by L. A. Witt
“No, I can’t imagine it is. But the election won’t last forever, sweetie. After November, you and Simone will be free to go out on the prowl, and I’d be willing to bet money you and Anthony will still be burning up the sheets by then.”
I sat on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes. “How do you figure?”
“Jesse, my friend, some people just go together.” She picked up my suit and started putting it in the garment bag, adding over her shoulder, “They hook up, and it’s like, yep, that’s how it should be.”
“People said that about Simone and me.”
“And you two are compatible as hell except for that minor detail about you being a sausage fiend.”
I snorted. “Have I mentioned lately how exceptionally classy you are?”
“No, but duly noted.” She zipped the bag emphatically. “Anyway, you and Anthony seriously go together. You two click. From where I’m standing, you boys go together like texting and car crashes.”
I raised an eyebrow, glancing up from tying my shoe. “Texting and car crashes? Well, if that’s not the most romantic analogy I’ve ever heard.”
“Blame my mother.” She showed her palms. “No, seriously. Blame her. And it’s not a perfect analogy, but whatever. The point is, you guys go together. End of story.”
“How do you even know? You’ve only seen us working together.”
“And making disturbingly adorable googly eyes at each other when you think no one’s looking.”
“What? We do—”
“Don’t argue with me, Cameron. I know you. Shit, just going by the dreamy look on your face and the way you were almost limping earlier, I could probably give a play-by-play of every horrifying thing you two did to each other last night.”
I smirked. “Or what he did to me, anyway.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Goddamn you, Jesse…”
“Hey, you went there. Again.”
Shuddering, she shook her head and made a disgusted noise. “Brain bleach. I need brain bleach.”
“Whatever.” I finished tying my shoes and stood. “You know damn well you’d be all over it if a Jesse-Anthony sex tape ever made it out there.”
“Pfft. I can’t even watch films of you when you’re not making sweet wrong-love to someone else I have to work for.”
“Yeah, but at least I’m not acting.”
“Thank God for that.” She picked up the garment bag and draped it over her arm. “Still…no.”
“Okay, whatever. But just because Anthony and I have some chemistry doesn’t mean we’re ‘perfect for each other’ or anything like that.”
“I never said your dirty chemistry was the only reason.”
“Enlighten me, then,” I said as I collected my wallet, phone, and keys.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen, you remember that singer I used to work for? Kip Royal? He always hung out with Ace Borden, and Ace had this PA named Jamie. Oh my God, Jesse. Ace was the biggest hard-ass when it came to his PAs. Didn’t cut them any slack for anything…until Jamie. As far as Ace was concerned, Jamie could do no wrong. Three years later? They’re still together.”
“Okay, but what does that have to do with Anthony and me?”
“Anthony is a lot like Ace. Okay, so technically he’s working for you, not the other way around, but let’s face it, everyone is Anthony’s bitch as far as he’s concerned. Except you.”
“Somehow I don’t think Anthony’s any more willing to take crap from me than he is anyone else.”
“No, I don’t doubt that at all. And I don’t think you’d want to be with a man who did.”
“Definitely not.”
“But I’ve seen Anthony interacting with staffers and your uncle and whoever else comes tromping through at events. I’ve seen him with you around, and I’ve seen him without you around. Jesse, he’s completely different when you’re in the room.”
“How so?”
“It’s hard to explain. He’s just…calmer. Maybe that’s not even the word. Like, in a way he’s more tense, but he’s not quite so riled up and impatient, I guess.” She paused, pursing her lips. “It’s like he has this air about him that everything is the way it should be. And when you’re not there, it’s…not.”
“That doesn’t mean…” Does it?
“Okay, so maybe he’s just relieved you’re within earshot so he knows you’re not getting into trouble.” Her expression turned serious. “But I don’t think so, Jesse. I just…”
Our eyes met.
I swallowed. Then I glanced at my watch. “Shit, we’re gonna be late. We should get moving.”
Ranya nodded and fussed with my sleeves. “Okay, I guess you look presentable enough to be around your man.”
I scowled at her, but when she grinned, I couldn’t help laughing and heat rushed into my cheeks again.
“Now make yourself useful and carry this.” She shoved the garment bag into my hands. “And let’s go.”
“Hey, who’s telling who what to do around here?”
“I just told you.” She shot me a playful glare. “You going to argue with me or carry the suit?”
“Yes, dear,” I said, and we both laughed.
Clothes changed and suit in hand, we went out to my car and left for the day’s events. And even as we carried on with our usual banter on the way through Malibu and into the morning commute, I pretended every mile didn’t make the guilt, apprehension, and anticipation tug harder at my gut.
Because every mile took me closer to the man I shouldn’t have slept with last night.
Chapter Fifteen
Anthony
Today’s event, a visit to a couple of wineries, would be low-key and low-stress. As low-key and low-stress as any event could be, anyway. Invariably, necessary people were late and necessary equipment failed to function, so by ten thirty, I was ready to start committing felonies.
