Keir

“I thought you said this was going to be easy.” I run my hand over my face, sinking back into my chair while my strategist, Connor, paces my living room Friday morning. I know I’m capable of making this work, but I never would’ve imagined it’d be like pulling fucking teeth with her. “She spent all night insisting she’s not the relationship type.”

“Never would’ve guessed that,” he says. “I need to do some more digging, find out who her ex boyfriends were. Maybe she has a type?”

“I’m everyone’s type.” I huff, knowing full well how arrogant I sound, but I don’t give a single fuck. “I’m a goddamned American prince.”

Connor stops pacing and stares me dead on. “Unfortunately, your last name isn’t going to secure this victory. Not after that fucking tell-all book your brother’s wife put out.”

“Do we have to bring that up?” My face is tight, wincing. Every time someone brings up that hard-covered atrocity, it makes me want to punch them in the face.

I couldn’t believe Ronan let her put that out there. Sure, my mother isn’t perfect. She’s ruthless and conniving at times, and she can do it all with a smile on her face and America’s heart on her sleeve, but that’s Busy Montgomery.

Always thought of her as a tiger with unchangeable stripes, but after her reputation was gutted by some scandalous book, she’s been in damage control mode. Leave it to some DC escort to change the spirit of one of the most-loved first ladies this nation has ever known.

It’s a miracle my father was re-elected a second term, given the timing of Camille’s book. He won by a hair, and we’re still not sure how. I suppose The People are more forgiving than we give them credit for. Or they’re afraid to rock the boat when things have been going so well.

My father’s first term saw stock market highs, the lowest unemployment rate on record, and an almost balanced budget for the first time in decades.

I guess the voters were willing to overlook my brother’s kinky affair with a high-class escort and my mother’s attempt at buying her off … in order to maintain status quo.

But pundits still trash talk my parents every chance they get. There are memes and videos and college students on YouTube with millions of followers who try to make the Montgomerys a laughingstock every chance they get.

We’re mocked, ridiculed, and lied about every single day.

It was never like this before.

Only after that fucking book.

But once I’m elected president, I’ll restore our name. I’ll make sure we’re given the respect we deserve. My father and grandfather ran this country with pride and honor. My brother has no interest in ever stepping foot in Washington, DC ever again.

So that leaves me.

First step? Establish myself as a ball-busting senator with the charm of a Kennedy and a public-pleasing agenda. Second step? Hint that I plan to run for president in the coming years, plant that seed early. It’s going to be a process, maybe a decade in the making, but it’s going to happen.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t salivate at the idea of all that power, all that prestige, my portrait hanging on the walls of the White House next to some of the greatest leaders this country has ever seen.

I have good intentions, I do. And I’ll do good things once I’m in office. It’s all part of the legacy rebuilding I’m going to have to do.

But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this happen, even if those things aren’t necessarily … good things.

“Maybe … maybe you’re not trying hard enough?” Connor winces, like I’m going to pick up the onyx sculpture to my left and hurl it across the room.

“I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t just suggest I’m not trying hard enough.” My jaw grits.

He lifts a palm in protest, a wordless apology.

“So what now? What next?” I ask Connor, my tone hurried.

“Let me think.” He’s pacing again, his nail-bitten finger lifted in the air. The cheesy argyle sweater coupled with his thick-rimmed glasses makes me cringe. The man can’t dress for shit, but he knows how to win a fucking election. His resume is a mile long. And he’s the best. That’s why I trust him. “Send her flowers. Woo her the old-fashioned way.”

“Are you fucking insane?” I scoff at him. I’ve only ever sent flowers to one woman, my ex-fiancée, Serena Randall, and I’m well aware of how that turned out. “Besides, she’ll see right through me. Nobody sends flowers to a girl they met one time. I’m not that fucking lame.”

“I’m still having her tailed,” he says. “Maybe we can pull off another ‘chance’ meeting?”

Connor takes his phone from the pocket of his gray slacks, tapping on his text icon.

“You want to know what she did yesterday?” he asks.

“Not really.” I yawn.

He exhales, ignoring me. “You’re going to need to know what she does, where she goes, who she spends her time with. If you want any chance at all of making this work, you’re going to have to get to know her.” Scrolling down his screen, he pulls up a message. “Let’s see … okay, this morning, she and her sister got into a cab, grabbed coffee and pastries, then she dropped her sister off at some Georgetown bookstore. After that she went back to her place. Looks like she had lunch with a female friend around one, and after that—”

“That’s enough.” I place my hand up. “I’m about to fall asleep here.”

“What, you think she’s boring?”

“No. I don’t think she’s boring. I think her day is boring,” I say. “And I don’t care where she goes or who she hangs out with. This is about me and her. No one else. I just need more time with her, and I have no doubt I can win her over.”

Connor smirks. My haughtiness amuses him.

“Just … have her followed until I can meet up with her again,” I say. Connor can strategize my campaign all he wants, but he needs to leave the “wooing” to someone with more proven experience. “You can go now.”

He slips his phone back into his pants pocket, followed by one hand. There’s an unsure look on his face as he studies me. “Campaign officially kicks off in three months, Keir. And your announcement is next month. Let’s make this happen.”

“Oh, and one more thing, Connor.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

I rise, walking him to my door. “Don’t ever fucking doubt me again.”