by Lee Taylor
AGAINST THE ODDS
Book 1: The Candidate
By
Taylor Lee
AGAINST THE ODDS
Book 1: The Candidate
By
Taylor Lee
Gia is a hotshot campaign manager. She should be. Her father ruled the county for years . . . until he went to prison. Determined to back a worthy candidate, Gia chooses to run a newbie who happens to be her fiancé.
Logan is a high-tech phenomenon. In addition to being more than a little arrogant, he is beyond wealthy. Desperate for campaign cash, Gia is determined to get him to support her candidate. She insists she doesn’t want him; she just wants his money. That assertion lasts until she meets him.
Not surprisingly, the sparks fly between Gia and the sexy entrepreneur until he refuses to fund her candidate. Infuriated by his rejection, she kicks him to the curb. When her fiancé/candidate commits an unspeakable crime, Gia admits that the wealthy tech magnate was a better judge of character than she was.
That doesn’t mean that she will accept his outrageous proposal as to who should run for office to replace her disgraced candidate.
Main Menu
Against the Odds: Book One; The Candidate
Afterword
Taylor Lee’s OMNIBUS Collections
Books by Other Authors
About the Author
Contact Information
Copyright Page
Go back to the Main Menu
Table of Contents
Main Menu
Afterword
Other Works by Taylor Lee:
The Trouble Sisters Saga—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Criminal Affairs Collection—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Justice Brothers Series—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
Ladies of the Night Series—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Man in the Arena Series—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The All Fired Up Collection—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Red Rock Collection— Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Blonde Barracuda Collection—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Dangerous Affairs Collection—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
The Grand Master’s Legacy Collection—HOT Historical Romance
The Bad Ass Brigade—Contemporary Sizzling Suspense
About the Author
Contact Information
Copyright
Chapters:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
To go back to the Main Menu, click here.
Prologue
Gia stared unseeing at the morbidly obese man towering over the corner of her booth. Forcing herself to focus, she saw the concern tightening the giant’s florid, pockmarked face. Unwilling to acknowledge his distress, she shook her head and waved an impatient hand at her empty glass. When his frown deepened and it was clear he wasn’t going to comply with her silent demand, she struck out. “Dammit, Granger, what’s it going to take to get another shot of the rotgut booze you swill in this scummy dive of yours? The last time I looked, my money smelled as sweet as the shit of any other drunk’s you serve.”
“C’mon, Gia. Not only is your money good, so is your credit. And, sugar, as you know only too well, I never put a limit on my favorite lushes. But, honey, I’m thinkin’ a big, greasy burger loaded with everything I’ve got in the kitchen would be better than another one of those.” Pointing with his chin at the shot glasses lined up like soldiers on parade, he wheedled her. “How about it, sugar? Why don’t cha let your ole buddy Granger bring you something loaded with fat and protein to soak up all that sixty proof you’ve been swigging back tonight?”
“Goddammit, Granger, since when did you care if your ‘clients’ get shit-faced as long as they pay their bill? So nix the ‘I’m your baby daddy’ crap. You ought to know by now no one takes care of me—but me.” Frantic for another shot of the brain-numbing booze, she tried to concentrate on the row of empty shot glasses in front of her but lost count. Not sure if it was the sixth or seventh round she wanted, she gave up in exasperation. “Dammit, can’t you see that I’m having a breakdown? What the fuck kind of a friend are you? Forget the food. And forget these itty-bitty glasses. They aren’t cutting it tonight. Bring me a goddamned bottle, an unopened one. Now!”
A deep, cultured voice sounded at her elbow. “Hold that order, Granger. I think our little political hotshot has had more than enough of that cheap booze.” The man reached for her arm, his voice edged with disgust. “Really, Gia, if you’re going to drink yourself into a stupor, the least you can do is drink decent booze.”
Gia forced herself to look up. Through her bleary eyes, she struggled to see who dared to interrupt her effort to drink herself into oblivion. Seeing the impressive man frowning at her, a shiver of revulsion almost took her down. It was bad enough that her nemesis, who was tossing a big bill Granger’s way, was the guy she hadn’t been able to get out of her head or her wayward body since she’d met him. He was also the man who’d made it abundantly clear that she was eons beneath his exalted status. She wasn’t too drunk to appreciate the irony that her about-to-be, indulgence-triggered blackout wouldn’t help to raise her in his sights. She didn’t know how or why she allowed him to haul her out of the booth where she’d planned to make her refuge for the night. A bigger miracle was that she managed to stagger out the back door of the crowded tavern into the alleyway.
Even as discombobulated as she was, she admitted that without his arm wrapped securely around her waist, she couldn’t have done either. Much less made it into his Ferrari convertible if he hadn’t scooped her up in his arms and summarily deposited her in the front seat of the extravagant automobile. When he assumed the seat beside her, the last thing she remembered before she passed out was the enticing fragrance of his expensive cologne overlaying his seductive, masculine scent. Later, from the depths of her befuddled brain, she had a dim memory of him tucking her in a king-size bed that she learned the next morning was in his penthouse condominium.
