The Power and the Glory

by Kimberly Lang

  The worst part of this situation wasn’t the public humiliation or even the irritation she could tell Brady Marshall was keeping in check. No, the worst part was the fact that part of her didn’t mind being handcuffed to him. He wasn’t really her usual type … But on sheer looks alone, if she’d been asked to describe the kind of man she’d like to spend some quality time handcuffed to, Brady Marshall would do nicely. And now that they were alone … Granted, he kept looking at her like she belonged in a carnival side show, but her brain kept going to inappropriate places with those handcuffs. It was ridiculous, but that didn’t stop the little tingly feeling low in her belly.

  The silence was deafening. Aspyn sat on the table, letting her shoes fall off and her legs swing, and tried to relax the arm attached to his. To her surprise, Brady Marshall joined her on the table, allowing their hands to rest on the battered Formica top and releasing the strain caused by being cuffed to someone that much taller.

  “How do you know it’s safe to be left alone in here with me?” she asked. “For all you know, I could be a martial arts expert or something.”

  One dark blond brow went up as he took a long lazy look from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. It sent heat rushing to her skin. “Are you?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted, “but you didn’t know that.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked briefly. “Given the alternatives, it was a chance I was willing to take. And Robert has known me for years. He wouldn’t have left you in here otherwise. I assure you you’re in no danger from me at all.”

  Why did that feel a bit like an insult? “Good to know.”

  “Miss Breedlove—”

  “Aspyn,” she corrected.

  That got her another of those side-show-oddity looks. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t like to be called Miss Breedlove. My name is Aspyn.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Like the tree?”

  She nodded. “Like the tree. Only it’s spelled with a ‘y’ instead of an ‘e.’” He doesn’t care about the spelling, you idiot.

  Understanding lit up his face, and he started to laugh. The laugh completely transformed his face, making him seem more real and less like a bureaucrat. The smile caused cute little crinkles to appear around the corners of his eyes. The complete change in demeanor was devastating to nerves already on high alert and helped blunt the force of having her name laughed at. “Now I understand why your friend was shouting something about talking to a tree as he ran off. I thought he was just crazy.”

  He wasn’t laughing at me. That made her feel a little better. “He’s not my friend. And I don’t think Kirby’s officially crazy, just a little overeager.” She offered him a small smile. “I am really sorry about this, Mr. Marshall.”

  “All things considered, I think you should call me Brady.” His mood seemed to be improving, and the non-frustrated, nonexasperated Brady Marshall was a completely different person.

  “Okay, Brady.” She held out her hand to shake his, realizing a second too late that would be impossible for him. She let their hands rest on the table again and settled for, “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too, although I wish the circumstances were bit different.” A smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I need to let my lunch date know I’m going to be late.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need my phone.” There was definitely a laugh behind his voice, but she didn’t get the joke.

  “I’m right-handed.” He indicated the cuffs that held them together.

  She still didn’t quite understand.

  “So,” he continued, “my phone is in my right pants pocket.”

  Understanding dawned. He couldn’t reach it with his left hand, and if his right hand went into his pocket, her hand was going along for the ride.

  “Oh.” She felt her face heat. “Well, that’s a little more personal than I thought we’d get today.”

  Amazingly enough, he winked at her. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re on a first name basis already.”

  She averted her eyes and tried to look unconcerned. Her arm brushed against his hip and her hand lightly touched his thigh as Brady slid his hand into his pocket—only to be stopped short wrist-deep by the cuffs. No amount of wiggling and maneuvering helped. The phone was deeper in his pocket than he could reach, but the pocket wasn’t wide enough for both their hands and the cuffs to fit inside.

  Brady cursed under his breath. “Do you mind just reaching in there and getting it?”

  “Are you serious?” He wanted her to stick her hand down his pants? No, just in his pocket, she corrected.

  As if in answer, his phone started to ring.

  Her face felt like it was on fire and she cleared her throat. No big deal. We’re adults. It’s a strange situation and we must work together. That’s it.

  But sticking her hand in this man’s pocket …?

  Brady cleared his throat as a hint and angled his body toward hers as the phone continued to ring.

  It was a bit of a contortionist’s trick, causing her to twist her hand at an odd angle to slide it inside his warm pocket. She had to step close to him to accomplish the maneuver and being that close was quite overwhelming to her system.

  She was careful to keep her hand as far to the outside as possible, but Aspyn couldn’t help but notice the strong ridge of muscle that ran down his thigh. What on earth did he do in his spare time to get thighs like that?

  Thankfully her fingers found the phone a second later, and she pulled it out quickly before her entire body combusted from embarrassment. Or other causes.

  Brady’s smile as she handed over the phone didn’t help, and she turned away as he answered in a symbolic attempt to give him privacy. She was the one, though, that really needed that time to regain her composure. It was all she could do not to fan her face.

  She overheard Brady laughingly tell someone he’d been unexpectedly detained and make a promise to explain and reschedule later.

  “You okay, Aspyn?” he asked, putting his phone in his left pocket this time.

