by J D Wade
The
Advisor
J.D. Wade
The Lion Fish Press
www.thelionfishpress.com
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters feature in the book.
Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people. Models are used for illustrative purposes only.
Book Cover Designed By: Allen T. St. Clair, ©2020 J.D. Wade
Published By:
The Lion Fish Press
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© Copyright 2020 J.D. Wade
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
AUTHORS’ NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. None of this is real. Except the things written about Donald Trump. We stand behind those things.
Ebook ISBN 978-1-951860-05-9
Paperback ISBN 978-1-951860-06-6
Forthcoming from J.D. Wade
First Comes Love
A Straight Line (w/ Chase Connor)
For those who have lost hope.
and
To G. Thanks for all of the Words with Friends games!
The Advisor
J.D. Wade
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Nathan – The Interview
Chapter 2 – Timothy – Hello, Tuniverse!
Chapter 3 – Nathan – A Dressing Down
Chapter 4 – Timothy – I Want You
Chapter 5 – Timothy – I Don’t Want You
Chapter 6 – Nathan – Scandals Are Us
Chapter 7 – Nathan – Burgers and Bipartisanship
Chapter 8 – Timothy – A Little Fun Never Hurt Anyone
Chapter 9 – Timothy – The Advisor
Chapter 10 – Timothy – Las Vegas
Chapter 11 – Nathan – The Debate
Chapter 12 – Timothy - Chyron
Chapter 13 – Timothy – Breakfast with Nathan Reed
Chapter 14 – Nathan – Time Flies
Chapter 15 – Nathan – No One Likes to Dine Alone
Chapter 16 – Timothy – The Hitch
Chapter 17 – Nathan – Super Tuesday
Chapter 18 – Timothy – Welcome Back to Tuniverse!
Chapter 1
Nathan
The Interview
Coffee shops have never been my first choice if asked where I would like to meet up with someone for any reason. People come and go, the machines are loud, hipsters who wear wool beanies in the middle of summer have super mellow conversations, and the Karens of the world ask to speak to the manager over some perceived slight. Regardless of my feelings about coffee shops, I had probably been in hundreds over six months. At first, it was annoying for all of the reasons I’ve given, but once I got Secret Service assigned to me, things got a lot easier. Usually, when I had to meet someone, the coffee shops were warned in advance, spaces were cleared, security was parked in strategic locations, and the interior of the coffee shop was cleared of patrons. Orders continued to be taken through any drive-thru the shops had available. Still, entrance to the actual shop was limited.
It’s not that I hadn’t asked my campaign manager and the agents assigned to me if we couldn’t maybe take over a pub every now and again, those requests were just denied. Clearing out a coffee shop, as well as keeping control, was more manageable. Trying to take over a pub presented a whole different set of challenges that made agents want to pull their hair out. Or shoot me. Maybe both. From one day to the next, I was never sure which agents liked me or hated me. On a good day, I’d have to say that it was a healthy mixture of both. Guarding a potential presidential candidate for the Democratic ticket in an election year was a lot less glamorous than guarding the actual sitting president in the White House. Because of this, I never pushed the issue of not liking coffee shops for meetings. My indifference to coffee, in general, was kept close to my vest as well. It’s one thing to be annoyed by coffee shops. Telling people that you actually don’t care about coffee one way or the other is just asking to get punched. Don’t let me be misunderstood. I drink it at breakfast like any normal human being—I’m not a monster—but it’s not my favorite thing in the whole world.
Outside of the current coffee shop that was metaphorically working its way under my fingernail like a bamboo shoot, a woman in a nice, though ill-fitted, pantsuit was getting harassed by Secret Service agents. This woman was different than the half-dozen people that had come before her. The previous people had just been wanting to come inside to grab their daily fix of bean juice, but this lady was actually meant to be here. Our eyes caught each other’s through the glass of the door, and I raised my coffee cup in a salute, though I hadn’t so much as taken a sip from it. She gave me a smile and a roll of her eyes as the agents continued to check her out. I pantomimed a hearty laugh so that she would know we’re on the same side.
Letting this woman know that I understood how invasive and annoying Secret Service could be was paramount. You never want journalists to think that you are not on their side about such things. Disagreements on politics, policy, religion—almost anything—can be handled with finesse and a bit of charm. However, letting them think that you like watching them being harassed by Secret Service will surely get you eviscerated in the article they are writing about you. So, the journalist and I shared a knowing look and a laugh before I brought my cup to my lips, pretending to sip it casually, though none of the liquid passed my lips. The agents continued to ask her questions, though I couldn’t hear them, I could only see their mouths moving. Credentials were checked, double-checked, a metal detector wand was produced out of thin air and guided up and down the woman’s body. The way the agents operated in public versus in our hotels and secure locations was wildly different. Finally, the door was pushed open by one of the agents—Bronson, I think?—and the woman was allowed to enter the shop.
