Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  I turned to Jesse. “You mind if we step outside? I could use a cigarette.”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  He rose, and we walked in silence out to the veranda overlooking the ocean. As I pulled my cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket, I swore my mind superimposed Roger and me sitting at that wrought-iron table a few days ago as he broke the news that Jesse was running. Standing out here now, with Jesse an arm’s length away while I went through the motions of getting the nicotine I craved, my stomach was even more knotted than it had been the first night I’d spoken to Roger.

  I pocketed my lighter and pulled in a long drag. Closing my eyes, I just savored it for a moment, letting the nicotine make its way toward my bloodstream. As I blew out the smoke, I opened my eyes and kept my gaze fixed on the ocean far below us.

  After another drag, I said, “What aren’t you telling me, Jesse?”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “I’m not kidding,” I said. “The more I know, the—”

  “The more damage control you can do.” He made a flippant gesture. “I get it.”

  “And all through our conversation in there”—I used my cigarette to indicate the doors leading to the living room—“your body language screamed that there was something you weren’t telling me.”

  He shifted his eyes toward me without turning his head. “So you’re an expert on body language now?”

  “I make my living working with politicians.” I tapped my cigarette in the ashtray on the railing. “You’d better fucking believe I know body language.” I pulled in another small breath of smoke, blew it out, and said, “And I can’t help thinking there’s something else. I’m not in this for the gossip, Jesse. I just want to make sure you don’t shoot yourself in the foot before we even start campaigning.”

  The ocean held Jesse’s attention for a long, silent moment. His cheek rippled, and I had a feeling if I’d touched his shoulder just then—God, I wish—his muscles would be taut as cables.

  Finally he took a breath. “I’m just…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Just concerned about Simone. With everything she’s dealing with.” He laughed quietly. “I’m probably more worried about her than I should be.”

  I eyed him. And you didn’t want me using Simone’s problems as a smoke screen?

  “Is that really all there is?” I asked.

  He chewed his lower lip. “Yes and no. The…everything with her eating disorder, it is a problem. It’s just… It’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

  Fuck. One cigarette wasn’t going to be enough. “Meaning?”

  Though we were the only ones out here, Jesse lowered his voice. “It’s not the problem, it’s a symptom. Simone has…” He bit his lip again, furrowing his brow and looking out at the water. “She can’t process emotions like most people.”

  “She can’t?” I smothered my cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve seen her in films, though. The woman can act circles around almost anyone in Hollywood.”

  He nodded. “She can, but it’s fake. All of it. She wants to portray someone who’s grieving, she watches every scene she can get her hands on of people grieving. She needs to be happy, surprised, angry…same deal.” Jesse sighed. “But it’s all fake.”

  I pulled out my pack of cigarettes but just kept it in my hand for now.

  After a moment, Jesse went on. “Listen, Simone isn’t stupid. She’s not mentally defective. She doesn’t deal well with certain kinds of stress. Most kinds, if I’m honest.” He paused. “It’s almost like emotions happen, and she just…doesn’t know what to do with them.” When he turned toward me, the worry and sadness from earlier were in his eyes once again. “She can display any feeling anyone asks her to, but when it comes to her own, there’s a disconnect. That makes her feel out of control, and she deals with that one of two ways. One is to get angry. Like, almost violently angry.”

  I swallowed. “And the other is the eating disorder.”

  Jesse nodded. “The public knows about her temper. Everyone does. The rest, people assume that’s as simple as her being weight obsessed to the point of sometimes anorexia, sometimes bulimia. I just don’t want stress making either of those things worse, and I don’t want the public to know the real roots of it.”

  “I can understand that,” I said quietly. “Do you honestly think she can handle this campaign?”

  Jesse shifted his gaze out toward the ocean again, but not before the sad, worried expression faded. Something tightened in my gut.

  What else aren’t you telling me, damn it?

  I folded my arms and rested them on the railing, my cigarettes still securely in my hand for that inevitable moment when I couldn’t wait any longer to smoke one. “Jesse, you’ve got—”

  “She can handle it,” he said, almost tersely.

  Silence descended between us. I tightened my fingers around the pack of cigarettes, debating whether I could wait a few more minutes or desperately needed another hit now. I already smoked more than I should have, but I was not going to become a damned chain-smoker.

  Before I could think of something to say, Jesse broke the silence.

  “Well, unless you and Roger need me for anything else today,” he said. “I should get out of here. I’m meeting my brother and his wife for dinner.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Smoke? Don’t smoke? “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. We can discuss the ad campaign.”

  Jesse nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He started to leave but hesitated. Lingered. His brow furrowed like there was something unspoken on his mind.

  The cigarette pack crinkled quietly in my hand. The next five minutes’ forecast calls for a 75 percent chance of smoking…

  “Listen,” he said finally. “I appreciate you taking me on. I know you’re taking a huge risk here. Promoting an unknown and all of that.”

  I shrugged. “Your uncle believes in you, so…”

  “Do you?”

  I faced him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do you think I’m cut out for this?” He looked right back at me, not balking in the slightest from my eyes. “Do you think I’m cut out to be governor?”