At eleven thirty, Jesse and Ranya arrived. God bless the man, he was always on fucking time. Whether it was because Ranya cracked the whip and kept after him, or—and I strongly suspected this was the case—that was just the way he was, Jesse never showed up late unless it was because of circumstances beyond his control. After some of the candidates I’d worked with in the past, I was more than a little appreciative of chronic punctuality. Even if his presence did do things to my blood pressure that even running his campaign couldn’t do.
And goddamn, he looked good. Real good. Some guys just didn’t wear khakis well, but Jesse certainly did. Then again, I supposed there wasn’t much he couldn’t wear well. He’d rolled his dark blue sleeves to just below his elbows, which was not only a flawlessly casual look for this event, but was also one of my favorite looks on a man. Something about it did me in every damned time. Laid-back but dignified. Giving enough of a fuck to dress appropriately, but not too uptight to relax a little.
But while Jesse was dressed to walk the line between relaxed and not, the tension in his bunched shoulders and taut expression was palpable from across the crowded parking lot. When his eyes darted toward me, that tension went up exponentially in the instant before he broke eye contact in favor of returning his attention to a conversation with Roger.
That’s a bad sign.
I pawned a few responsibilities off on some staffers, freeing me up to slip through the crowd to him. When I was nearly within arm’s reach, Jesse confirmed my suspicion that his tension had everything to do with me: as soon as our eyes met, his spine stiffened, and he pulled in a long breath.
Definitely a bad sign.
“You all right?” I asked.
He chewed his lip, and my heart beat faster. Was that regret I sensed?
“A few too many while we celebrated last night?” Roger asked, grinning as he playfully elbowed his nephew.
Jesse laughed drily. “Yeah, something like that.”
His eyes flicked toward me, and my heart dropped.
“You, um…” I paused, glancing at Roger. To Jesse I said, “You going to be okay tod
ay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said with a shrug. “Listen, it’s…” He also glanced at his uncle before continuing. “It’s about Simone.”
Nerves tangled beneath my rib cage. “Oh?”
“Yeah. There’s an article going around right now that’s really got her upset,” he said. “And I don’t blame her. That was some below-the-belt shit.”
“Is that…” I shifted my weight, glancing at Roger before looking back at Jesse. “Is that all that’s bothering her? I mean, just the article, or the rest of the campaign? Or…?” Don’t make me say it.
“It’s all she’ll admit to,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “But whatever the case, the more she’s in the spotlight on this campaign, the more the media’s going to harp on her. We either need to reduce Simone’s involvement in the campaign, or she and I need to move up our divorce so she can—”
“Jesse!” Roger’s eyes widened, and he glanced at me.
Jesse exhaled. “He knows about the divorce, Roger. And I think for Simone’s sake, we should—”
“Absolutely not.” Roger broke in, shaking his head and damn near elbowing himself between Jesse and me. “That’s career suicide this close to an election.”
“Unfortunately he’s right,” I said. “That, and any move we make will draw attention to her, which will only make things worse.”
Roger shot Jesse that pointed, disapproving look. “Son, the two of you just need to put on a happy face and a united front for a few months. Keep it together, smile for the cameras, and then quietly go your separate ways after you’ve been elected.”
“Is she still agreeable to appear at all?” I asked.
Jesse nodded. “Yes, but whether or not she’ll admit it, there’s no way around it. This campaign is taking its toll.”
I pursed my lips. “I’ll see what I can do. We’ll have to be careful, though. If she suddenly drops off the public radar, or her visibility significantly decreases, people will notice. I can ease her out of the spotlight, but it won’t be anything drastic and it won’t happen overnight.” I offered an apologetic shrug. “That’s the best I can offer without making things worse.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said. “Whatever you can do. Spread out her engagements, keep them to a minimum, anything.”
Roger gave a sharp, exasperated sigh. “You’re handling her with kid gloves. She is a grown woman.”
“I know she is,” Jesse said. “But that doesn’t mean I should just throw her to the wolves and wish her the best of luck.”
Roger opened his mouth to speak, but I put up a hand. “I can rework her schedule,” I said. “Just minor changes, but it’ll take some pressure off Simone.”
He scowled, but Jesse nodded. “Whatever you can do.”
“I’ll look over the calendar this evening,” I said. To Roger I added, “Any changes I make will be subtle. The public won’t even notice.”
“See that they don’t,” Roger growled. He walked off, leaving Jesse and me alone.
As soon as it was just the two of us, with no one nearby except the others milling around the gravel parking lot, my stomach started churning. What to say? What to do? How not to give away that something had happened last night and might—hopefully—happen again in the near future?
I glanced at Jesse, and we both quickly broke eye contact. One long-awaited night together, and now two grown men were reduced to awkward teenagers who couldn’t be left alone without getting uncomfortable. God, maybe last night was a bad idea. Of course it wasn’t a wise one and we’d both known that, but a mistake?
“Jesse.” When he looked at me, I inclined my head and lowered my voice. “Are you okay with everything? After…” My gaze darted to the left, then right, before I looked at him again. “After last night?”
Jesse dropped his gaze and swallowed. “Are you?”
Was I? No, I really wasn’t. Not if I was honest with myself. Any other time in my life, this would be perfect, but the guilt and the secrecy…
I exhaled hard and forced myself to look him in the eye. “I’m not really sure, to be honest.”