  Pull it together. “I’m fine.” For someone who practically—if accidentally—just got to second base. “I’m sorry to mess up your lunch plans.”

  “I believe you when you say this wasn’t your idea. You might want to inform—Kirby, was it?—that the next person he handcuffs might not be as understanding.”

  “Does this mean you won’t press charges?” Being arrested for trespassing or disturbing the peace—the normal charges protestors faced—was one thing. Unlawful restraint of a senator’s son was a whole new level of trouble. And there was no way a judge would believe she was just an innocent bystander.

  “Hadn’t planned on it.”

  Relief washed over her. “Thank you. I promise I will personally wring Kirby’s neck for this.”

  “I just don’t know what he hoped to accomplish by it.”

  “It got your attention, didn’t it?” Brady looked at her in surprise. “Do you know how hard it is to get someone’s attention in this town? Especially when you’re not already someone important?”

  “I can imagine. But that justifies handcuffing people because …”

  She didn’t bother to try to hold back her frustration. “Our whole lives, we’re told to get involved, only to find out that no one really wants us to. We’re told to make our voices heard, but no one seems to be listening. And it’s not just this protest or even just this organization. Most of us have been activists for years, and we found out pretty early on that no one really wants to hear what we have to say.”

  Brady nodded slowly. “I can imagine that’s frustrating.”

  “Oh, it’s more than frustrating,” she snapped at his patronizing tone before she could stop herself.

  “But a protest doesn’t open lines of communication, either. It disintegrates into a matter of who can shout the loudest.”

  “But,” she countered, “we have to hope if we shout loud enough
and long enough, someone might eventually hear us, because what we’re saying needs to be heard. Have you seen what mountaintop mining does to Appalachia? What a rain forest looks like after it’s been cleared? Have you ever cleaned oil off seabirds?” Brady shook his head. “Well, I have. I know in your mind that might not justify this—” she shook their joined hands “—but I understand Kirby’s intention. I don’t approve, but I see his rationale and what motivated him.”

  He fell silent for a moment and Aspyn began to worry a little. Maybe she’d gone overboard. “I’ll put in a good word for you with Louise. It won’t get you a meeting with the senator, but it might—and I stress might—get you a meeting with someone on the staff.”

  “You’d do that?” Amazed didn’t even begin to describe how she felt.

  “Sure. But not because of this stunt,” he clarified. “I don’t want people thinking this is a good idea.”

  “Of course not. Thank you.”

  His face softened and those green eyes held dangerous warmth. “I can’t guarantee anything, but someone with your passion and sincerity deserves a chance.”

  Wow. Aspyn didn’t know which was more shocking—the idea she’d managed to at least get a foot in the door or the fact Brady Marshall thought she was passionate and sincere. The compliment tickled her down to her toes.

  She’d seen Brady on TV campaigning with his father, and he always seemed rather aloof and unapproachable. This man, though, was so not what she expected. When he smiled at her again, the tickle became a tingle, and the reminder she was handcuffed to him and alone in a windowless room came rushing back.

  Complete with full-color visuals.

  She cleared her throat. “I, um—”

  Officer Richards returned then, sparing her from saying something stupid. “We get more sit-ins than handcuffing, so I don’t get to use these much.” He worked the giant handles experimentally.

  Brady stood and pulled up the sleeve of his coat and unbuttoned his cuff to roll it back out of the way. “Not exactly the confidence I was hoping for. I’d like to keep my wrist attached.”

  The officer just grinned. “Who’s first?”

  “Ladies first.” Brady moved their arms to the center of the table. “Aspyn?”

  She pushed up her sleeve and slid her bracelets up, away from the metal cuff. “I’m not sure I want to be first. I like my wrist, too.”

  Despite the banter between the men, Officer Richards handled the bolt cutters with ease and soon her wrist was free. She rubbed the red mark circling her skin as another squeeze of the enormous handles let Brady pull his wrist free as well.

  Brady moved on immediately, rebuttoning his cuff and shaking the officer’s hand. Whatever “moment” they’d shared, it was over now, and Brady was back to the rather stiff and aloof man she’d jumped in an elevator with. It seemed a shame, like a loss. “Thanks. Unless you need something from me …” Officer Richards shook his head. “Good. Bye, Robert. Aspyn, it’s been … interesting meeting you.”

  “And you. I hope the rest of your day is uneventful.”

  “That would be nice.” Then Brady was gone, and the room felt big and empty.

  Aspyn grabbed her bag and inched toward the door. “Have a nice day, Officer—”

  “Not so fast.”

  Thirty uncomfortable minutes later, Aspyn was able to leave with Officer Richards’s warnings still ringing in her ears. The man certainly didn’t like scenes in his building or on the steps.

  Most of the protestors had dispersed and only a few hard-core activists remained with Jackie, the head of the People’s Planet Initiative and the protest organizer. Even they seemed to have lost much of their energy, though. She waved as she came down the steps, and Jackie crossed the street to meet her. “I videoed the whole thing. It was brilliant. Your parents are going to be so proud.”