  Okay, an 85 percent chance.

  “Honestly?” I pushed myself upright so we were more or less eye to eye. “Not a clue. But I’m committed.” I nodded toward the table where Roger and I had discussed this a few days ago. “Your uncle believes in you, and that’s enough of an endorsement for me.”

  Jesse’s lips thinned into a straight line. “So you support me by proxy, but you aren’t sure yourself?”

  I shrugged with one shoulder. Ninety percent. Definitely 90 percent. “I suppose you could say that.”

  “If you’re not really on board, I don’t want you as my campaign manager.” He held my gaze without flinching. “A half-assed campaign won’t get me anywhere.”

  “You won’t get a half-assed campaign from me,” I said.

  “Maybe not, but I can’t imagine I’ll get much enthusiasm from someone who doesn’t think I’m cut out for the job.” He inclined his head. “So if you’re not on board, tell me now.” A hint of a smirk drew up one corner of his mouth as he added, “You won’t like me if I find out later.”

  I laughed. Extending my hand, I said, “I’m in it until the end if you’ll have me, Jesse.”

  He regarded me silently, eyes narrowed as if he could read all the thoughts wandering through my head. As my hand hovered in the air between us, I wondered just how well he could read me.

  Make that 95.

  Just as I was about to pull my hand back, he took it, and the warm contact of his palm to mine took my breath away.

  Cigarette. In mouth. Now. Fuck.

  “My uncle endorses you,” he said with a half grin as he firmly grasped my hand. “That’s good enough for me.”

  I chuckled. “I think we’ll work well together.”

  “Let’s hope so,” he said, laughing softly. He released my hand. “Have a good night, Anthony.”

  “You too.”

>   And right about the time I’d nearly forgotten how to breathe, Jesse walked back into the house.

  Chapter Four

  Jesse

  I closed the veranda door behind me and leaned against it. I couldn’t decide what unsettled me the most about Anthony: the fact that he knew I was hiding something, or how far under my skin he could get just by looking at me.

  I pushed myself off the door and looked back outside.

  I could only see part of Anthony’s face. He was mostly turned away from me, staring out at the Pacific. One hand drifted up to his mouth, and when he drew that hand away to tap ashes into the ashtray beside him, a thin wisp of smoke rose from his lips.

  God, now I understood why some people thought smoking was sexy. I’d always thought it was a disgusting habit, but Anthony made it look suave and smooth. He made everything suave and smooth. He made it look hot. Like it was just a way to occupy his mouth until he found something better to do with it.

  Shivering, I made myself look away from him. Then I started out of the kitchen toward Roger’s den so I could say good-bye. The farther I walked from the veranda, the more some unseen gravitational force pulled my mind right back toward Anthony. Somehow I had to get used to being around that man, but it wasn’t happening today. Or tomorrow. Or…who was I kidding? It wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  At least I’d have Ranya with me in the future. She’d had today off, or she would have been here with us now. Today aside, whenever I was in Anthony’s presence, she’d be there with me. Not that I needed a babysitter or a go-between, but at least if my concentration wandered toward Anthony’s shoulders, or eyes, or voice, or something other than his campaign managing, I’d have her there to fill in whatever I didn’t hear him say.

  I went into my uncle’s den, and just as I expected, he was at his battleship-sized desk.

  He looked up from whatever he was working on and smiled as he took off his glasses. “You and Anthony come to a consensus about ads?”

  I blinked. “About—” Then the piece fell into place, and I remembered the end of the conversation in the living room. “Right, yeah. Ad content. We’re, um…” I gestured at the door behind me. “We’re still working on a few ideas, but it sounds like Anthony knows what he’s doing.”

  “That he does.” Roger folded his hands on the blotter. “I’m impressed at how you handle him.”

  “I—” I almost choked on my breath. “What?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve seen Anthony make a sitting Speaker of the House stutter and stammer. He’s intimidating, son. Even I’ll admit that.”

  “Oh. Well.” Ignoring the heat rushing into my cheeks, I managed a quiet laugh. “He is rather, um, intense.”

  “Perfect for a campaign manager, though.” Roger’s leather desk chair creaked as he leaned back. “You can’t ask for a better man to be on your side during an election, let me tell you.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I murmured. “Anyway, I, um.” I coughed, wondering when I’d forgotten how to articulate my thoughts. Oh right. When I met Anthony. “I should get going. Chris and Julie are coming to dinner tonight.”

  “Very well, then.” He rose. “Do say hello to Chris for me.”

  “I will,” I said.

  With Roger behind me, I left his den, and we walked down the hall to the foyer. At the enormous double doors, I reached for the doorknob but hesitated.

  Roger shifted his weight. “Something on your mind, son?”

  I glanced back down the hall in the general direction of the veranda, where I’d left Anthony. “I’m not sure about everything we discussed with Anthony earlier.”

