“That’s not the way to go for you, especially not with him, especially not with your past.”
“Why not? Give me the list.”
“Other than the glaring fact that you can’t trust him, here are the campaign reasons. The secret of your past romance is about to come out. People are going to see you as his second banana/wife/sidekick/lover—whatever. You would be folded into his team and your impact would be diminished to nil. You’d never get out from under him—literally and figuratively.” Sarah paused, and then glared. For emphasis, Mad supposed, so she paid attention.
“Then you’d think about having his babies again. Do you need to repeat that mistake? Don’t let your personal life get in the way of your ambitions. Again.”
She’d heard the words before. Instead of striking fear in her heart this time, what she felt was more like a stab of longing. She turned away. Quickly.
“How could I?”
The door slammed open from the adjoining room, startling them both. Dennis rushed through waving a newspaper.
“Just what I ordered ladies. That old connection at the Herald turned out to be good for something after all. The latest polls.” He stopped and smiled like a tiger. Mad had the impression that he’d just licked his chops. This was one bloodthirsty man. She glanced at Sarah, aware that the woman had effectively sidestepped her question about what she had told Dennis about her past relationship with PJD—for now. The list for later was getting long.
“The question is ‘Of all the candidates currently running for governor, who would you most trust?’ And the answer is 31% for Madeline Grace with PJD in second at 28%! I think we can capitalize on that one—especially if we can dig up some dirt or past potential issues that would drive a wedge into the other candidate’s trust factor—just to make it more of an issue. It doesn’t even matter which candidate it is. It wouldn’t have to be PJD.” He looked directly at Madeline when he said this, as if he read her distaste for the idea on her face—and he probably did since she didn’t bother to hide it.
“I see you got a head start on the polling. Before you even had the job?” Madeline was as impressed as he probably meant her to be.
There was a knock at the door and some men in pale brown overalls and tool belts stood on the threshold. The one with the clipboard spoke.
“We have the electric wall board you ordered, Mr. McBain, ready for installation. I don’t know how you cleared it with hotel management. I expected them to stop me in my tracks down at the loading dock.”
“Right this way, men.” Dennis led them to the wall that separated the suite’s two public rooms, next to the table that held Madeline’s notebook computer and assorted peripherals.
“Yes, Dennis, how did you do all this? More importantly—why?” Madeline had stopped typing and watched the men haul in a six-foot by eight-foot whiteboard with wiring. They plugged in a drill as they prepared to attach it to the wall. She wasn’t sure if she should be more amused at Dennis’s gall or Sarah’s stupefied expression.
“This is the wall we bounce ideas off, the calendar, the timetable, the clock, the bulletin board, and most importantly the scoreboard.” Dennis flashed her a smile and turned to the men. “Did you bring the digital read-out score panel? They approved it, after all—we’ll run an extension from the other room.” They nodded in return, admiration clear on their faces like a faithful servant had for a master.
“What about the stroll to the state house collage…?” Mad asked.
“Yeah. I liked that. Cute. Good for the morale for the little guys. But us grownups need to keep our eyes on the bottom line while we’re telling the troops all is well. We have to know exactly where we stand. We’ll move the collage to the outer office. Or better yet, to the downtown office where the real workers work. Later I’ll get them an electronic scoreboard too.”
“Scoreboard? Electronic?” Sarah finally said something.
“Yeah. What good are polls if we can’t keep score? Between us and our nearest competitor—or heaven forbid—between us and the guy in the lead. I figure we’ll start out weekly and then move into daily polls. Especially if we can get the wires or web-based news polls to buy into our race. That brings me to the next item on the agenda.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Sarah said without a spark of fear.
“Going national. We have a number of hooks. We need to talk about what’s okay. I don’t mind putting them all out there eventually.”
“We can set up a meeting tomorrow.” Sarah turned to her fat, paper-filled organizer and opened it up to the next day, July sixth.
“What’s wrong with now? I don’t have to be anywhere till ten. It’s only eight. It won’t take longer than twenty minutes, will it?” Madeline asked Dennis, anticipating an interesting discussion. She could feel his energy, and though the workmen were a bit noisy, she loved the idea of a scoreboard. Innovative, useful and fun.
“Not unless you’re longwinded.”
Jonathan knocked at the open door, and Madeline watched Dennis look him over and size him up. She figured he would likely underestimate Jonathan until he got to know him better. Squelching her protective instinct, which was showing itself more and more lately—a phenomenon she attributed to Valerie’s influence—she introduced the two men.
“We’re already getting national attention,” Jonathan said. “Jay Leno is actually going to do some jokes—his people called for some information, at least officially. I think they actually wanted to give us a heads up and make sure we were okay with it.” Jonathan sounded astounded at the notion as he walked into the room and plopped into his chair with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“Letterman won’t cut you the same break,” Dennis said.
“Jonathan, what are those papers?” Sarah sounded suspicious, eyeing what looked to Madeline like printouts of photographs.
“Oh, yeah. Leno sent me these pictures to ID the people. They’re pictures from the mayor’s party.” Jon went to hand them to Sarah when both Madeline and Dennis jumped to snatch the papers from him. She got there first. Dennis looked over her shoulder.