Bean Around the Block.
That was the name of this particular coffee shop. For the last few months, I had zig-zagged across the U.S. in my fancy tour bus—paid for by campaign donors—and I’d seen every manner of pun. In all fifty states—though two, I obviously did not use the bus to visit—we’d met with journalists and reporters in coffee shops, all with clever little names. “Bean” was almost always in the name of the place. My favorite so far had been Black Beans & Ice. It was an iced coffee place, naturally. The name wasn’t particularly clever, though it wasn’t horrible. That particular shop had been my favorite simply because out of all of the coffee drinks I’d ever had, iced coffee was usually the most palatable. Especially if someone pumped a few squirts of flavoring into it first. Though, I knew this was not something I’d want to discuss with the woman who was sliding into the high-backed chair across the heavy wood table from myself.
“I’m surprised I didn’t have to do the squat and cough.” The woman teased, though her words held a little heat.
I pretended to choke on the nonexistent sip of coffee I had just been pretending to take.
“Sorry.” She gri
maced.
“Don’t apologize.” I waved her off amicably as I set the coffee cup on the table in front of myself as though this were the most natural thing. “Secret Service can be intimidating. And thorough.”
She laughed.
That was good.
“I guess you could put it that way.” She agreed as she set her bag—which had been inspected no less than three times by the agents—on the table before her. “I expect my lab results back in a timely manner, Mr. Reed.”
“I’ll do my best, but the lab is always overburdened.” I followed her lead. “Could definitely use more funding, that’s for sure.”
“Something you’ll see to as president, I’m sure?”
“Well,” I crossed my legs, getting ready for The Dance, “it won’t be a top priority, but we’ll get to it in an expeditious manner, of course. Just as the citizens of this great country would expect.”
She chuckled again.
Just keep her laughing and charmed, Reed.
“Understandably, funding for such things will have to take a backseat to North Korea, Russia, the Middle East…but I’m glad to know that you take every problem seriously.”
“If it affects a U.S. citizen, it’s a priority, Ms. Blankenship.”
Make sure to show those pearly whites.
You don’t have to worry about female journalists like your competition does, Reed.
Again, she smiled.
This was going to be a breeze.
“Cady, please.” She waved me off as she reached for her bag.
An agent was peering at her suspiciously through the door. Telling her to be careful with her gestures and sudden movements seemed like overkill, so I just kept my mouth shut and mimed lifting and drinking from my coffee once again.
“If I call you Cady,” I offered, “you have to call me Nathan.”
“At least until you’re elected.” She looked up from her bag long enough to give me a small smile. “Then it will be President Reed. Or Mr. President. Which do you think you’ll prefer?”
She produced a notebook and a fairly fancy looking fountain pen from her bag. Next, it was her iPhone, which she fiddled with for a moment before she found the voice recorder app and set it up. The phone got laid on the table between us. Orange numbers ticked away, counting upwards.
“I’d prefer Nathan, but since, for propriety’s sake, I’d have to choose something else,” I pretended to think, as though I had never considered this before, “I’d go with ‘President Reed,’ I suppose.”
“That seems reasonable.” She put pen to paper. “But that’s just a softball question, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“So,” Cady smiled, “first off, on behalf of the Des Moines Article—and myself—I want to thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Reed.”
“Surely.”
“Maybe we can ease into this with some other softball questions?”
“Start slinging them.” I gave her a nod.
Another pantomimed sip from my coffee cup.
Cady’s eyes watched me like a hawk as I brought the cup to my lips, pretended to take a sip, then set the cup back down as I pretended to swallow coffee. Not even for a second did I think she believed the show I had just put on with the coffee cup. Whether or not I was actually drinking the coffee was not her main concern, though.
“Gay, single, agnostic, and never held elected office.” Cady bluntly began laying out facts. “Yet you’re holding your own in most of the national polls. In fact, leading in some. Surprised?”
Without meaning to, I laughed.
Cady smiled sheepishly.
“Softball, huh?” I nodded, a grin forming on my face.
“May as well tackle some elephants in the room.”
One of her shoulders rose and fell. Her pen stayed at the ready.
“Well,” I sat back, crossing my legs before laying my hands in my lap as though this was the most comfortable I’d ever been in my life, “I suppose it depends on how you look at things. If you were to ask me if I feel qualified and capable, and that’s why people are interested in giving me the opportunity to lead our great nation—no. I’m not surprised. If you were to factor in that my opponent is almost the exact opposite of myself, then yes. I would be surprised. And by ‘exact opposite,’ I mean that he is as unqualified and incapable as I am qualified and capable. Make sure you do quote that, please.”
She jotted some notes with an amused smirk.
“He’s been governor.”
