Life of the Party

by Kris Fletcher

  In any case, she had grown adept at paying attention to the demands that were necessary and tuning out the rest. Which was why she was certain she could ignore the little pulse spikes that hit whenever she was within breathing distance of Cole. So what that his pheromones seemed to be directly tied to her lust button? She had learned how to manage pain, awkwardness, and a foot that had become as graceful as a bump on a log, as Margie would say. She could handle a few weeks of walking around feeling like she’d been plugged into an electrical outlet.

  But when she wasn’t occupied with reciting the names of the state capitals to distract her from the scent of Cole’s aftershave, she was busy taking mental notes on the running of the campaign. Stuffing envelopes kept her hands occupied but her eyes and ears and brain were even busier as she learned who was in charge, who got things done, and who didn’t want her around. She might not know a ton about political races, but she was intimately acquainted with the politics of relationships. In her opinion, getting things done depended very little on the first and a whole whackload on the second.

  At the end of week two, Allison set a couple of papers on the table where Jenna huddled behind her brochures.

  “Here,” she said. “I need these press releases proofed.”

  Jenna couldn’t decide what was more pathetic: the fact that proofreading was a step up, or the undeniable fact that she was ridiculously pleased to have been asked.

  During week three, Cole had two fund-raising events—a mingle with the candidate thing at a local restaurant, and a wing night at a pub. Jenna wasn’t asked to work at either of them. Not a problem. She understood that her role was to stay in the background. She could learn almost everything she needed to know about how the events were run simply by keeping her ears open and her mouth shut.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t shoot off an e-mail when the situation called for it.

  Two days after she hit SEND, the hand offering her the latest pages to proof was attached, not to Allison, but to Cole.

  “Hey,” he said. “I hear you’ve become the top editor in the office.”

  “Hardly.” She took the papers carefully so as not to make actual contact. “Allison is doing a great job writing the stuff. Everything that’s come my way has been really clean and well edited. I’ve caught very few problems.”

  “Yeah, but you caught the one that mattered.”

  The one that . . . She ran a mental check of the last few items she’d reviewed. Something clicked. “The library talk.”

  He crossed his arms and waited, a slight smile teasing her from the corner of his mouth.

  “There was something in that about you only discovering the true value of libraries when you were an adult.”

  “And you flagged it as sounding unbelievable.”

  “Well, yeah. Because you’re a lawyer, and lawyers are usually bookworms. Plus, just last week I heard you say something about a tesseract to Ram, and even though those are a real thing, the only reason most people know about them is from A Wrinkle in Time. You might be young at heart but I highly doubt you picked that up last week for pleasure reading.”

  It wasn’t until she’d finished that she realized she had just essentially told him that she was paying close attention to everything he said.

  God, please don’t let her be blushing.

  “Of course, maybe I pegged you totally wrong and you’re more of a movies over books guy.” Her only hope of getting through this was to go ultra-cool. “In which case I’m going to say, get thee behind me, Satan, because you have not truly experienced Harry Potter until you have read all seven books. Even the fifth one, which is so damned dull for the first hundred pages that I started rooting for the Death Eaters.”

  Oh God. If she dug this hole any deeper for herself, she might as well crawl into it and pray that a Dementor would come along and remove her soul.

  Cole frowned. “Hang on. Can you back up for a second there?”

  A total redo would be a lot more appealing, but she would take what she could get.”Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure how we jumped from A Wrinkle in Time to Harry Potter. Was there a ring involved? Hobbits, maybe?”

  “I think we used the Force.”

  At that, his eyes crinkled as if she’d told the most delightful joke in the history of the universe, wrinkled or not.

  “The point is—” he began, but she jumped in before he could finish.

  “The library talk was a test.”

  “You could call it that.”

  “I assume I passed.”

  “You could say that as well.”

  “So I might be allowed to write a couple of trial press releases on my own soon?”

  “I think there’s a strong probability of that after the primary.”

  She was ridiculously pleased—until she realized that there was probably more behind his lingering at her end of the table.

  “That, um, wasn’t why you brought these over in person, all the way from the other side of the room.” She tapped the pages. “Was it?”

