Chapter 1

Henry

Six Years Ago

My name is Henry Silas Thatcher, and I’ve got big plans.

By the time I’m twenty-nine years old, I’m going to be a U.S. senator.

By the time I’m thirty-five years old, I’m going to be the president of the United States of America.

But first, I have to win this election tonight.

My entire staff surrounds me now. We’re just moments away from hearing the results.

“The polls are looking good,” one of my campaign aides, Beatrice, reassures me. Prettiest little thing you can imagine. She’s been my campaign aide since the very beginning, and she’s pretty sharp for a college student.

But the way she’s touching my arm right now makes me want to…respect her intelligence and walk away before I get myself in trouble.

Once the election is over, I won’t be her boss anymore. But right now, I’m the Bill Clinton to her Monica Lewinsky.

Except that I’m single, and we’re pretty close in age. She’s twenty. I double-checked.

“My constituents are smarter people than the news gives them credit for,” I say with confidence.

Beatrice nods and returns to checking her phone for up-to-the-minute polling results. I don’t know if I need or even want the full play-by-play, but I can see she needs something to do.

“You’ve completely won over the moderate voters,” she tells me, relieved.

“What about the others?”

“I think you might be the lesser of two evils.”

It’s that dry sense of humor and the twinkle in her eye that make this whole campaign worthwhile.

She probably doesn’t even think I know her name. I’ve been trying my damnedest to remain impartial—can’t let the other aides think I’m playing favorites with the pretty little pol-sci undergrad.

But no matter what people say about me in the press or on social media, she’s always been there to remind me that I’m a public servant, not a fucking meme.

It’s not just Bea’s looks that got my attention. It’s everything.

Everyone’s been telling me it’s a long shot, but after watching the last few elections, I think my constituency is ready for an independent candidate.

Or at least one who hasn’t been arrested for indecent exposure.

It’s sad that this is what our democracy has come to. Candidates used to be all about the issues; now they just have issues, period.

Winning it all tonight wouldn’t just mean setting up a path to put this state back on track for the future…

Bea believes in me.

In a way, I want to win this for her.

“Do you need anything? Coffee? Water? A shot of tequila?” she asks suddenly. I’ve never once asked Beatrice to fetch beverages for me. She’s doing this just to be nice.

She respects me. She looks up to me. She might even like me.

And I can’t fucking have her. Not tonight, at least.

“Thanks, but no. I think I need to take a walk.”

I need to get some air. Now is not the time to let her fetch me a stiff drink or tell her how I feel.

I step outside and feel the cool wind on my face. Above me, the stars are shining brightly, as if to tell me that the fate I’ve set up for myself tonight is about to become realized.

I don’t know how long I stand out there, staring up at the sky.

Long enough to nearly miss one of the most important moments of my life, apparently.

“Mr Thatcher!” Bea calls out to me from the door. “The results are coming in—quick!”

She’s wrapped a shawl around her slim shoulders, and she looks so soft and beautiful in the moonlight. This is the moment I want to remember, not the election results.

I tuck my hands into my pockets and stride back in to a room full of my interns, campaign staff, and aides. They’re all staring up at the televisions on one side of the room and holding their breaths.

I don’t think they even see me come in.

They certainly don’t see the way Beatrice anxiously slips her hand into mine.

I give it a squeeze for luck.

We’ve got this.

I fucking know it.

“The final votes are in, and the winner is—” The news reporter waits for the answer to appear on her teleprompter. “—Henry Silas Thatcher for U.S. Senate.”

“Yes!” Beatrice squeals and immediately leaps into my arms. I grab her around the waist and swing her around. She smells like cinnamon and vanilla.

I throw my head back and let out a victory yell, enjoying the high of winning and the feel of Bea in my arms.

I knew this was going to happen—but I never imagined it would feel as sweet as this.

All my life, I’ve been told that people don’t really stick to their plans. Everyone keeps telling me to adjust my expectations, to prepare for disappointment—but I can’t.

I want to make a difference, and I can’t do that unless I put myself out there.

