Dignity (Determination Trilogy 1), page 22
Because I love her.
Chris firmly shakes his head. “I am not spending the next four to eight years known as Princess.”
“Well, it was either that, or Pumpkin,” John says. “We all agreed it’s easier for us to keep a straight face over Princess than it is Pumpkin.”
Chris literally face-palms. “We get to pick our own code names,” Chris says.
“Not this time, sir. You’ve been overruled by the candidate.”
I know a certain senator who will go to sleep tonight with a very red and sore ass.
John’s smile widens. “I suggest you take it up with your wife, sir.” The man is loving the hell out of this.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t amuse me, too.
Chris’ hand still covers his face. “What’s his code name?” he hooks his other thumb in my general direction.
“Prophet.”
I laugh out loud, and I’m pretty sure I can guess with reasonable certainty the identity of a second person who will go to bed tonight with a very sore ass.
Yippee!
Chris drops his hands. “Why does he get to be Prophet, and I’m Pumpkin or Princess?”
John finally breaks down laughing, shaking his head. “Guys, sorry, I can’t. Yes, we’re just fucking with you, buddy. Your wife put us up to it, though, so blame her. You’re ‘Priest.’”
“Oh, jesusfuck, you assholes.” But Chris looks relieved and finally laughs with them. They all hug him, clapping him on the back and giving him congratulations.
Once the agents finish with us and step out of the room to do a complete survey of the headquarters building, Chris turns to me. “I’m going to kill those assholes.” But his wistful smile reveals the truth—he misses their camaraderie.
It’s obvious they miss him, too.
“Hey, like you said, any moment to laugh. Right?”
“True.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Why Priest, I wonder?” he muses.
I snort again. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
I slowly shake my head, knowing my smile will earn me probably another five strokes, if I’m lucky. “Because you put her on her knees and make her say, ‘oh, God,’ on an almost daily basis.”
“Ohhhh.” He grins. “Clever girl.”
“Yeah, she can be.” Secretly, I’m pleased with my code name. I know normally I wouldn’t have protection, especially before the general election, unless there was a credible threat against me. Not until after the election, at least. But since Shae’s a senator, and the candidate, and I’ve been profiled as a “close family friend” of theirs—add my celebrity status, and my official job title with the campaign, and the volume of crazy hate mail I get—and they decided they wanted me to have coverage, too.
Which is moot, because, literally, I’ll always be with her or with him. I’ll be covered by default. No one says anything about me living with Chris and Shae. Sharing rooms in DC is common, considering the price of housing and the fluctuating populations. Unless someone’s rich, like Shae, they usually have to stay in the suburbs and fight a daily commute, or share digs with someone.
It’s not unusual for government wonks to keep futons or air mattresses in their offices to save them a daily drive, and to take showers in the fitness center.
It means I still won’t have to worry about a car in Washington, either. I’ll get a driver assigned to me, even for errands, which is fine. COS doesn’t really have a life of their own outside work. Not at first, during the transition and at least the first hundred days.
Best I get used to that now, because I honestly don’t think there’s any way she can lose.
Then again, it won’t exactly be a hardship spending my life with the two of them.
* * * *
After lunch, I’m ready to rejoin Shae. Chris is meeting with Leo and our pollsters to go over some new data. A Secret Service detail escorts me to a service elevator in our building and whisks me downstairs to a waiting car to drive me to the studio where Shea will have her next interview. They gave her a small dressing room, and I’m let inside, the door closing behind me, just to find we’re alone.
“Prophet, hmm?” I ask as I pull her into my arms.
She grins. “How’d he take the joke?”
I let my hands slide over her ass and give her a light swat they can’t hear through the door. “Expect sitting to be interesting tomorrow.”
She wiggles against me, hardening my cock. “Oh, goodie!”
Had you told me a couple of years ago I’d be here, right now, feeling this way about this woman?
I’d have told you to go take your meds.
Now?
I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be, except in bed with the two of them.
“Why Prophet?” I ask.
Her gaze softens, the real Shea in the house for a moment—my Shae. “Do you like it?”
“I do.”
She snuggles against me. “Because you are my prophet. I’m no idiot. Maybe I would have won the nomination without you, but it wouldn’t have been by such a large margin, and it would’ve been a nail-biter the whole way. I might not have made it through the dang debates without your advice. You and Chris are the only people I can truly trust to give me unvarnished advice, even if I don’t want to hear it.”
I nuzzle the top of her head. “I had to explain Portia and Priest to him.”
“I thought of the names for you two first and needed a P name to match.”
“Yes, I suppose the protection detail would have had a hard time keeping straight faces over Pussy or Pet.”
She softly giggles, and I know I’m privileged enough to be one of only two people on the face of the earth who get to hear that sound from her. “I thought about Pineapple, except I knew the three of us would crack up every time we heard it, and I didn’t want to risk that.”
“True. That was wise.”
Her smile fades. “I thought about calling you ‘Phoenix,’ but they nixed that one because it’s the city and might cause confusion.”