  My uncle furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he said he needs to know anything that’s going on,” I said. “So he doesn’t get blindsided by it. Don’t you think we should tell him—”

  “Absolutely not,” Roger said sharply. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “Of course I trust him.” My uncle clapped my shoulder. “I wouldn’t let anyone else run your campaign. But the more people who know, the more likely the truth is to come out. Even inadvertently. It’s better to keep it between the handful of people who already know.”

  “Still,” I said. “A few people do know. It could theoretically come out.”

  Roger smiled, tilting his head just so. “Jesse, no one will find out. As long as no one knows who doesn’t need to, there’s no reason for Anthony, the media, or anyone else to find out.” He lowered his chin, giving me The Look, the one he and my father had both inherited from my grandfather. “Right?”

  I dropped my gaze. “Right.”

  “I assume Simone will keep this to herself as well?” he asked.

  “Of course.” I met his eyes, silently cursing how easily he could intimidate me with nothing more than a look. Arguing with a man who could spearhead an act of Congress and persuade people to vote for it was much easier said than done. “The thing is, Anthony’s no more likely to let it out than anyone else who already knows, but he of all people needs—”

  “Jesse. Son.” Roger put both hands on my shoulders, pressing down just a little. “Stop worrying about it.”

  Right. Of course. That was easy.

  “All right,” I said quietly, hoping he didn’t feel the resigned drop in my shoulders. “I should go. Simone won’t be happy if I’m late.”

  Roger chuckled. “Not if she has to entertain that wife of Chris’s.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  He patted my shoulder just hard enough to make me feel like a little kid instead of a grown man. “Well, have a good evening. Do give Simone my best.” His pointed look said nothing if not and remind her to keep her mouth shut.

  “I will,” I said quietly and reached for the door again.

  Once I was outside, it was all I could do not to sprint across the courtyard to my car. I needed…I needed…fuck, I had to get out of here. Away from here. Not that I was looking forward to where I was going, but right now I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  I turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life with a satisfying “we’re about to get the fuck out of here” sound. As the engine rumbled impatiently beneath the hood, I put on my seat belt, put the top down, and pulled on a pair of sunglasses.

  Then, not a moment too soon, I got the fuck out of there.

  All the way home, I couldn’t get Anthony out of my mind. On one hand, there was the guilt that I was keeping some information from him. On the other, he was…Anthony.

  I was lucky I’d made it through the conversation with him and Roger this afternoon, never mind the one-on-one discussion out on the veranda. The subject matter—both spoken and not—was anything but comfortable. The looks Anthony kept shooting my way alternately intimidated me and pushed the breath out of my lungs.

  I didn’t get it. He was more intimidating than my uncle and father combined, and yet he wasn’t. One second I was so tongue-tied I could barely answer his pointed demands for information about my past. The next I could keep up with him in a volley of good-natured sarcasm even while my brain wondered where the fuck my comments—or the balls to say them—came from.

  Good thing he had my campaign under control, because I was fucked for concentration when I was anywhere near him.

  I swore under my breath and thumped the wheel with the heel of my hand. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t stand up to Roger, couldn’t keep my wits about me with Anthony, and still thought I was cut out to govern the damned state?

  I rested my elbow on the door and gnawed my thumbnail. I could do this. Roger knew his shit when it came to politics, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me I had no business running for anything, never mind governor, unless he genuinely thought I could do this. But could he have picked a worse campaign manager if he wanted me to get through this election with my sanity intact?

  About forty-five minutes after I left Roger’s place, I
keyed in the code to my security gate. It screeched open, and I pulled past it. As I drove up the driveway and reached for the button on the visor to open the garage, a red sports car caught my eye. Grinding my teeth, I clicked the garage door button.

  Just the sight of my sister-in-law’s Maserati GranCabrio always made my blood boil. I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the garage, tapping my fingers on the gearshift until the door had finished yawning open.

  Once inside I parked, put the top back up, and killed the engine. As the garage door slowly closed, I went into the house.

  Voices and clattering cookware drew me toward the kitchen. A distinctive shrill laugh raised the hairs on the back of my neck, but I plastered on a smile and walked in to join everyone.

  Just as I expected, Simone was hard at work cooking entirely too much food for the four of us. My brother Chris sat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, a glass of white wine in his hand. Beside him, his wife, Julie, had her arms folded on the counter behind a mostly empty glass of the same.

  Simone looked up from chopping something, smiling broadly. “There he is.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  “Well.” Chris clicked his tongue and shook his head, making a grand gesture of looking at his watch. “We’ve only been waiting half the evening.”

  Julie gave a tight-lipped laugh and made the most fleeting eye contact with me before turning her attention to the last half inch of wine in her glass.

  “So how did everything go?” Simone asked, glancing up at me before continuing to chop a red bell pepper.

  I stepped behind the island, put a hand on the small of Simone’s back, and kissed her. “Everything went great. Roger’s campaign manager definitely knows what he’s doing.” Even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. “Might win this thing after all.”

  I ignored the dry sniff of laughter from my sister-in-law, focusing instead on leaning in to kiss Simone again. While she was distracted, I reached around her to grab a piece of a pepper, but she laughed and batted my hand away.