And now I will.

“Henry?”

I suddenly realize that I’m still holding her. The hug has gone on a minute too long to be considered a business hug.

I take a step back, but she grabs me by the lapels and pulls me forward.

“Bea—?”

“Stop talking, Henry.”

She leans in, and before I can lose my nerve, she kisses me.

Her lips are full and lush, and without hesitation, I kiss her back, moaning with the release of months of pent-up sexual tension.

I touch her cheek to feel the softness of her skin.

She sighs.

I plant soft kisses along her neck and behind her ear.

She shudders.

I know so many other ways to give her pleasure. I could show her what we’ve both been missing, right here, right now.

This is exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I’ve been hoping for since the day I met her.

But it’s the wrong thing to do.

Beatrice thinks I’m the last good guy in politics. If I take things any further, good guys will be officially extinct.

I can’t do that to her. Or to myself.

I pull away slowly, wanting more and knowing that I can’t take it.

She shivers as she looks up at me, her eyes full of confusion behind her thick, dark lashes.

I want to hug her until she’s warm again, but I can’t.

I’m afraid to even offer her my coat.

How would that look? There’s no way can I be seen at my election party walking arm-in-arm with Beatrice wearing my coat like we’re just coming back from prom.

“Beatrice, I’m so sorry. That was really inappropriate. I had no right to…”

She laughs bitterly. “Henry, I kissed you. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”

But no—that’s not right. I won’t allow her to blame herself for even one second.

I’m her boss. It’s my job to set the tone for the relationship, and since day one, I’ve done nothing but size her up like a piece of meat.

I want her. I’ve wanted her from the moment I first laid eyes on her.

She put her faith in me.

And I just fucking blew it.

“I just want you to know that I respect you as a professional. If you want to turn me in for sexual harassment, I won’t deny it.”

That part is hard to say. I’ve worked hard for this goal. A sexual harassment charge could end my career before it even begins.

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to turn you in for sexual harassment. You won the election. The campaign is over. That means you’re not my boss anymore.”

“Well, technically…”

“It’s close enough. Look. I like you. Obviously, you like me back, so when all this is over, I’d really like it if…”

All around me, my supporters are popping open bottles of champagne, throwing streamers, and blowing noisemakers to celebrate my victory.

It’s the best moment of my life.

And also the most awkward.

My campaign manager runs up to me, flustered. “Henry! I’ve been looking for you. You’re going to need to give your acceptance speech soon. The reporters are waiting.”

I flash him a big, confident smile—the one that just helped me win—and act like I’ve been outside practicing my speech, not kissing an employee.

“Ready when you are, my friend. Bea, I—”

But when I turn my head, Beatrice is already gone.

I let him shake my hand. Then I lean in closer to his ear and ask him in a low voice, “But could you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“If Miss Barlow is still around, have her check IDs at the door.”

“But we can have one of the volunteers take care of that. And she’s really been looking forward to hearing your acceptance speech. Why would you want her to miss it?”

I’m going to have to come up with something quickly if I want to keep her away from me.

I don’t want her first foray into politics to end with sleeping with her boss—no matter what she thinks she wants.

And as for what I want…

“It’s a good networking opportunity for her. If she’s at the press conference, she’s going to be listening, not talking. A ton of high-profile people are coming to congratulate us—the mayor, the editor from the Digest, that cat from YouTube who reads minds—I want her front and center, representing me and my campaign.”

“I see. Well, I guess I’ll let her know.”

I exhale with relief.

Across the room, I can see my campaign manager stopping Beatrice at the door to the press conference area and repeating my instructions.

She furrows her brow and shakes her head no.

But he stops her with his hands and redirects her to the front door.

I feel like such a jerk.

She locks eyes with me, and for a brief moment, I consider taking it all back.

I want to run across the room, grab her hand, and pull her up to the podium to have her at my side while I deliver my speech.

She’d be an amazing girlfriend.

She’d be an even better first lady one day.

But I’ve just blown my chances of any of that happening.

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.