  “You think?” That brought a smile to her face. Living up to her legacy didn’t seem quite so daunting at the moment.

  “I know. I’ll upload it and you can send them the link.”

  “They’re still doing recovery in Haiti. They’re not exactly in a WiFi hotspot most of the time.”

  “Well, you’ll be able to show it to them eventually. Their little girl’s first time.” She held up the small video camera. “So, Aspyn Breedlove, how did it feel to leave a protest in handcuffs?”

  She frowned into the camera. “It wasn’t like that, Jackie. It was a stupid stunt, and Kirby was way out of line.”

  “But you got someone’s attention. That’s a great first step.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s made me hopeful. Eventually, maybe someone will start listening to us. That’s all I really want.” Jackie raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay,” Aspen corrected, “so it’s the start of what I want—what we all want. Someone to actually listen to us.”

  Jackie turned off the camera. “Go on home. You’ve done enough here today.”

  Aspyn thought about Brady’s offer to help. “We’ll see, I guess.” At Jackie’s confused look, she added, “I’ll explain later.” No sense getting into any of that and getting anyone’s hopes up until it came to pass.

  As she headed to the Metro station, the absurdity of the day finally hit her. In all honesty, there wasn’t that much to explain—beyond the fact she’d found out that Brady Marshall was devastating up close, and she certainly wasn’t sharing that information with the public. Even if she happened to get a meeting with someone in his dad’s office, she still couldn’t share the how. Not that anyone would believe her anyway …

  She settled into the seat for the trip out of the city, proud of herself for what little she might have managed to accomplish today. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. One step at a time.

  The familiar sway and rattle of the train lulled her and she closed her eyes. Brady Marshall’s face was waiting for her. A little sigh escaped before she could help it. But then that warm feeling returned to her chest.

  She was passionate. She was sincere.

  And forty-eight hours later, she was an Internet phenomenon.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “YOU getting handcuffed to a hippie is just priceless. I took a screen shot and made it the wallpaper on my desktop. And Finn had one of his editing guys recut and redub it and it’s hysterical. I’ll send you the video.”

  Brady could barely understand Ethan through the laughter. He leaned his head against the seat back as the limo inched its way through traffic and pinched the bridge of his nose to fight back the rapidly growing headache.

  This was the final straw. He wasn’t answering his phone again today. Brady had already dealt with the press, his grandparents and the chair of the party’s Senatorial Reelection Committee because some half-cracked tree-hugger decided to pull a stupid stunt. A video of the event had gone viral overnight, and the voice-over of Aspyn saying, “It’s all I want … Someone to actually listen to us,” had become a rallying cry for every frustrated activist in the country. By Monday, she was everywhere on the Internet; by Tuesday, the press had really caught on and doubled-down on their coverage. The bloggers and pundits were eating it up, and Aspyn was now the figurehead of a movement that hadn’t existed three days ago.

  And he’d been dragged into it as the symbol of old-school, establishment politics. It didn’t seem to matter he wasn’t a politician; he could listen all day long and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. As a Marshall, his name alone was all they needed to make their point.

  He’d be drawing on what little patience he had left just to get through the meeting with his father and the new campaign consultants. He had none to spare for his brothers—either of them. “It’s not half as interesting as the talking heads make it out to be.”

  “But it’s still funny. Oh, and Lily wants me to remind you that at least she never made the handcuffed ‘walk of shame’ on the national news.”

  Ethan’s fiancée had an extensive juvenile record that, for the most part, they’d managed to keep from becoming blog fodd
er. Not that Ethan cared one way or the other—not who knew about Lily’s past nor what trouble it might cause politically to have a former delinquent in the family. Lily was nice enough, and he was glad his brother was happy, but she’d caused more than one headache for him already. “Is there an actual purpose for your call, Ethan?”

  “Not really.” Brady could almost hear Ethan’s shrug. “Just wanted to annoy you.”

  “You succeeded.”

  “So, out of curiosity, did you listen to her?”

  “Sort of. I told her I’d try to get her a meeting with one of the staffers. She seemed happy enough with that until all this broke loose.”

  “She’s tapped into something in the people’s psyche. You’re practically getting wall-to-wall coverage.”

  Like he didn’t know that already. “People are frustrated with the system. What’s new about that? On an otherwise slow news day, a pretty girl riding Internet-fueled fame makes the headlines. This will pass.” Hopefully very soon.

  “So you think she’s pretty?”

  Sometimes Ethan could display stunning acts of immaturity strictly to try to get a rise out of him. Today was not a good day to take the bait. “Does it matter?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d go for the whole antiestablishment, counterculture type. She falls outside your norm—and you never fall outside your norm.”

  The headache behind his eyes throbbed. “Must you be a complete idiot all the time?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because you’re being an idiot.” The limo pulled to a stop at his father’s town house. “And I now have to go do damage control on this. Campaign staff should not be getting more air time than the candidate.”