Chapter Thirty-Two

 

Adam Quinn had waited long enough. It felt like it had been all day, but maybe it hadn't. An hour. Maybe two hours. But if you wait too long, you miss the evening news cycle, and two days of nose-diving poll numbers told him everything that needed to be discussed about how things were going.

Too much controversy, and not enough answers. If he pulled out of the nosedive he was in, then he'd recover. Stronger than before, because people like a winner, and he'd proven once again that he could survive just about anything.

"I need to talk to you," he said softly, leaning in. Tom nodded without turning his head, and rose to follow behind a moment later. They didn't say anything until they'd gotten clear of the bullpen, stepped out the door and down the hall to the break room.

Adam flicked the light on, and slowly, with a soft fluorescent hum, they flickered to life. He leaned wordlessly against the counter as Tom let the door swing shut behind him.

"What's this about?"

"You know what it's about."

His lips pinched together. "Your poll numbers?"

Tom seemed to be incredibly stiff from where Adam was sitting. "Yes."

"Well, I've been thinking about it."

"Good, because that's what I pay you for. I need to turn this into a win. I need something that answers the question, and I can't have it coming from me. I don't need to look like I back down under pressure this early in the campaign."

"No, I suppose not. A gay lover maybe?" Tom's eyes twinkle as he says it, his rocky voice lilting as he teases.

"Oh, but then they'd have to find out about us, and you know how much I care about the special relationship we have, Tom."

Tom closes his eyes and a thin smile spreads across his face. "So no gay lover, then. I was so ready. You'd just have to be a regular monk until you got out of the white house, or risk the discovery that you'd let people be led by the nose all that time."

"I'm sorry. I know you love the salacious stories best."

"What can I say? It's what I'm good at." Tom opens the fridge and looks through the food. Adam doesn't see a reason to mention, just yet, that nothing in the fridge is his.

"Preferably something that's not a lie, please, Tommy."

"No lies? Oh, you're really starting to stretch my playbook here, Adam." He comes back out with a yogurt cup and heads for the silverware drawer. Adam's hand comes up to block his chest. "Are you sure that's yours, Tom?"

"Are you going to tell Jim that I ate his yogurt?"

"That depends on what you come up with," Adam says. "I've always allowed you certain latitudes when you're useful, haven't I?"

"You have," he agrees. "Then give me a spoon, would you?"

Adam reaches back and pulls the drawer open without looking, removes a spoon and holds it out gently. As Tom's hand reaches for it, he lightly pulls back and holds it away.

"What have you got for me, then?"

Tom's eyes light up again. "I've got a good one for you."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Have you ever been unfaithful in the past?" He pauses a beat and answers his own question. "No. Not that anyone knows about, anyway. You were a ladies man, sure—but a loyal one, if you actually let anyone tie her string to you. That's your in. You're in a relationship, you're not having flings. Besides that, getting married would be good for your run, so… keep that in mind."

"I'm not interested in a political marriage, Tom. You know I'm only doing this because—"

"I do know, and you know I don't care one bit why you're doing it. It doesn't have to be a political marriage. You could marry her 'cause the sex is good. I know you've done it before."

He had, Adam thought. Well, not only for that reason. And he could think of someone whose sex was plenty good enough for marriage on those grounds. Somehow, Linda was still disqualified, though.

"So we leak that I'm in a relationship?"

"Exactly."

"Do you have a name in mind?"

"No, should I? I figure we leak that you've been seen out and about, and let the vultures fight over figuring out who with. It answers the question, and again turns it into a 24-hour news cycle thinking about one man: Adam Quinn. And, in this particular case, your johnson. Again, but this time like some kind of cute panda video. You know how the press loves their celebrity romance."

"A panda video?" He pulls the spoon out of Tom's reach again, shifting it into the other hand. "Tom, that hurts. Even coming from you."

"I know. But sometimes you have to hear the truth from someone."

"Make it happen. Talk to your people, get the rumor out there. No names."

He holds the spoon out and Tom takes it, pulls the plastic off the top of Jim's—now his—yogurt cup, and heads for the door.

"Tom, listen to me now."

Tom stops and looks back over his shoulder. "What's up?"

"Keep Linda's name out of this. Promise me."

"She's off-limits, Adam. I get it. No problem."

"Good. Don't forget that."

He takes a deep breath. Now if only Adam could remember it, as well. Linda's off-limits, and that goes for both of them equally. And he can't wait until there's a chance to see her again.