Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Maybe, Linda thought, she was over thinking things. Adam had survived everything up to this point. Why wouldn't he be able to get past a little interview?

He didn't seem to be the least bit worried about it, either. Maybe he knew something she didn't. Most politicians, like anyone who had to guess at the future, were gamblers. They thought they knew how the world worked, but in the end they were just guessing.

There were a few, though, who defied classification. They were gamblers just like any of their peers, but somehow, over and over, they proved to gamble right. If it's all random chance, there's no such thing as skill, no matter what anyone tells you.

But when there's a clear pattern, when the same person consistently comes out on top… well, that's a different story altogether. That's a situation where it's undeniably the result of some skill, even if that seems completely impossible.

Adam Quinn had been one of those figures in the tech world. He'd been one of those in the tumultuous world of television personalities. He'd come out on top of a thousand situations that could have turned bad, like an expert hand kayaking through white water rapids. If he wasn't worried, then she shouldn't be.

But Adam didn't pay her to make rationalizations about why she didn't need to do her job. Her job was to figure out options to protect the candidate from himself. She didn't get to vacate that responsibility because he was, by all outside indicators, immune to hurting himself.

So she was sitting at a diner, the sun long-since down, staring at a notebook with scribbled notes. Nothing that would be worth saving so far.

She could let him do his thing. That was a given, though. Whatever recommendations she gave, Adam would ultimately make the decision. She wrote it down anyways. Writing down ideas is like kick-starting an engine. It might take a half-dozen tries, but eventually the idea engine sputters to life and she'll figure something out.

He's got to demonstrate that he can make good decisions. Safe decisions. He's got a dangerous edge, and that's good. Not to mention sexy, she added. She didn't write that part down.

But as much as people were attracted to dangerous ideas, they wanted to know that they weren't personally in danger. They wanted to hedge their bets. Never go all-in, and never go into a room you can't leave again. Look, measure, then leap.

It was strange, because so few people were able to apply the same standards in their own life. But when it came to making a decision like who to elect to the Presidency, suddenly they made decisions on a thousand little signals that they wouldn't even have been able to explain if you tried to pay them for their insight.

That, and a thousand things that they would insist had nothing to do with the decision, as well. Like how good-looking the candidate is. How much he looks like someone that's in charge. How much he pays for his suits. How mean they think he probably is.

Nobody thought Adam Quinn was mean, which was a blessing in and of itself. But hard? Sure. Dangerous? Definitely. He was the picture of dangerous behavior. Thrill-seeking, unpredictable… He was one part James Bond, one part Thomas Edison.

A difficult combination to resist for anyone. Which was exactly his problem. Nobody resisted. Nobody wanted to resist. Hell, he was the one who had to resist. His animal magnetism had already gotten him into plenty of trouble with the sort of people that you don't want to have trouble with.

As an eccentric billionaire, it was cute. It sold magazines, sold advertising time on the evening news. Because it was a ratings magnet, and that's all it was. Nobody was going to throw their computer out because they didn't like the man selling them.

People didn't vote for assholes for President. At least, they didn't vote for someone they suspected of being an asshole. Usually, anyone hoping to run for President knows where they can and cannot be an asshole. Adam seemed to be testing where the line was, and that was dangerous.

So how could he demonstrate that he could keep his snake in his pants? Well, if he publicly turned someone down… that could be something. And it would be newsworthy. But it would look like a publicity stunt. Which might hurt the believability of it, if they weren't careful.

Then you could give him a reason that he wouldn't. Gay? Not a chance. Nobody would believe it, and it would be a lie.

Another idea flashed through her head, as the door opened, blowing a cold November wind through the diner. If he were in a relationship… well, it would work.

Someone settled down on the opposite side of the table from her.

"You mind if I sit?"

Tom Delaney rubbed his chin and unzipped his coat before she could respond, and she knew that he wasn't really asking so much as telling. And she knew that she wasn't going to do anything about it.

"Good," he said, without waiting for an answer. "Because we need to talk."