by Beth Fred
“Amanda Emaline Buchanan, what are you doing? First your damn basket-weaving. Now this?”
Amanda meets his gaze and steps forward. “Daddy, I thought you would be happy. He’s a misogynistic pig, just like you. He also hates the environment and poor people, even those in a state where he was probably elected by poor people. You could be fishing buddies!”
“Fine,” Jack says. “Son, you want to go fishing tomorrow?”
“That would be great, sir.”
“Great. Let’s eat then.” Jack looks to Camille. “Have the help bring their bags in.”
“Just Mandy’s,” I said. “I made reservations at the Marriott in Little Rock so I wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”
Jack put his hand up. “Don’t be ridiculous. If Mandy is so fond of you she has to bring you home, you’ll stay here. I insist.”
“Yes, sir.”
We all follow Jack through a hall with the same marble floor. Pictures of Mandy growing up line the walls.
Chapter 10
Mandy
My dad takes his normal seat at the head of the table. I take my seat to his left and tap on the table beside me. “Sit down, Eric.”
Dad leans back in his chair, pushing it onto two legs. “Nah, Eric, you’re a guest. Sit here, with me, son.” He veers his head to the empty seat at his right.
Eric circles around the twelve-person table and takes the seat beside my father. We are only four people. What difference does it make where Eric sits? I watch my dad, trying to figure out what he’s up to.
Mom comes out of the kitchen and places a plate of fish sticks and a bowl of macaroni on the table. Then she disappears into the kitchen again, returning with cole slaw, cornbread, and mashed potatoes with white gravy. She heads back to the kitchen. Probably for dessert.
Eric looks at the food. “This is almost like home.”
“It’s the South. Why wouldn’t it be like home? Oh, you probably eat that weird Mexican stuff, huh?” Dad says.
Mom sets a bowl of banana pudding on the table then sits beside me. “Why is it weird, Jack?”
“It just is.”
“Yes, sir. Since both of my parents were Mexican, I eat Mexican food.”
“He knows that,” I say. “He’s just being a jerk. Aren’t you, Dad?”
He doesn’t answer.
Mom laughs then says, “Mandy, behave.”
From across the table, Eric gawks at me. My cheeks heat from the feel of his eyes on me. The way he watches me, I could be a real fiancée. No one would ever know otherwise.
But I know.
Dad picks up the plate of fish sticks and shovels a few onto his plate before passing the platter to Eric. “I’d give it to Mandy first, but then you wouldn’t get to eat tonight.”
Eric grins. “You don’t strike me as a fish sticks sort of guy.”
Dad’s jaw drops. “What do you think? I would serve guests fish sticks? It’s real fish. I caught it myself.” He points to me. “This little brat never ate anything that didn’t look like a chicken nugget. Camille made fish sticks and told her they were chicken nuggets so she would eat.”
“Oh. You never…” Eric stops talking mid-sentence.
“What?” Dad asks. “I never what?”
Eric shakes his head. “Nothing, sir.”
I’m tired of all this butt kissing. Two politicians in a room, what did you expect, Mandy? I grin. “He never struck you like that sort of dad. Did he?”
Eric doesn’t respond, but the smile he tries to fight tells me that I’m right. That was what he was thinking, and he would have said it. If he weren’t a politician.
“He wasn’t,” I answer the question hanging in the air.
Dad glares at me. “Really, Amanda? Tonight, with a junior senator here?”
I shrug. “Dad, everyone knows you were all over the universe. My whole childhood is chronicled in the media. I’m sure no one suspects you of being a father-daughter dance kind of dad. At least, when the cameras aren’t around.”
He downs his iced tea in one gulp. “I worked, Amanda.”
“Yep. Every waking hour of the day. And then you blame me for not wanting to follow in your footsteps. No thanks.”
“Amanda, I don’t care if you follow in my footsteps. It’s laughable that you would even say that. Do what you want to do. Be who you are. What I want is for you to do something real with your life.”
Eric winces.
I stand. “I do, Dad. I go to grad school. I’ve managed to pay for all but the last semester. I’ve figured out how to get that paid for, and I do projects on the side. I do something with my life. Just not what you want me to.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed that you managed to fundraise sixty thousand dollars to spend on a basket-weaving degree? And then you show up with the one Republican I truly hate so he can pander for an endorsement?”
I laugh. “Because everything is about you and your stupid little political games, right? He’s here for an endorsement, all right, but not the kind you think.”
“Young lady, what is that supposed to mean?”
I head out of the room. “Whatever you want it to,” I call over my shoulder.
“Amanda, let your lover boy take you to his fancy hotel. And tell my daughter to call me when she decides to stop wasting her life and making scenes.”
“Hey!” The anger in Eric’s voice stops me in my tracks. Instead of running to my room, I watch him. He’s standing now too. “She’s not wasting her life, and if she were, it’s her life to waste. Why do you care if she weaves baskets? Amanda is intelligent and beautiful, and she doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone. So what do you care? If she weaves baskets with the same energy she does everything else with, she makes brilliant baskets. And why is your only daughter worrying about how to pay her tuition?”
