Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  WHERE THERE’S SMOKE

  L. A. Witt

  www.loose-id.com

  Where There’s Smoke

  Copyright © February 2012 by L. A. Witt

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 978-1-61118-738-0

  Editor: Jules Robin

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 809

  San Francisco CA 94104-0809

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Chapter One

  Anthony

  “I’m assuming this isn’t just a friendly drink.” Cradling the stem of my glass between my middle and third fingers, I rested my elbow on the wrought-iron armrest.

  From the opposite side of the glass-topped veranda table, Roger Cameron mirrored me. “You know me too well, don’t you?”

  I brought my drink to my lips and took a sip, but the white wine barely registered on my tongue. I was too focused on him, on trying to figure out what this was all about. Roger only contacted me when he needed me, which he hadn’t since he’d retired from the Senate two years ago. Unless he was coming out of retirement, this was…unusual.

  He looked at the table for a long moment, a contemplative expression pulling his thick eyebrows together above his distant eyes. Finally, he drew a breath and set his shoulders back like he was about to propose some sort of legislation to Congress.

  “John Casey has almost secured the Republican nomination for governor,” he said.

  I scowled. “I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on the polls.”

  “Then you’ve also been keeping an eye on the creatures the Democrats have been putting up to potentially run against him, yes?”

  I nodded, blowing out a breath. The political scene in California was a mess, and thanks to the cluster fuck going on in the Democratic Party, the Republicans had a significant lead in the polls in spite of backing one of the worst gubernatorial candidates I’d ever seen. The man’s policies were devastating to education, inhumane to immigrants, crippling to small businesses and property owners, and lovingly sucked the collective cock of every corporate fat cat in the state. I’d already looked into property in Arizona, Nevada, even places on the East Coast, so I could vacate California the second Casey won the election.

  I took a long swallow of wine. As I set my glass on the table with a quiet clink, I said, “You’ll make my entire year if you tell me you want to come out of retirement and have me run your campaign.”

  He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid not.” He tapped the center of his chest with two fingers. “The old ticker will quit on me if I even consider it.”

  I steepled my fingers under my chin. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  Roger gave me that JFK tilt he always used to woo the public during speeches and debates. I wasn’t the public, though, and he’d have to work harder than that to pique my interest in whatever he had in mind.

  “I want you to manage a campaign, Anthony,” he said. “But not mine. Getting him elected will be a long shot, but we need someone better than what the party is producing.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek but said nothing. My stomach twisted into knots, wondering whom he had in mind. With Casey’s popularity, this race needed a long shot like I needed to smoke another pack a day.

  Roger shifted in his chair and looked me square in the eye. “I want you to get my nephew elected.”

  I blinked. “Your…nephew?”

  He nodded.

  It took everything I had not to either laugh or throw my not-just-a-friendly drink in his face to snap him out of whatever delusional state he was in. Two of Roger’s spoiled idiot nephews had no business campaigning for employee of the month at a supermarket, never mind governor of California. The third wasn’t much better.

  I curled the edge of my napkin around my finger. “Dare I ask which of Michael’s boys thinks he has a shot in politics?” Please say Nate. Please say Nate. Please—

  “Jesse.”

  I couldn’t help groaning. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Roger, for God’s sake.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Jesse Cameron. You want me to try to get Jesse Cameron elected. As governor.” I glared at him. “Is this a joke? Really?”

  “No, it’s not a joke,” he said.

  “What makes you think he even stands a chance in this race?”

  “Well, he does have name recognition,” Roger said.

  “Not in politics, he doesn’t. His name is known in showbiz and the fucking tabloids. Not political circles.”

  Roger raised an eyebrow. “He’s my nephew, son.”

  I exhaled. “Face it. People hear the name Jesse Cameron, they don’t associate him with you, they associate him with his parents.” I paused, reaching into my pocket to pull out my cigarettes and lighter. “Either that, or his ‘acting career,’ if one would call it that.”

  Roger inclined his head. “That’s where you come in.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” I put up my hands. “I’m a campaign manager, not a fucking miracle worker.” I withdrew a cigarette from the pack. Just before I put it between my lips, I added, “I mean, what exactly makes you think he’s remotely qualified to run, let alone win?”

  “The kid is smarter than you think.” A fond grin pulled at his lips. “You do know he’s a Harvard Law grad, don’t you?”

  Cupping my hand around my lighter and cigarette, I raised an eyebrow. As I lowered the lighter from my unlit cigarette, I said, “I’m also aware of how easy it is for someone who comes from influence and affluence to skate through with passing grades.” I brought the lighter up again. “The gentleman’s C, I believe they call it?”