I didn’t need her to draw me a map to her line of thinking. “Did I regain my dignity, do you think?”
“You did with me, Sir.” She sighs. “This is it. The homestretch.”
I nod. “It is. You can do this.”
She probably will do this, if our poll numbers hold.
But it’s early. Damned early. All it takes is one fucking half-assed rumor or Russian troll-farm meme to gain traction and chip away at our comfortable lead.
We can’t get lazy, or sloppy.
We have to hit the ground running every morning. Once it’s seven p.m. Eastern time on Election Day, then we can take a deep breath and know it’s out of our hands.
Until then, we have no other speed except foot-to-the-floor.
For better or worse, I’m not just along for the ride, but I’m in charge of the steering wheel.
That scares the fuck out of me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Making it through the primaries and the convention is the easy part, in some ways, because I know we’ll only have two massive hurdles left before November—Shae’s three debates with Fullmer…
And letting Shae sit down for a one-on-one with Lauren.
Which is complicated for a variety of reasons besides the obvious. Ever since Iowa, Lauren has been coming after Shae and picking apart every statement she makes like an obsessive English teacher diagraming a sentence. And with my careful guidance, Shae’s been indirectly trading insults with several other FNB anchors who’ve blatantly misstated or outright lied about things Shae has said or done.
Despite that, I don’t want Shae talking to anyone else at that fucking network besides Lauren. Lauren might not like Shae, and she might hammer her, but I know damn well in an interview she’ll at least be fair…if not unpleasantly firm.
There’s been a distance between me and Lauren lately that I wish I had the privacy to approach her and attempt to bridge, but I don’t want anyone trying to disparage Lauren, or accusing her of favoritism because of who I am.
Thus most of my communications with her are via texts on my personal cell.
Our grueling campaign travel schedule doesn’t help me, either.
Except when we’re scheduling sit-downs in late September, I decide to call Lauren and talk. I wait until a Monday afternoon when I can be alone at the townhouse, and I’m certain Lauren’s most likely home but before she’ll have turned in for the night. I lock myself in the spare bedroom that’s now my de facto office in case Shae and Chris come home while I’m doing this, and I pray my girl still loves me as much as I love her.
I call her personal cell with mine. I’m not sure she’ll answer, because it rings once, twice, a third time. I’m expecting voice mail to pick up but then I realize it’s her.
“Hey.”
I take a deep breath. “Hey, sweetie. Can we talk?”
“I don’t know, can we? Or is your candidate going to be unhappy about that?”
Shit. I’m sure there are probably a variety of ways Lauren’s not happy with me right now, but I toughen up and plunge ahead and hope our years of friendship will help us out.
“I love you.”
That’s playing dirty, and I know it.
It takes a moment for her soft reply to make it to me. “I love you, too.”
“Can we have work Kev and Laur and regular Kev and Laur be two different sets of people? Because I gotta say, I can’t stand having you upset with me and me not be able to fix this.”
“You just had to go to work for her and get her through the damn primaries and convention, huh? Stupid overachiever.”
But I smile, because snark has returned to her tone, and that’s my girl I finally hear. “She’s going to do this, Laur. You know she is.”
“I don’t know jack shit, Kev. I’m going to do my damnedest to find every weak spot and exploit it, though.”
What Laur doesn’t know—will never know—is that I am Shae’s weak spot.
I’m her only weak spot. “Then how would you like a sit-down to do it, sweetie? That’s what I’m calling for. To get it scheduled.”
The pause is long enough I have to make sure the call didn’t drop. “Really?” she asks.
“Really. The only one from FNB I want talking to her right now is you.”
“See, why do I think you have an agenda, here?”
I do, and I can admit it to her. “You’re the best. If she’s going to face a buzz saw, I’d rather it be you than anyone. You won’t try to distort things.”
Lauren grumbles, but I know I’ve scored a point or two with her. She takes pride in her job and in presenting the truth, even if she doesn’t like whatever the truth is. “I won’t do this live,” she finally says. “I want someone in the control booth able to fact-check her in real time and tell me if she’s wrong. And I will call her the fuck out if she is.”
“That’s fair.” Any other network—yes, even the “liberal” ones—I’d hesitate to agree to that at this point out of fear of them using creative editing tactics to make it look like Shae said something she didn’t. I make them tape her live with a condition that they have to release the full and unedited version online immediately after airing so that the public can see the full interview if they missed it the first time around.
Except Lauren never has allowed that kind of BS from her producers, and never will. Just like I never did.
“Do you have a preferred day?” she asks.
“How does Friday afternoon work for you?”
I’m sure she’s checking the calendar on her work cell right now. “Three, at the studios?”
“That works for us.”
There’s another pause. “I won’t not hit her hard just because you’re working for her.”
“I know, sweetie. Love you.”
She sighs. “Love you, too.”
I tell Shae and Chris when they return that evening. Shae’s game face is in place and she nods. “Let’s do it.”
Chris, however, doesn’t look so sure. “You think this’ll be okay?”