****
Fighting the clanking anvils that had taken up residence in the back of her head and the high-speed blender churning in her gut, Gia spotted a glass of water and two Advils on the bedside stand. Heaving herself up against the headboard of the mammoth bed, she grabbed the pills and slugged them back with a few noisy gulps of water. A moment later, she leapt out of bed and made a mad dash to what she hoped was the bathroom. She had barely made it to the commode when the Advil and water declared they would no longer reside in her hungover gut. She didn’t know how long she threw up, but when she managed to exorcise everything she’d eaten or drank in the last year, she sank to the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool, tiled walls and prayed for relief. At the sound of the door opening, she forced herself to look up and meet Logan’s concerned gaze.
&nbs
p; “Hey, princess, how are you doing?”
Horrified at the sight of the tall, commanding man frowning at her, she almost wished she could vomit again. At least maybe then he’d have the decency to leave her alone in her misery. When it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere, she tried to assert herself. “Please, please, Logan. Go. I . . . I don’t feel good.”
At his raised eyebrow, she spit out, “I know. For God’s sake, do you think I don’t know that I look like hell?”
He shrugged, suppressing the trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s just say that I’ve seen you look better.” Holding her gaze, he held out a stack of clothes that she saw were the skinny jeans, tank top, and underwear she’d been wearing last night. Seeing her freshly laundered clothes, she glanced down and for the first time confirmed she was wearing what looked like one of Logan’s tee shirts. And to make matters infinitely worse, she also realized that she was naked under his shirt. She tried to ask the obvious question, but the most she could manage was a horrified groan. Snagging a breath, she forced herself to speak relatively calmly. “I . . . I don’t understand. Why . . . why am I wearing . . . ” She shook her head and then asked the question she had to know the answer to. “Oh my God, were we . . . did we . . . ?” Her question trailed off into the depths of her embarrassed despair.
He guffawed—a sound between a disgusted grunt and a laugh. “Ah, no, Gia. I know you think I’m an overbearing asshole, but even I don’t take advantage of drunk, ‘out of their mind’ young women. No, sweetheart, you can relax. We didn’t do it.” He added with a chuckle, “Trust me, little girl, if we had, you would know it.” When she didn’t have the courage to press for details such as how, blindingly drunk, she’d managed to get out of her clothes and into his shirt, he nodded at the pile of clothing he was holding. “I’m confident that the idea of food is anathema to you. But I have to believe that a shower would be welcome. How about you hop in the shower and scrub off as much as you can of what is certain to be a vicious hangover. I’ll leave your clothes here. I’ll also leave another couple of Advils if you think your gut can handle them.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a nine o’clock meeting but will be back by ten thirty at the latest. When I get back, we’ll decide what we can do to make this day a hell of a lot better than the one you survived yesterday.” When she didn’t answer, just shook her head and refused to meet his gaze, he said seriously, “And please, Gia, remember you not only survived that hideous day, but you were the epitome of grace under pressure. I’m in awe of you.”
With that, he was gone, closing the door solidly behind him. It took Gia several long moments quavering on the cold tile floor to get enough strength to stand and make her wobbly way into the shower. After what was unquestionably the longest and most-needed shower of her life, she finally exited the cavernous enclosure. On her way out, she tossed a disbelieving glance at the four strategically placed showerheads that testified to the extravagances of the privileged man who showered there. And, Gia reminded herself with a snort, the many women who had no doubt joined the superstar in his water-infused playground. After she dressed and did what she could to repair her ravished face with a swipe of blush over her pale cheeks and a smear of gloss on her puffy lips, she found her phone on the bedside stand.
Plugging her coordinates into her Uber account, she made her way into the hallway, knowing the last thing she would do was ask Logan’s supercilious manservant to take her to her car. Arnold the asshole, as she’d dubbed Logan’s sycophantic aide, had made it abundantly clear that she was several hundred echelons beneath his erudite boss and the cultured claque of women who typically surrounded him. Gia blew out a harsh snort. She could just see the disdain on his sneering face, aghast that the little slut, as she was sure he’d named her, had wormed her way into Logan’s bed. Entering the elevator, she took her first full breath since she’d woken up and acknowledged where she was.
When it was clear that both her apartment and campaign headquarters were surrounded by media vans, she ordered the concerned Uber driver to take her to Hensen’s pier.
Sinking onto the shore of Sturgeon Lake, her childhood refuge, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, willing her trembling body to hold itself together. She wished that she could cry, but the pain wracking her psyche was too wrenching for tears. She wasn’t sure she would ever cry again or, for that matter, laugh. No, emotions of any kind—happy, sad, or anything but devastation—were beyond her. After she’d huddled by the lake for several hours, she forced herself to come to grips with the hideousness she was facing. With an aggrieved sob, she allowed herself to remember what had happened two fateful nights ago. It took every ounce of willpower she had to confront the hideous scene emerging in her convoluted brain. The scene that had irreparably shattered her life.