He defended me. But he compared my work to basket-weaving too.
Chapter 11
Eric
I stare after the dining entryway Mandy disappeared through, hoping my response hasn’t made it worse for her. I’ll talk to her later. Jack Buchanan stands eye to eye with me and leans forward.
“So she told you I’m not paying for school? Of course, I’m not paying for that silly little art degree. I offered to pay for law school. I offered to pay for med school. She already has one degree she can’t get a job with. Tell me why I should spend her inheritance on another?”
“You know what? I don’t think she cares if you pay for it. But you don’t have to trash her. And she has plenty of inheritance. It wouldn’t hurt you to pay it.”
He glares at me. His hands clench into fists. He looks ready to knock me out, and I welcome it, because I won’t throw the first punch, but I will defend the woman I’m going to marry.
He doesn’t swing, and I blow out a slow breath to calm down. “Well, you don’t have to worry about her making money. I have enough for the both of us.”
Jack guffaws. “What do you have to do with this?”
“Oh, come on, Jack. You have to know I’m here for a reason, and it’s not because I enjoy your company.”
“You want an endorsement, and you think flirting with my daughter is going to help. There is no chance in hell I’m endorsing you. People here are dependent on their entitlements. That stunt you pulled last year might cost me re-election. And if you hurt my daughter, I will break your neck.”
“I will never hurt Mandy. The only other man in her life is doing a good job of that on his own.” After I say the words, I realize how true my words are. I’ll never hurt Amanda. That’s why I insisted on talking to her dad. That’s why I had a private jet fly us from Dallas to Arkansas. I needed to do this right. For Mandy. “I don’t need your endorsement. I have the only Buchanan endorsement I need.”
“She’s not going to campaign for you. She never even campaigned for me. And the press doesn’t care about her because she has always been too busy basket weaving to talk to them.”
I make a note to ask Mandy t
o show me the baskets. “If she’s been at it a while, it’s probably important to her. Just a thought.” I shrug. “And the press will care about her next week. That is what I came to tell you.”
Now he swings. His fist pounds into my nose. I stumble back, hit the ground, and notice the red streaks on my silver tie. “You involved my baby in some kind of scandal?”
I put a hand out to block any new hits. “No. Just let me get up.” I cover my nose with the other hand and stand. “We’re getting married.”
“She doesn’t care about you, you know? This is another one of her stunts to antagonize me.” For some reason, that hurts. I have no idea why. It’s true. I understand our marriage is a sham. Still, it hurts.
“Oh my God! Dad, what did you do?”
My gaze follows her voice. Mandy has reappeared with her hands on her hips.
“Jack, what is going on in here? I cannot clean with so much noise,” Camille says from the other side of the room.
Buchanan’s cold blue eyes are on his daughter. “You’re going to marry this scoundrel, and you didn’t even have the guts to tell me about it yourself?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Ah. Cat’s out of the bag.” Steel blue eyes paralyze me. Like father like daughter. “You asked permission?”
“Of course.” The words come out funny since I have to plug my nose with my fingers to keep from bleeding on everything.
“I told you not to.”
Her icy voice cuts through me. “And I told you we’re going to do this right.”
She glares at her dad now. “So he told you I wanted to marry him and you punched him?”
“He’s too old for you. I don’t trust him to take care of you. And he’s a jerk.”
“He’s your son-in-law. Get over it. One more thing.” She holds up her cell phone and taps her finger to it. “You’ll be endorsing Martinez tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t.”
She turns the phone around, so we can see the screen. Two senators stand in front of a dining table, one holding his nose, the other shaking a bloody fist at his daughter, who is safely out of the picture. Mandy grins. “I bet you do. Thanks, Daddy.”
She turns and walks away. From both of us.
Chapter 12
Mandy
My stomach growls. “Ugh,” I moan and bury my face deeper into my pillow. Food or sleep? Tough choice. But if I go for food, I’ll have to leave this room and risk running into Dad or Eric. I don’t care to see either of them.
But I sniff the air and know why I woke to a growling stomach. Mom’s muffins and they have to be out of the oven because my whole room smells like blueberries and sugar. I head to my door in boxers and a tank top then realize I don’t want Eric to see me in my PJs. Why did I agree to this? I circle around for the closet instead. I throw on a presentable dress, toss the nightclothes over my shoulder, and cross back to the door.
An envelope sticks out of the door.
Mandy, (Is it okay that I call you that?)
Senator Buchanan demanded I go fishing with him this morning at five—by taking the door to the guest suite off the hinges. We will be back for lunch and your father’s pastor is meeting us at the farm.
I’m sorry I upset you, but I won’t apologize for asking for your father’s blessing. Sham or not we hope to be together almost nine years, and that is a long time not to do things right. I understand it insults your tree-hugging values, but it’s important to me that your father—and you—know I will take care of you.
Eric
A pastor? What the crackers? Marriages of convenience do not need to involve ecclesiastical promises. And tree-hugging, huh? I hold onto the stationary and padded down the stairs. I will reply after muffins.