“So was Sarah Palin.” I stated simply.
A genuinely amused smile replaced the smirk.
“Look,” I offered casually, “winning a popularity contest—like my opponent has managed to do in the past—does not make a person capable. Sure, being governor can help a person build character and collect experience. My opponent, as far as those two things go, has wasted his time as governor. I have no reason to disparage the man—his track record and dismal approval ratings make things clear about his inability to lead or perform a job to the satisfaction of his constituents. However, I have no problem stating facts. Governor Ledbetter would be a poor choice for the Democratic ticket. Even if he were able to defeat President Trump, it would be trading the evil we know for the evil we can only guess at, honestly. Democrat or not, he’s yet to prove his abilities, display adequate knowledge, or shown any integrity, to be quite blunt.”
“I do enjoy blunt.” Cady agreed, furiously jotting on her pad. “Makes for great headlines.”
I chuckled amiably, though I was already incredibly tired with the whole thing.
“So,” I continued, “I would say that I am a far superior choice.”
“Well,” Cady shrugged, “with only two choices, is that saying much?”
Laughter erupted from my throat against my will.
“Point taken.” I relented. “However, one candidate being an inferior choice does not mean that the other candidate is just good enough. He’s simply a bad candidate, and I am a good candidate. The only bar here is the one I set. He’ll never leap it.”
Cady looked up and stopped writing, but the tip of her pen stayed poised against the paper.
“What makes you qualified, Mr. Reed?” She asked simply. “You’re a lawyer. Majored in political science. Minored in business. You’ve been on the board of non-profits and run your own successful business…but what else is there?”
“Didn’t you just list some pretty impressive qualifications?” I prompted her. “I have a background in law and political science. Obviously, essential qualifications for a future president. I’ve argued and won cases before the supreme court. I know how businesses work, how to make the economics work for a company or group—and I see the value of charitable organizations and social issues.”
“Fair.” She nodded. “But you still have no experience with elected office. Or governing in practice.”
“A business is like a country, right?” I suggested, sitting forward, leaning in to engage her fully. “You’re overseen by a board—not unlike the Congress or the Senate. You’re responsible and accountable to your employees—your constituents. You have to be political and learn how to please as many people as possible while helping those you don’t please to understand why you can’t make them as happy as they’d like. All while having integrity and following a strict set of ethics and morals. I’d say that covers almost all of the qualifications of being president. Wouldn’t you?”
Cady’s head slowly teetered on her neck, agreeing to my point.
“Do you think the public will see it that way, though?”
“That’s something you can’t predict,” I answered. “All a candidate can do is be honest and forthright, have plans and policies. Bring their experience and knowledge—no matter where that was gathered—and present it to the public. Let them know who you are as a leader. What you see for this great country of ours. Then…you let them decide what is best for them and America. Most importantly, remind them that President Trump nee
ds to be removed from office.”
“You really have a problem with President Trump?”
“You don’t?”
“I do.”
My hands went out in front of me as if presenting the truth as a gift.
“I would ask you what problem you have with our current president,” I reached for my coffee cup once more, “but that would be like beating a dead horse. It’s the same story across the country. People are tired of corruption, the name-calling, the divisiveness, the pettiness, the absolute lack of regard for our great democracy. They’re tired of racism, misogyny, xenophobia, homophobia, and they’re just tired of the lies. Americans are smart people. They know a con man when they see one.”
“Then why do you think the American public elected him to the highest office of the land?” Cady asked smugly.
“They didn’t.” I snorted. “An antiquated, outdated, and broken election process did. If the American people had actually decided who our president would be, I’d have no reason to be running for office this year.”
Cady, who supposedly had a problem with the current president, sure needed a lot of obvious answers.
“Moving on,” Cady announced, which I had expected, “what do you plan to do about this broken election process? Dismantle the electoral college on day one?”
Attempting amenability once more, I smiled.
“Well, the president doesn’t hold that power, of course,” I replied. “Dismantling the electoral college, effectively changing the way that the president is elected would require a Constitutional amendment. Two-thirds of the U.S. House of Representatives would have to vote for it, two-thirds of the Senate would have to vote for it, and three-fourths of the states would have to vote for it. It would be a process. But a doable one. This is another reason why every vote counts. As the Senate has shown, anything that might affect how easily elections can be stolen by influence, gerrymandering, and the like, is something they would be against. We need Senators with no integrity and no interest in what the American people truly want to be removed from office and replaced by those with integrity and a desire to fulfill the desires of their constituents. Vote, vote, vote. That’s for the citizens hearing or reading this interview later. Once we can get Senators and Representatives with integrity into office, we can begin working across party lines to fix a broken and rigged system. As president, I would be happy to facilitate that process. But I couldn’t do it alone. It will take the whole nation coming together.”