  “Nope.”

  “The e-mail?”

  “Yep.”

  She sighed and swung slowly back and forth in her chair. “Allison is pissed, isn’t she.”

  She didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. What was the point when she already knew the answer? She’d pushed too hard, too fast. Story of her life. Someday she was going to learn, but it looked as though that day was still a long way off.

  “Look,” she said, “I wasn’t trying to be critical. On the whole, I think things here are very well organized. But if you’re trying to raise money, it wouldn’t hurt to—”

  “Jenna.” He fixed her with an indulgent smile. “Allison loved your suggestions.”

  “She did?”

  Oh, that was great. Excellent way to appear confident in front of . . . in front of . . .

  In front of a future potential reference. Right. That was the only reason his opinion should matter.

  She tore her gaze away from his face, focusing instead on his blue dotted tie, swinging softly as he braced his palms against the table and leaned in her direction. “I mean—that’s great. Glad I didn’t step on any toes.”

  “On the contrary. Allison wants you to work with Aubrey on the fundraiser at the White Tail at the end of the month. It’s going to be a big one, so it’s going to need extra help anyway.”

  Jenna was on the verge of agreeing, doing the automatic good-girl thing and saying yes, of course, no problem, but at the last second she stopped herself.

  “I’d love to,” she said slowly. “But do you know what, exactly, I’ll be doing?”

  “I didn’t ask. Is there a problem? Bad timing?”

  “No. Not at all. But the thing is—”

  “The thing is,” he interrupted, “you need to make sure you’re doing something that you can put on your résumé.”

  “Thank you for saying it in a way that makes me sound less mercenary.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Some volunteers need pizza and wings, some need me to translate their wishes into candidate-speak. We aim to please.”

  “Very perceptive of you.”

  “Very honest of you.”

  “I will absolutely work on the White Tail night,” she said. “Gladly. I don’t begrudge the time, or the work. I never would have done this on my own, but I think you could do a good job as mayor, and I’m enjoying my time here.” Which she didn’t even realize was true until the words slipped out. She would never have believed it, but she was enjoying this. Getting to know the others. Being part of a team.

  Sneaking peeks at Cole’s ass when he wasn’t looking.

  “But you need more.”

  Hell yeah, she wanted more. She wanted to reach across the desk and grab his tie, then use it to drag him forward so she c
ould plant one on him. One long, hot kiss that began at the corner of his mouth where his smiles started and followed the path of joy from there.

  Except she wasn’t supposed to be thinking like that.

  “I’d like the chance to do something that would be useful for both of us.”

  There. That didn’t sound too self-serving.

  “Unless I need to pass any more tests, of course.”

  “Far as I know, you’ve made it through everything with flying colors.”

  “Oh, goody. And I didn’t even have to stay up all night cramming for the final.”

  This time he did burst out laughing, rich and full and loud enough that all activity came to a momentary halt while the half dozen people in the room turned to stare at him.

  At them.

  She was pretty damned sure that Cole totally missed the expression crossing many of the faces in the room. They went from curiosity to so that’s how it is in less time that it would take for Harry Potter to whip out his wand.

  Great. It wasn’t enough that she had to convince everyone she wasn’t a minion of her father. Now they would all think that the reason Cole had allowed her on board was because she was sleeping with him.

  She wanted to crawl beneath the table. Instead, she forced herself to stay exactly where she was, returning their gazes with a steady nothing to see here look that had many of them turning slightly pink as they dragged their attention elsewhere.

  Or, more likely, as they pretended to do that.

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said, totally unaware that his entire key staff now suspected that Jenna was doing their candidate. Weren’t politicians supposed to be good at picking up undercurrents? Because Cole sure as hell was doing the Captain Oblivious thing.

  And if he went to bat for her now, it would only confirm what everyone suspected.

  “No. It’s okay. I don’t want to circumvent the usual timeline.” Well, actually, she did, but she could learn to live with that. “As long as I know that there will be different chores and challenges on the horizon, that’s good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” And you had better appreciate it, buddy.