  Roger’s grin faded, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “He graduated fourth in his class.”

  For a second time, I lowered the lighter before I’d lit the cigarette. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. And I’ve been grooming that boy for a political career for years. Just kept him under the radar since I had hoped to have more time, but then Casey announced he was running.” He shifted, resting his elbow on the table. “Jesse’s more than ready for the job. We—and by that I mean you—just need to convince the voters of that.”

  I took the still unlit cigarette from between my lip
s. “Oh, sure, that’s easy.” I tried not to roll my eyes and almost succeeded. “The primaries are a few months away, and you want me to persuade the public they should vote for Fuckup McHollywood, who also happens to be a political nobody, just because he has a name and a law degree?” I shook my head and put the cigarette in my mouth again. “Even a prestigious law degree and name association with you won’t make up for what the public does and doesn’t know about him.” This time I finally managed to light my cigarette and took a long, much-needed drag.

  Roger let me smoke for a moment. An ex-smoker himself, he undoubtedly understood the need to get some nicotine into my blood before we went on.

  I was halfway through my cigarette when he continued.

  “I don’t expect this to be an easy election.” Roger’s voice had a hard, nonnegotiable edge to it. “But if anyone can get Jesse elected, it’s you. Unless, of course, you want John Casey to win.”

  I turned my head and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the clear, late afternoon air. “I don’t want Casey anywhere near Sacramento, but I need a viable candidate to run against him.”

  “Understood,” he said with a nod that was so slight I didn’t have any illusion he was conceding anything more than that simple acknowledgment. “Quite honestly, on his own, thanks to his father’s reputation and his own stint in Hollywood, Jesse barely stands a chance. Short of Casey admitting to a closet full of homosexual skeletons and illegal aliens with links to al Qaeda, Jesse’s chances are slim to none.”

  I tapped my cigarette in the red glass ashtray. “Then I’ll ask you again: why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because Jesse still has a better chance than the candidates the party is trying to put on the ballot,” he said. “Most of them have horrible track records, and the voters know it.”

  “Unlike Jesse, who has the next worst thing”—I brought the cigarette to my mouth again—“which is no track record.”

  “But”—Roger held up one finger and shot me a deathly serious look—“Jesse is also the most competent candidate. Half of the idiots the party is pushing into the primary aren’t much better than Casey himself. If I thought one of them stood a chance of beating Casey and pulling off the governorship without the entire state falling apart, I wouldn’t be pushing Jesse to run. Not now. Not until he’s had a chance to cut his teeth in smaller seats.”

  “So you want me to run him against the Democrats on the platform that the rest of the Democrats are corrupt morons?” I laughed and smothered my cigarette in the ashtray. As I picked up my wineglass, I said, “I’d like to eat lunch in this town again, thank you.”

  “No.” His expression hardened. “Jesse won’t run as a Democrat.”

  I froze with my glass halfway to my mouth. “If you tell me you’re putting my name on a Libertarian’s campaign, so help me—”

  “Not Libertarian. He’s running as an Independent.” Roger chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve tried to convince him he stands a better chance on the Democratic ticket, but he wants nothing to do with either party.”

  I let my head fall back, and stared up at the sky. There wasn’t enough alcohol or nicotine in the world… “You’re killing me, Roger.” I set the glass down and looked at him. “I’m not even kidding.”

  “Look, the last thing this state needs is John Casey as its governor,” he said. “Jesse is a solid candidate. He has a squeaky-clean personal life, and—”

  “Squeaky-clean?” I snorted. I pulled out another cigarette and set it between my lips. “I seem to recall some not so clean indiscretions when he was younger.”

  “Well, he’s a son of Hollywood.” Roger grinned. “Would you expect any less?”

  “I’ll be sure to mention that to the voters,” I said drily. “At this point, the only thing about him that’ll say ‘politician’ to voters is that trophy wife of his.”

  Roger laughed but then turned serious. “Listen, he’s got a tidier past than even the cleanest congressman. The fact that he’s my nephew will gain him Democratic voters. The fact that he refuses to run on a Democratic ticket will gain him Republican votes.”

  “Uh-huh.” I eyed him through the breath of smoke I released. “And he’ll lose support from voters on both sides who will only vote for their parties’ tickets, and that group is even bigger than the clump of idiots you’re asking me to bank on.”

  Roger started to speak, but the sliding glass door opened and Janet, his wife, stepped out onto the veranda. We both stood, and he kissed her cheek. Then she sat, and we took our seats again.

  “Good to see you, Janet,” I said.