***
With Eric and my father out, it’s time to get some work done and put off everything else until closer to noon when my father and a preacher show up. I throw a hoodie on over my dress and drag my backpack and laptop to the kitchen table. I love working at the kitchen table in this house. It’s massive. I have space to spread out. Not to mention someone is always in the kitchen behind the dining room ready to bring me gourmet snacks. People at school always marvel at my “ordinary girl” image, but to be honest, I love the perks of being a senator’s daughter. Still, I want to be a reporter, and the Senator is never going to get on board with that.
I jot notes in my spiral notebook and click on another link. I call Evan and ask questions then go back to the computer screen. Something is less than transparent about this campaign finance. A chunk of money has disappeared, and I have no idea what it’s being used for. Something tells me there is a story here, though.
To make things more interesting, Al-Gazali, a controversial U.S. Islamic cleric, made a contribution to the Christian values senator I’m about to marry around the same time a similar amount disappeared from his campaign funds. A skeptic might say Eric has accepted a bribe from a Muslim radical.
My heart pounds. This isn’t the kind of thing I should ignore, yet Eric doesn’t seem the type to take bribes from a terrorist.
Deep in my work, Eric’s baritone voice says, “What are you doing?” I jump then laugh.
I meet his deep brown eyes over my laptop. “Basket-weaving.”
He pulls out a chair and sits down beside me. “I don’t see any baskets. Or weaving.”
I grin. “You didn’t know? I’m a journalist, but journalism doesn’t always pay well, so Dad refers to it as ‘basket-weaving.’”
Eric’s jaw clenches.
“Oh.” I bite my lip. “Do you want to back out now? Because you know I’m a journalist?”
“No, but that’s hard work. I’m surprised your dad is so mean about it.”
I shrug. “He’s right. There is no pay, and politicians don’t like journalists.”
“Well, that’s because they go forward with half-baked stories and stir up trouble. Or they go after people for things that really shouldn’t be news. But the good ones uncover buried truth.”
My mouth drops open. “You think journalism is important?”
“I got really angry over something I saw on the news one day. That propelled me all the way through law school and then on to the Senate. Without that reporter, I wouldn’t be a senator.”
The toes of my bare feet curl under. Eric Martinez is slowly becoming perfect. He was hot and polite the first time I saw him in person. And now he values journalism. It’s a contract, Mandy. Don’t go losing your heart.
Those intense brown eyes focus on my face. I want to kiss him. What the hell? CONTRACT. “What brings you to my father’s dining room?”
“I promised him I would find you and talk to you before the pastor gets here.”
I put my hand up. “So this is happening like right now? Today?”
“I’d planned on Monday at my local town hall with a few witnesses. Spontaneous enough to let the press talk and not big enough to draw too much speculation.”
“But?”
“Your dad wants a ‘real wedding’ here. He’s having a gazebo put in the yard, and he demands close family and friends be allowed to come.”
“Then how could this happen today?”
“That’s what I said. I told him since we planned on this week, that would not be possible. He told me between his people and my people, a small wedding should be possible.”
I slap my head. “That’s why Mom put chocolate chips in my muffins this morning and then she wasn’t in the kitchen for me to talk to. She’s probably out finding a dress and cake. Oh my God.”
“Your dad wants a prenup. There should be a draft in your email soon. Let me know of any changes you want.”
“A prenup? Why would my dad want that?” I scan the room to make sure we’re still alone. “I guess in our situation, it would make sense, though. But I don’t understand what he’s worried about. I have no money to lose.”
“I think he’s more concerned that you’re taken care of when I leave you for a White House intern.”
/> “You’re interested in an intern?” Ugh. The words escape my lips before I realize I’ve said them.
Eric gives me a soft smile. “Are you worried about it?”
“Worried?”
He grins. “Are you jealous?”
I am not jealous. I just want to rip the stupid intern’s eyes out. I shrug. “This is a contract. Why would I be?”
His smile fades. “I’m not interested in an intern. I’ve proposed thirty percent of my net worth if we’re married one year and fifty percent after that.”
“Eric, that’s too much. This is a contract. You’re paying me well. I don’t think you owe me anything once the contract is fulfilled.”
“Mandy, campaigns are rough and presidential politics are the worst. You’ll feel differently in a few years than you do right now. And for everything I’m going to put you through, you deserve your pay.”
“All I want is to finish school. I’m not interested in being compensated for anything more.”
“This is going to be a whole lot more. If you can’t handle that, figure it out before the pastor gets here. We can say we talked it through and it wasn’t a good idea. I’ll have Evan find someone else.”
“Can I work?”
He pushes the chair out. “Can you work?” He repeats the question, but his voice says he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“I mean in the White House. Can I work? I should be through with school by then.”
“I can’t see why it’s necessary, and it’s going to be a hard balance. But I suppose it would pacify the tree huggers. If you want to, I won’t stop you.”
“Senator?”
He grins. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’ve been campaigning since I was seven years old. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
Eric grins. He stands then bends down to swipe his lips across my forehead. I stare up at him, shocked. “Get used to it. You’ll be mine soon. And check your email in twenty.”