“Some photographer got lucky and cashed in big,” Madeline said as she looked at herself looking more like Hollywood than Boston. But she did look like she was having fun. She started thinking spin.
“What was their hook?” Dennis asked Jonathan, who responded with a puzzled look. “Their angle? The caption?” Dennis prodded.
“Oh. Ah, Pulitzer Prize-winning scientist jumps into politics. But is she really just a beauty queen?” He got no further.
“Ouch! This is fucking great. That lays the foundation for the romance story to make you look totally foolish. Someone’s going to trouble to make sure you’re not taken seriously.” Dennis ripped the pictures from her hands and stormed by Jonathan. “Give me the name and number of the person you spoke to,” he shot at Jonathan. Madeline folded her arms, contemplating their next move. She doubted overreacting to a few jokes would be wise. Dennis turned at the door, and his eyes latched onto hers with an almost physical grip.
“Madeline, honey, we may have to get you on that show,” he said.
It would take more than a look to convince her of that. “Why?”
“Image-Building Principle Number One: if they’re painting you in red and you want to be blue, you must appear in blue—literally.”
“Translation please, Clever Dennis.”
“I think you’re right to be concerned about this delay in the press coming out with the romance story.” He paused in his pontificating to ponder. “It means they’re going for impact—setting you up big. I’ll have to work my sources. If the angle is that you’re having an affair with your political opponent, then we have to capitalize on the huge publicity that will cause.
“I’m talking major splash.” He spun around suddenly. “And at the same time, we need to pooh-pooh the story as silly. You’re above all that. You have to be out there spinning the image they’re painting. ‘Isn’t it cute but beside the poin
t’…that kind of thing.”
They all looked at him and then at each other. Madeline spoke. “And we do this by going on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno?”
“Exactly.” He was serious. They all laughed.
“No,” Sarah said. “That’s the last thing we want. We’d be living up to their image. We have to ignore it and minimize it.”
“Sorry, Sarah,” Dennis said. “There’s no way we’ll get the press to back off this angle. It’s too sexy. The more we ignore it, the more they figure we have something to hide and the more speculation we invite,”
“I’ll give it some thought.” Madeline figured he was right and he didn’t even know half of it. Some things were too personal and needed to stay that way. This had to be controlled.
“I agree with Dennis,” Jonathan said. Madeline smiled. That would make everything easier.
Madeline checked her watch. It was eight thirty. She glanced furtively at the candy dish. It wasn’t too early to overdose on chocolate. She drained her coffee in one long gulp, grabbed a fistful of Lindt balls and strode to the door.
“Where are you going?” Sarah frowned. Dennis looked startled.
“Let me get my jacket.” Dennis lost his dramatic persona.
“Don’t bother,” she said to Dennis and then looked at Sarah. “I’ll visit the supermarket tomorrow morning. Right now I have an important unscheduled and unofficial errand to run. I’ll be back in time for breakfast at ten with the Marblehead Garden Club.” She looked back at Dennis. “Meet me there.” She turned on her heel, and barely held herself back from bombing out the door, catching the elevator in a lucky stroke, before they could stop her. Of course they wouldn’t have tried. They knew when not to question her. Clever Dennis would learn. They would trust her and she felt guilty.
But she had to see Peter. They had to straighten things out. Why wasn’t there anything in the paper about her past romance with Peter? She had to talk to him about what was going on. What exactly did the press know about their past romance and where did they get it? Most importantly, what did they know about the breakup? She clamped down on the knowledge that even Peter didn’t know everything. And she was determined that he never would. She was going to Peter’s house right now.
Chapter 7
“I’m confused, damn it! I don’t know what to think of you anymore.” Peter raked his hands through the glistening wet of his hair and glared at her. She’d shaken his cool showing up here. That made Madeline shaky—but still resolved.
“What did you expect after dropping that bomb on me that Rick leaked the story of our past romance to the press? Did you think I’d be pleased with Rick’s true confessions? And why hasn’t the press run with it? Are you playing games?” She pushed her way into his front hall, trying not to look at the scowl on his face.
“I called you to warn you about that bomb so that we—you could put your own spin on it. The sooner we lay the story to rest the better. Then we can get on with the rest of the campaign. Now you’ve come over here and who knows what kind of a stir that will cause.” Peter’s voice sounded more normal—in control. That relieved some of her tension.
“Don’t worry, since the story hasn’t run yet, there’s no crowd of reporters hovering about waiting to pounce—not even one. What else do they know?” Madeline glanced out the window. The fact that the story had not run that morning had them both unnerved.
“There’s no way they know any details about the breakup unless you told them, because I didn’t and no one else knows.” He used his neutral voice, the one she hated. She began pacing in front of the door, glancing out occasionally as if the other shoe was actually going to drop square in the middle of PJD’s city-scale front lawn in Cambridge. Sarah knew, she thought. Sarah knew everything. Even more than Peter knew. But Madeline wasn’t going to tell him that. There would be nothing for her to gain by muddying the waters.