  “You too.” She smiled, and at least she was one Cameron whose smile didn’t come across as fake. Probably a result of marrying into the clan rather than being bred into it. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had Marguerite make something different so you can stay for dinner. But…” She gave an apologetic shrug. “She’d already planned on making steak.”

  Resisting the urge to grimace, I said, “That’s all right. I can’t stay very late anyway.” I shifted my attention back to her husband. “Especially since it sounds like I’m going to have my work cut out for me for a while if I agree to this.”

  “If anyone can run this campaign,” Roger said, “it’s you. I have complete faith in you.”

  “As do I,” I muttered. “It’s my lack of faith in the candidate that concerns me.”

  “Well, unless you want Casey wearing the title of governor, Anthony, do what you have to do to get Jesse into office.” His tone was sharp again. “Convince the voters that Jesse is a good, solid leader. Show them how incompetent Casey is.” He waved a hand. “They all want to believe Casey’s a saint because of his military record, but they need to know the last thing California needs is someone as fiscally retarded—”

  “Roger.” Janet shot him a pointed look.

  He shrugged. “All right, someone as incapable as Casey of managing even his own checkbook.”

  His wife scowled. I just gritted my teeth. Sometimes I wished Roger wasn’t comfortable enough with me to drop the flawless gentleman front he presented in public. That side of him was fake but decidedly less irritating.

  “Look,” I said. “I need to talk to Jesse. Feel him out. Figure out if he knows what the hell he’s doing. How do I get in touch with him?”

  “SoCal Tonight is interviewing Jesse at his home tomorrow afternoon.” Roger withdrew a card from his wallet and slid it across the table. “Here’s his address. I’ll let him know you’ll be there to talk to him after the interview’s over.”

  “What? You’ve already got interviews lined up for him? Before you brought me into this?” Just what I needed: this idiot screwing up his campaign on television before I had a chance to tell him how not to shoot himself in the foot. Or put that foot in his mouth.

  Roger chuckled and put his hands up. “I won’t jump the chain of command again, son. I promise.”

  I wasn’t amused. I picked up the card and forced myself not to scowl at the Malibu address. Getting a spoiled rich kid elected? Oh, this would be so much fun. As I tucked the card under my lighter so the wind wouldn’t pick it up, I said, “What’s the interview about?”

  “He’s the first Cameron in four generations to make it to his fifth wedding anniversary without some sort of sensationalized scandal.” Roger grinned. “So when SoCal agreed to interview him about his and Simone’s marriage, we decided this would be a fine time for him to get his candidacy on the public’s radar.”

  I rested my elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Roger. Jesus.” I dropped my hand to the table hard enough to rattle both my lighter and our glasses. “I’m not kidding. You want me to run this campaign, I need to know every move he makes before he makes it, especially if that move is going to be in front of television cameras.”

  He smiled, completely unfettered. “Well. The interview won’t air for another three weeks. The same day SoCal’s magazine hits newsstands with my nephew and his wif
e smiling on the cover.”

  I groaned.

  “Listen, Anthony.” Roger sat back and folded his hands across his lap. “The Cameron family is notorious for marriages that spend more time in the tabloids than not. This article and television interview will be the first hint to the public that Jesse is nothing like his parents or his siblings or his grandparents.”

  “Or his uncle?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Janet giggled. At least she had a sense of humor about being the fourth Mrs. Roger Cameron.

  Her husband laughed drily but gave a slight nod. “Or his uncle.” His expression turned more serious. “Jesse won’t be addressing political subjects in this interview. He’ll announce his intent to run and defer any questions to a press conference.”

  I cringed. “You’ve already scheduled the press conference, haven’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “The day the magazine drops and the interview airs, isn’t it?”

  Another nod.

  I blew out a breath. Well, at least that gave me some time to make sure Jesse kept his foot out of his mouth. “All right, Roger. I’ll go meet him before the interview, and I’m tentatively agreeing to run his campaign.”

  “Tentatively?” The frown said he was anything but happy with that answer.

  “You and he have already jumped the gun and put him in the public eye,” I said. “I’ll run a campaign, but I will not resurrect one that’s already been irreparably screwed. And I need to feel him out to make sure he knows what he’s getting into, he’s ready for this, and he stands a Liberal’s chance in Utah of winning this thing before I agree to put in the time and energy it takes to get a new face into a political office.”

  He regarded me silently for a long moment. Then he nodded once and extended his hand across the table. “Sounds like a plan, son.”

  I stood, reached past my cigarettes and drink, and shook his hand.

  And as Roger gave me that bill-just-passed grin, I wondered what the fuck I’d gotten myself into.