Looking back, it had been a usual night. Fifteen-hour days were her norm. Far from an aberration, her long days were de rigueur for the campaign manager of a looming congressional race. She was alone in her office, having shooed her staff home hours before. Almost ready to call it a night, she reviewed the schedule for tomorrow and sighed. She knew she could handle the campaign stops on the agenda without breathing hard. She wished she could be certain that Aiden was up for the rigorous schedule. She could only hope that once he was in front of the modest crowds, he would come to life. Which wasn’t a certainty. More and more, he peevishly complained that campaigning was hard work and she needed to figure out a way to get more downtime for him. She sniffed, acknowledging that was the problem with trust fund babies. They didn’t have the stamina that people who’d had to fight for everything they’d ever achieved had. People like her.
Scrubbing at the tension in the back of her neck, willing the hard knots to loosen, she thought she heard a sound from the hallway. Knowing that she’d been alone in the office for at least a couple of hours, she assumed it was the cleaning people. When she heard the muffled sounds again, she decided to check and see if one of the staff members was working late. Walking down the hall, she heard a high-pitched sound from Aiden’s office. In what turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life, she didn’t bother to knock, rather opened the door and strode in. In the cacophony of emotions that threatened to crush her, she wished that she could rewind the clock, retrace her steps. If only she’d gone home as she’d intended to. As she should have. But it was too late. She was here now, and her life would never be the same again.
He was bending over the top of his desk. His pants were riding his ankles, baring his ass to God and country. Gia was struck by an illogical thought. Staring at his naked ass, she realized that she’d never appreciated how pale Aiden’s ass was or, frankly, how hairy. His cheeks looked like the tapioca pudding her mother dared to call dessert. Except that this pudding had been sprinkled with a crop of wiry hair. Inconsequentially, she wondered if she would have found him as attractive as she had if she’d realized that his ass was not only pale and a little scrawny but decidedly hirsute. Aiden’s ass became unambiguously less interesting when she acknowledged the woman’s bare legs wrapped around the waist of her candidate. And coincidentally, her fiancé.
Gia didn’t need to see more of the woman sprawled on the desktop and under Aiden’s thrusting hips. Her slender legs were familiar, as were her breathy moans. In that never-to-be-forgotten moment that was engraved on her brain for eternity, Gia knew that Sissy Blankenship was the woman her grunting candidate was fucking. It was bad enough that Gia knew her and that she’d personally carved out a place for her on the campaign. At the time, Gia thought it was the least she could do for the eager young woman who’d reminded her of herself at that age. Gia remembered how she’d begged her father to give her a real job on his campaign. Like Sissy was now, she’d been a starry-eyed sophomore in high school—and had just turned sixteen years old.
Chapter 1
Two months earlier . . .
Every once in in a while, Gia allowed herself to wonder what her life would have been like if her f
ather had not gone to prison. She shrugged at the thought, concluding that it would likely be as disjointed as it was now. But at least as a rising politico she wouldn’t have had the excuse—or the burden—of having a convicted, politically corrupt father. Not being particularly introspective and a bit of a “cockeyed optimist,” she’d convinced herself over the years that having a felon for a father made her more interesting. Plus, she’d learned more about politics from her felon patrimony than any pre-teen girl could or should have. Things such as how to win against unbeatable odds and, finally, what was too much, even for as outrageous a rule-breaker as Big Bart Tremaine.
Every room in their house was the epitome of a smoke-filled room. Next door to the infamous Hard Times and Misery Saloon, or the HT&M as it was known colloquially, the sounds of raucous laughter and high spirits were as much a part of the Tremaine’s three-bedroom house as the shady operation next door. All day long and more at night, the traffic between the two operations was a literal two-way street, each owned by a man larger than life. While the beefy barkeep known simply as Granger was physically large, Big Bart Tremaine didn’t need a mountain-sized body to rule his roost. He’d earned his moniker of Big Bart not because of his size, but because of his ability to twist any situation, good or bad, to fit his goals of the moment. A combination of witty repartee and black Irish good looks more than made up for his modest stature. Whether he wanted your vote or to convince you that his opponent was the devil’s spawn, Big Bart’s boisterous laugh and sly wink was as infectious as it was indomitable. It was a given among his adoring fans that Big Bart could talk the green off a leaf.
No one was under the spell of the charming reprobate more than his beloved daughter, Gia Marie. And Big Bart returned the favor ten-fold. The black, curly-haired little girl with the flashing emerald eyes was the image of her father. From the first time he held the beautiful baby who Bart had been convinced was going to be a son, Gia had captured her father. He marveled at everything she did, certain that no living being was, or ever would be, capable of the miraculous feats of his gorgeous daughter. From her incipient three-day-old smile to the first of many times Sister Carmelita summoned him to discuss what to do with his incorrigible daughter, Big Bart was smitten. Early on, his self-effacing wife gave in to reality and meekly chose to live in the shadows of the unconquerable duo. It was just as well that she’d accepted the lay of the land. Her bigger-than-life spouse was challenging enough, but coupled with their prima donna daughter, Mary Margaret Tremaine regressed further and further into her religiously driven life. Apparently, she’d decided that contending with the expectations of a fierce God and fiercer nuns was better than trying to impinge on the devilish pair who occupied ninety-nine percent of the space they inhabited.