“She can’t duck FNB, Chris. We’ve already had her on Fox. It’ll look strange if she avoids them altogether.”
Shae turns to him. “I’ve got this. I can deal with her.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Although the last guy I used to deal with regularly for that network was a lot nicer.”
I laugh. “If I’d known what would happen…” I really don’t know where to go with that comment.
I’m good with how this worked out, actually. Two years in, and I’m in a better place than I’ve been in twenty fucking years.
Far better.
But as the week progresses, my nerves ratchet as tension fills me. Leo passes on that Lauren has every fucking producer, assistant producer, intern, and janitor, apparently, asking around DC for every drop of gossip and dirt she can find. Like someone stepped in a fire ant pile and now they’re swarming.
I’m doubly careful this week around Shae and Chris. In fact, I spend as much time isolated from them as possible in the office, and when with them in public, I make sure we always have at least one or two other staffers there as well. We’re too damn close to the general election for any careless fuckups to fuck this the fuck up.
I start to second-guess myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have approached Lauren, and should’ve taken our chances with someone else. Except that would have likely backfired worse when Lauren confronted me about not approaching her.
It’s a no-win situation for me, and we have to ride it out.
Shae, however, remains unflappable as Friday rolls around and we start our day by making another round of morning interviews at other networks ahead of a weekend of campaigning.
All morning, I’m fighting the urge to fidget as I follow Shae through our planned schedule. I wish I could tell Lauren the full truth of my situation, but…
I can’t.
Not because I don’t think Lauren will hold my secrets, but because I promised Chris and Shae I wouldn’t reveal them.
Chris and Leo are out at a campaign lunch today, and Chris will join us at the FNB studio ahead of the interview. Which is a damn good thing, because I think I’ll need Chris to help keep me calm.
I don’t know why I’m this nervous, either. Maybe because I know my girl—both of them—and the one whose lair we’re about to step into is clever and cunning and an expert at her job.
Maybe I’ve overplayed this hand a little, but it’s too late to turn back now.
I haven’t set foot inside this building since they escorted me out of it almost two years ago. Lauren meets us on the studio floor where we’re brought by a receptionist but there’s…
Something.
A hard edge to Lauren’s gaze when she meets my eyes and holds it for too long.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s really, really wrong.
Lauren greets Shae with a tight smile and a professional handshake. “Senator Samuels, thank you for doing this today.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
“Maybe now,” Lauren says, “but we’ll see how you feel after the interview.” The smile means it’s supposed to be taken as a joke, but Lauren’s not joking.
“Lauren, can I have a word in private with you real fast?” I ask. The Secret Service agents will stay with Shae.
“Sure. She’s got Green Room 1 to herself. Why don’t you show her to it? We can go up to my office.”
I know she still occupies my old office. I point the agents in the right direction, but I catch Lauren’s hand before she can turn and head to the elevator.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a whisper
“I don’t know, Kev You tell me.”
I catch her elbow and ease her into the elevator with me when the doors slide open. We have the car to ourselves. Once I hit the button, and the door closes, I turn on her. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t like being lied to, Kev.” The tense set to her jaw is anger. I know that sign. "Especially not by you.”
“Lied to you about what?”
“No proof, but the scoop of a lifetime. Your candidate will have to explain herself and the rumors about her secret office romance, which has apparently been going on for a while now.”
My stomach drops. I wonder where I fucked up, who saw us. I know damn well Leo wouldn’t rat us out. I thought we’d been careful. “I—” but the doors slide open again, and there’s someone waiting to step inside. So I’m forced to follow Lauren down a familiar hallway to what had once been my office, where I follow her inside.
I close the door to my former office and turn. “Don’t do this, Laur. Please.”
“Nothing’s off-limits in a campaign, Kev. You know that. What kind of journalist am I if I don’t go there?”
“You really don’t want to do this. She’s the best candidate for the job. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.”
Okay, so that’s not exactly the full truth, but it’s close enough.
Regardless of how I ended up in this position, I do think she’s the best candidate, Democrat or not, and not just because I’m fucking her.
She’s proven herself to me.
I want her to win, and will work my ass off to help her bring it home.
“A candidate’s private life is fair game,” Lauren insists. “You know that. Unless they’re a minor child, they’re part of the equation.”
I shake my head. “That’s beneath you. Since when do you sift through someone’s life when there aren’t any allegations of improprieties? That’s fucking tabloid shit.”
“There is an allegation, that she was having an workplace affair with a guy, and out of the blue, now she’s married to a Secret Service agent? Uh, hellloooo? Isn’t that a little too neat and tidy?”
“It wasn’t an affair, because they were both single. He wasn’t assigned to her. There was nothing improper. Why are you doing this? If she was accused of harassment or something, yeah, I get it. This was a consensual relationship between consenting adults. What’s going on?”
“Funny how no one mentioned Secret Service to me, but what’s different is you’re working for her.” Lauren folds her arms over her chest. I don’t know why things are suddenly…difficult between us. I don’t know where my friend went. “How is she, hmm?”
