes in with a smile, silencing the table.
I take a sip of water and enjoy the universally widened eyes surrounding us.
“For president?” Tom asks.
Shae is a master of wide-eyed innocence. “Yes?”
I struggle and somehow succeed in not laughing.
We’re saved further entertainment by the master of ceremonies taking the podium on stage. Under the table, I offer her a fist bump, and she returns it.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
* * * *
Thankfully, we’re out of there by ten. I no sooner slide into the back seat next to Shae and shut the door behind me than we exchange a grin and burst out laughing.
“Oh. My. God,” she says. “That was the most fun I’ve had at one of these things in a looong damn time. Did you see the looks on their faces when I first told them you’re my campaign manager?”
“Yep. That was priceless.” I glance at my phone, which has been in do not disturb mode. I have five missed calls, ten text messages, and three voice mails.
None of them from Lauren or Chris.
An extremely unusual and suspiciously high volume of traffic, considering the virtual radio silence of the last week or so once the news cycle spun on without me.
Truthfully?
I really did have a good time. By this time tomorrow, everyone in DC—and more than a few who aren’t—will know I’m now Senator Samuels’ campaign manager.
Likely including my father.
Tomorrow, I’m spending the day with Chris. Monday, I hit the ground running without a chance to ease my way into the campaign process.
That chance would have been about twelve months ago.
We need a basic website no later than end-of-day Monday, I need to get a treasure in place, open bank accounts, start the FEC and IRS paperwork hell death march, and hundreds of things I can’t even think about right now but which are lying in wait for me on my phone’s to-do list.
And campaign phones. I need a work phone.
Shae is going to loan the campaign money to get it off the ground. We should be able to start accepting donations online by the end of next week, and will be able to deposit checks as soon as we’ve got a bank account.
“Tell me what hit you when we got there,” she says in a quiet voice I wasn’t expecting.
“Huh?”
When we arrived and you were helping me out of the car. You had a thought and the head shake told me we’d discuss it later.
Did I? I think about it and remember it.
I start to fudge, to outright lie, and realize no.
None of this works if I lie to her or Chris.
She’s a grown-ass woman who wants to be POTUS, and if I can get her that far, I’ll be her chief of staff. That means having conversations along the way that are infinitely more difficult than this one.
I am aware of the driver, but the radio and heater are on, and he’s got a phone earpiece in his right ear.
I lean in close and drop my voice. “There are certain personal facts I was ordered to keep private last night, and I…voiced my disagreement.”
Up goes the eyebrow. “Bet I can guess how that went,” she mutters, a wry, lopsided grin making me chuff.
“Probably very accurately. And as I helped you out of the car, our pictures were being snapped. I then realized the logical why of the order.”
Her gaze is focused on me. In this dim light, her eyes look nearly midnight instead of grey, and not because of the contacts. They shift and pick up colors and shadows depending on the light. At dinner, with dim lighting and candle centerpieces, gold flecks stood out, sun-warmed granite.
“I know this whole situation is outside your wheelhouse,” she says. “Personally and professionally. Thank you for saying yes.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
“Yes, you did.”
Time for me to arch an eyebrow.
This woman now speaking to me isn’t the Senator—it’s ShaeLynn Samuels. Her voice drops to a whisper. “If you’d said no, I would have told him to drop it, end of story, and he would have.”
I study her for a long moment and decide I believe her. That’s moot, though, because I’ve committed to this. She’ll have to fire me if she wants me gone, or do something incredibly boneheaded that requires I quit to make a moral or ethical point. “No lies between us. This works only if you’re honest with me. You can count on honesty from me, to a painful degree, at times. I’ll bust my ass for a win for you, but it requires trust. We need compartments for our various…personalities.”
She nods. “I agree.”
“And we hold back the chief of staff news.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t need Dems sabotaging you because they’re pissed off you’ll install a Republican as chief. You can announce that once you’ve secured the general election win. Don’t tell anyone else until then.”
She slowly nods. “Fair enough. I shall heed your sage advice.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes when she snorts.
“What?” I ask.
“Twenty bucks says that, by tomorrow morning, people are saying we’re sleeping together.”
“Won’t take that bet.” I smile. “They’re saying it already.”
* * * *
It’s almost eleven when we roll up to my townhouse. I didn’t realize how relived I’d feel to see Chris’ SUV sitting parked there until I visualized it.
I’m not all the way up the walk when the front door opens and there stands the man himself.
He closes the door behind me. “Well?”
I remove my overcoat and hang it in the closet. “All of DC will be buzzing by morning.”
“Excellent.” He snags my tie and heads toward the stairs.
I have no choice but to follow.
I actually get fucked in just the tie. Chris had too much fun taking the rest of my clothes off me, edging me, spanking my ass, and making me beg to leave me in any more than that.
After cleaning up, we sprawl in my bed and I realize he distracted me before I could ask. “How was dinner with Lauren?”
“You know she’s still in love with you, right?”
There’s no teasing, no playful lightness to his words.
Or mine. “I know.” It’s a crushing guilt I bear. “Did she say that?”
“She didn’t have to.” He rolls onto his side, his head propped up on one hand, his other resting in the center of my chest, fingers splayed, like he’s feeling my heartbeat. It’s something he’s done a lot since our reunion. “Forget what I said about taking it out of your ass when you tell her you love her.” He meets my gaze. “I’m not going to be a dick about this. I trust you. You’re her best friend.”
I unsuccessfully blink back the prickle of tears. “She’s mine.”
The fingers on my chest brush gentle circles over my heart. “She offered to help with the packing. I invited her over tomorrow to help, told her we’d feed her.”
“Well, we feed her, now we’ll never get rid of her,” I drawl, trying to lighten the mood.
The edges of his lips give the tiniest upward shift, but the somber tone remains. “Even more reason for us not to tell her about us. Maybe…maybe later, once she knows me better. We can blame it all on me when we do. I’ll take that hit. But the plan is best served by not revealing that at this time.”
I lace fingers with him and gently squeeze. “I’m sorry I got mouthy earlier. I get why you want me to keep it quiet with others.”
“Do you now?”
I tell him, and he nods. “That was a consideration of mine, yes.”
This feels too damned heavy right now. I go for full-on smartass teasing. “So how flirty did she get with you? A glass or two of while, she’ll be giggling all over you.”
His gaze shifts to our hands, where he squeezes mine. “She spent the entire dinner talking about you,” he quietly says. “I don’t even think she realized it.”
I lie there still thinking about that long after he’s already fallen asleep.