WE FOUND OURSELVES RUNNING THE SAME PATH
Charlotte
I hadn’t really realized I was getting into such a high-stress job when I said yes. You want to help people, have limited time, and you can’t help everyone in the way you want to. It generates some huge pent-up frustrations I’m having trouble venting.
I head up to the park for a quick morning run and he’s there. Matt Hamilton is the most easygoing guy I know, one who can keep his cool during adversity. While the world is in a stir over the news, and the TV keeps replaying his announcement, he’s stretching his quads.
A cap covers my red hair, which I twisted beneath it. Somehow he still recognizes me, his eyebrows rising just a fraction when our eyes meet. He’s not wearing a cap, his hair blows in the wind, and the shirt he wears is pressed against his defined torso.
He’s not only running for president, he’s running the TCS marathon in New York. Though it’s already a huge marathon, the sign-ups have skyrocketed as rumors of his participation leaked. “It’s dangerous, Matt,” Carlisle warned just this week.
Matt laughed. “I’m not running a campaign on fear—fear has no place when you decide to run a country.”
“Reckless!” Carlisle insisted.
Matt rose from behind his desk and slapped his campaign manager’s back, shaking his head, frowning down at him. “Relax. It’s just a marathon. Besides, running helps me keep my head clear.”
I tuck my face under the cap until I run past him with a brief nod of acknowledgment.
I hear his light, agile running steps behind me as he catches up with me, and I’m a little more breathless when I see him in my peripherals.
“Morning, Charlotte.”
“Morning,” I say under my breath, trying to keep my pace.
We run in silence the rest of the hour.
This has been happening every day, for nearly two weeks. We seem to be . . . running together. Not on purpose, though. We both simply seem to want to run at this time, in this park, daily.
“Have any free time this morning at headquarters?” he asks.
“I’ve got a packed schedule.”
“Never too packed for me.”
My lips twist wryly.
His lips twist wryly too. “We’ve got some business to discuss with you.”
“What kind of business?” I ask suspiciously. “Yours or mine?”
“Isn’t it the same?”
I stop running, curious—more curious than our cats, as my mother says. “What is it?”
He laughs. “Patience, grasshopper. I’ll have Carlisle run it by you.”
I glance at his huge black dog, promptly sitting protectively at his side. I grin. “He likes his flea collar?”
He eyes the dog as if only now realizing he seems mighty comfortable with it. He smiles, then hooks his finger on the end of the collar. “Come on, Jack.” He heads to the car. “Want a ride?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Looking disappointed, he opens the door and hops in, and they drive away.
I stay, stretching for a little bit, and I can’t seem to stop myself from replaying our conversations and grinning. Why do I keep running in this park? Why does he keep running in this park? Why is it suddenly important for me to know?
I knew I would be challenged in many ways when I took on the job, but I never imagined I’d become so fascinated not only with the aspects of campaigning, but with the candidate himself. He is a man who could, in less than a year, become our president. Knowledge about our country and a genuine understanding of how it works seeps from his pores.
I’m intensely curious to know more about his views, but it’s Matt who makes me most curious of all.
* * *
On lunch break, I hear that the news of Matt asking Rhonda to change the schedule to accommodate a request of mine seems to have not sat too well with some of the other female aides.
“You know, he’s never paid much attention to any of us.” Martha flips her hair, obviously annoyed.
“Matt and Charlotte’s families go back,” Alison says as I walk in.
“Oh?” She turns wide, questioning eyes my way.
“A little,” I hedge.
“Ah, so that’s why.” She seems relieved.
The energy in the room seems to shift, and all the attention flees from my way over to the door.
My eyes flick over to Matt when he stops by the small cafeteria section to pull out a bottle of water. He cracks it open, thoughtful as he looks at the group of women, then raises his head and sees me.
I smile and pass through the door and when my shoulder brushes his, my skin crackles heatedly.
Absently I brush my hand down my arm as I go back to my desk.
I’m going through my pile of letters when Carlisle stops by my desk.
“Matt wants you to be his new scheduler,” Carlisle says.
I start in surprise. “Me?”
“You’ll need to be open to traveling; we’ll be visiting all fifty states. It’s a good idea for there to be only one scheduler or else a ton of mix-ups can arise. Trust me—not fun to have something in New Hampshire an hour before you have something in San Francisco.”
I gape at him.
“Let’s run down what’s expected of you for the following months,” Carlisle begins.
I’m briefed in a six-by-six room on my duties as political scheduler.
“As our one and only scheduler, you’re to oversee Matt’s agenda for the entire campaign. You’ll have political aides and advance teams to organize, you’ll book his gym workouts, make sure the planes and buses are all stocked with essentials, organize the rallies and his every social and personal engagement for the rest of the year. We need a good balance among all his engagements. Do you think you can do that?”
My head is spinning, but I force myself to reply. “I . . . if Matt thinks I can, then I can,” I say bravely.
He shoots me a dire look. “Just to be clear, a scheduling mistake could cost us the whole campaign. Every minute and second must be accounted for. His father’s scheduler remained at headquarters during his campaign, but Matt wants a more hands-on approach.”
He seems concerned about my ability to do the job, so I nod more firmly than necessary.
“Rhonda will be on press coordination, but she can help if you get stuck in any part of the process; she’ll fill you in on any questions you might have.”
Matt comes in to see Carlisle, and when my arm brushes his as I pass through the door, my skin crackles heatedly.
I’m smoothing fingers over the tingling skin of my upper arm as I head to my table when Carlisle’s assistant approaches.
“Charlotte—” She points in the direction of the floor where Matt has his office. “You’ll be over here now, outside Matt’s office.”
I swallow, then start gathering my personal things, more determined than ever to make a difference and prove to myself that I can.