“Neither am I,” he said quietly. Then he shook his head. “Anthony, I’m sorry. I…can’t do this.”
My heart stopped. It wasn’t like this was any great shock, but the words sent a ripple of a fight-or-flight-type panic that almost had me reaching for him in spite of our visibility and even while I couldn’t deny I was seriously relieved he’d beaten me to the punch.
Jesse went on. “We can’t. As much as I want to, I’m sorry, Anthony. I want to. Believe me, I do. But with everything…”
I sighed and rubbed my stiff neck. “I understand. You’re not the only one feeling the pressure here.” Any kind of relationship was a bad idea, but I wanted him. I’d had a taste, and every argument against it be damned, I wanted more. But he was right.
“Still,” he said. “I feel like an ass for—”
“Jesse.” I was tempted to put a reassuring hand on his arm, but I didn’t dare make even the most platonic contact. Just having this conversation with people nearby was dangerous enough. “Listen,” I said, almost whispering. “We’re in this campaign until November. We’re working together whether we like it or not. Maybe it’ll be easier if we just call it quits for the time being, and when the election and divorce are over, then…” I let a one-shouldered shrug finish the thought.
“I don’t know if ‘easier’ is the word I’d use.”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, no kidding. But you know what I mean.”
Jesse nodded.
“Now let’s get out there,” I said. “Your public awaits.”
We exchanged halfhearted, uncertain smiles before walking across the parking lot to meet the owner of the winery.
This was for the best. There were no other options. It sucked, but it was the way things needed to be and it would make the rest of this campaign easier on everyone involved.
Easier. Yeah.
Something like that.
* * * *
I thought concentrating was difficult when I wanted to sleep with Jesse, but that was nothing compared to after I’d slept with him. Especially when we weren’t sleeping together again, now or in the foreseeable future, nor would we be apart anytime soon. Events, rallies, dinners, speeches, traveling; every waking hour was spent in each other’s hair and in each other’s way. The tension was as undeniable as we were unavoidable, and his presence teased my senses like the mouthwatering scent of a cigarette whenever I tried to quit smoking.
You’re acting like a lovesick kid. A hormonal one, anyway. Get a grip, Hunter. This campaign won’t run itself.
It certainly wouldn’t run itself, and no matter how insane Jesse drove me, I still had to keep his campaign on the rails.
About two weeks after we’d put a stop to things, while we were on the road—when weren’t we on the damned road?—Jesse had another private dinner with his family at some glitzy restaurant. Since he was mercifully absent for a few hours, about a dozen staffers and I congregated in my hotel room for a campaign strategy meeting.
As everyone wandered into my room, pulling up chairs or sitting on beds, I stopped Greg, one of the unpaid staffers, out in the hall. I handed him a FedEx envelope and some cash. “I need you to make a run downtown,” I said. “Drop this off at one of the all-night shipping places. Overnight service.”
He scowled and his momentary pause suggested he was about to protest, but then he took the envelope. With a muttered curse I probably wasn’t supposed to hear, he turned and left. As he stormed down the hall, he brushed past Ranya, who threw a puzzled glance over her shoulder as the disgruntled college kid left.
“What’s his damage?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Doesn’t like doing bitch errands.”
“Who does?” She eyed me. “Course, he does seem to get the lion’s share of them. Can’t imagine why he might be a little annoyed.”
“Yeah, well…” I glanced around, making sure we were alone. Then I took
her out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind us so the staffers in my room wouldn’t overhear us. Gesturing for her to come closer, I lowered my voice. “Listen, we need to keep an eye on him.” I nodded in the direction Greg had gone. “Lydia’s already aware of what’s going on, and I want you in on it too.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay, what’s up?”
“He’s a plant,” I said, barely whispering.
“A plant? You mean like a mole or something?”
I nodded. “It’s not unusual. I’ve never run a campaign without at least one or two showing up.”
“So why not cut him loose? He’s a volunteer anyway.”
“Because if I do,” I said, “Casey’s camp will just send in another one. As long as this kid’s still on staff, I know where Casey’s eyes and ears are, and I can control what he sees and hears.”
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“Exactly. But not close enough to let him hear important strategy info.” I nodded toward the closed hotel room door. “I don’t want him here for tonight’s meeting. When he gets back, I’ll have you brief him. Feed him some bullshit to take back to Camp Casey.”
Ranya grinned. “Do I get to make up the bullshit?”
I laughed. “Of course.”
Her grin broadened. “This, I can do. Who knew a meeting would end up being more fun than hanging out with Jesse and his family?”
“You blew them off for this meeting?”
“Fuck no. I wasn’t invited. You think those people would dine with the help?”
“And it doesn’t bother you when they snub you?”
Ranya laughed. “Snub me? Oh God. I should thank them for it. Yeah, they think they’re better than me, but because of that, I don’t have to sit through their god-awful family gatherings. Ever heard the phrase ‘they put the fun back in dysfunctional’? Whoever coined that phrase was talking about the Camerons, I fucking know it.”
“You know, you’re probably on to something.”
“Of course I am. Now are we going to have this meeting or not? I need some time to come up with Greg’s bullshit.”