“Calm down. This will be a speed bump. As long as we don’t do anything crazy, like see each other on the QT and carry on an affair, it’ll be ancient history and it’ll die down.” He grinned. She sighed. Time to change the subject since he was now past being his cool self and into toying with her. She was not in the mood. She stopped and looked at him standing there in his towel.
“Sorry for interrupting your shower.” Watching the rivulets of water run down his torso was starting to have an effect on her heart rate. Calm down.
“Sorry, eh? Is that why you called me from your cell phone when I didn’t hear the bell?” The sarcasm dripped from him like the water droplets from his body.
“I could have banged down your door, but then what would your neighbors think?”
“That some crazy lady in a hat and sunglasses was after me.” He stared pointedly. In one sweep of her hand, she removed the offending articles and returned his pointed stare, then resumed her pacing. She had to do something with her sudden energy spike.
“I didn’t want anyone to know it was me. I wasn’t sure if there’d be any press. I parked my car a block away. You didn’t want me to cause a stir, remember?” His brow arched at that and she felt herself turn pink. She hadn’t meant to provoke him, not really.
“Depends on what kind of stir you have in mind.” The tenor of his voice had definitely changed. Now she was in trouble. Tearing her eyes away from his, she looked around. She remembered how much she liked his Beacon Hill-style house in spite of the fact that it had three levels. She smiled when she recalled that the master bedroom and bath were on the third floor and she’d forced him to run all the way down stairs from his shower to answer the door. Time to pick a safe subject.
“Where’s Rick?”
“Lucky for you Rick isn’t up yet.” He stared at her. Suddenly her mouth was dry and she didn’t know what to say.
“Why did you come over here?” He was watching her pace, as usual. They were still in his front hall. He still stood in his towel. The water dripping down his chest slowed. She chastised herself for noticing, but she noticed all right. The faded scar that slashed across his chest bulged over tense muscle. He was still buff. Of course he would be; he had a gym in his basement.
Concentrating, she forced herself to answer his question, but not for him, for herself. Why had she come over here? “We need to straighten things out between us. We need to agree a hundred percent on the whole story, and we need to be honest with ourselves and each other—and we need to most of all put everything personal aside until after the election.” She stopped in front of him, out of breath from her rushed speech.
“Oh, that’s all.” He looked skeptical. She meant what she said and he knew it. He folded his arms across his chest and stared for a minute. Then he turned, and as he walked away from her, he swept the towel from his waist and mopped it through his wet hair before tossing it as he climbed the stairs.
“Come on up.” He tossed the command over his shoulder as if it was the last thing he expected, so she followed him.
“Not fitting into the neat little compartment you have for me, am I?” she said as she stood on the threshold of his bedroom door. Her smile wasn’t enough to soften the challenging comment.
“Speaking of compartments.” He arched one brow.
“Don’t try to intimidate me with sex.”
“If you think of it as intimidating then your love life is worse than I thought.”
“Be serious, Peter.”
“I am.”
Her smile escaped. That was progress. He was acutely aware of her and without his towel to hide his reaction. She looked away. He decided to play.
“Okay. Have it your way. We can play games.” She said and looked back at him.
“Now you’re talking.”
“You think you’re the master?” Her chin rose at that and she stared at his eyes. He noticed her color was up slightly.
“Compared to you?”
“You’re trying too hard to push my buttons.”
“Then it should be easy for you to win the game. All you have t
o do is stay cool.” He couldn’t resist giving her his grin. Her predictable spikes of emotion could tip the game either way. It was tough to tell with her. That was one of the things that made playing with her so much fun. She put her hands on her hips. Uh oh.
“This isn’t funny. You’re way off base.”
“I agree completely. My aim is way off.” The quelling look from Madeline did nothing to quell him.
“You’re not going to win. I’m better at playing ball than you think,” Mad said.
He arched his brow at the change of tactic. He was having too much fun to worry about it, but he knew better than to crack a smile at this juncture.
“Don’t worry, I’m prepared to lose. It’s all in how you play the game anyway, right?” He was too solemn and she was too fast. The sting of the slap was muted by his laughter as he caught her wrist before she could turn away.
“Let go. I’m not going to apologize. You deserved that.”
“That and more. I’m a real cad. Can’t imagine what I was thinking talking sex with you as you stand here staring at me while I’m stark naked in the middle of my bedroom.” She turned her head, to hide her sudden embarrassment, he was sure. He was also sure she would have walked out the door if he hadn’t maintained his grip on her wrist. He wasn’t giving up this easy.
“Okay. Okay. Uncle. I’m finished playing.”
“No forfeiting allowed. You already showed up.”
“Deal with it.” No smile accompanied her words. That only ratcheted up the heat in his body. She noticed. She licked her lips.
“Do that again and I will kiss you.” He didn’t mean to sound as if he were threatening murder.
“Empty threat?” Her chin was up again. He tugged her closer.
“Dare?”
She stared. He stared back. For a long time.
“Do it then.” It was a regal command as if she were ordering her own execution.
With excruciating deliberation, she ran her tongue around the plump rim of her pink lips.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 9