  “Okay, then. I’ll tell Aubrey to copy you in on the plans, and she’ll bring you up to speed.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “But I need you to explain something. In the e-mail, you said we should have hosts at events. We already have someone from the team there, usually Allison, to greet everyone and run interference. Is there something else she should be doing?”

  “It’s not that. Allison does that very well, and you need to continue that. But the problem is that you have the same people showing up to each event. You need to approach your big supporters and say, ‘I’m having a wine and cheese at the White Tail at the end of the month. Would you be willing to extend the invitation to people you know, and be there to make sure they have a good time?’ That way you’re going to have at least some new people each time. New people means new pockets and new votes.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “And make sure you’re varying the locations. You tend to have most of your events in Eagle Heights or Parkdale.”

  “Because those are closest to the university and downtown. They’re my strongest base.”

  “Absolutely. But you still need to reach out to other areas. You can’t convince the voters in, say, Brookside that you’re on their side if you never show up there.”

  “I’ve gone house to house.”

  “They have an issue with the fire department.”

  “Right. They say that ever since Tadeson consolidated the two east side fire stations, it takes too long for firefighters to get to them.”

  “So what are you doing to show them you have a plan to fix that?” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me it’s in your speeches. I know it is. I proofed them. But you need to show people, not just tell them.”

  “How do you suggest I do that?”

  “Step one would be spending more time there. Step two—I don’t know yet. But there are some excellent brains on this team. They’ll have an idea.”

  He nodded, slowly, as if mulling over her words. She was okay with that. It erased some of the confidence from his demeanor and replaced it with thoughtfulness, like he was turning it over and examining it from every angle. The lawyer look.

  To this point, her dealings with lawyers had left her less than inclined to think fondly of them. But on Cole, it looked good.

  “How do you know these things?”

  His question came at her out of the blue. Partly because it was so unexpected, and partly—damn—because she’d been busy imagining him in just his legal briefs.

  “Don’t tell me you learned it at your father’s knee,” he continued. “You were too young. And unless I miss my guess, you haven’t spent a lot of time studying campaign strategy.”

  “Right on both counts.”

  “But I get the feeling you’re speaking from experience.”

  Crap.

  “I guess I am.”

  One eyebrow arched. “Continue.”

  She really didn’t want to go back there. Really didn’t want to let him know she was drawing from a time in her life that so many folks would dismiss as fluff and extravagance. Not to mention her near-physical aversion to being associated with Kendall in any way, shape, or form.

  But the fact was, she had learned some things. She might not want any connection to her time with Kendall on her résumé, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pass on the knowledge she’d picked up.

  “Back when I was married, I organized a lot of charity events. You know. The socialite thing.” She forced a laugh. “You probably think it was nonstop pedicures and Botox parties, and yeah, there were days like that. But—”

  “I never thought that.”

  She glanced up at him, braced for—what? A laugh? Condescension? Pity?

  Instead, all she saw on his face was compassion.

  “I have a feeling,” he said quietly, “that you were never a big fan of pedicures and Botox parties.”

  “Well . . . the pedis were nice.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Honest to a fault, aren’t you, Just Jenna?”

  “Hiding things never struck me as a great strategy for success.”

  “Wonder where you learned that one.”

  “I guess maybe I was old enough to pick up a few things at my father’s knee.”

  “And I never would have predicted that I would ever say Rob Elias was a great role model.” His laugh was short this time, but no less enticing. “Guess there’s a first time for everything after all.”

  At that point, Ram called for him. With a quick nod, Cole sauntered across the room. Jenna dragged her attention back from his departing backside and forced herself to focus on the pages he had given her.

  A first time for everything. She had to agree.

  Because never in a million years would she have believed that she, of all people, could be drooling over a politician.

  ***

  Cole lost count of how many doors he knocked on while gearing up for the primary. He stopped trying to track how many hands he shook, or fund-raisers he appeared at, or signs he spotted on lawns. It reached the point where he didn’t dare look further ahead than the next few hours, because if he did, he had a suspicion he would react like he had when he was a kid and the Wicked Witch of the West unleashed her flying monkeys: grab the closest blanket and hide under it.

  He didn’t want to walk around constantly braced for the tasks ahead. It couldn’t be healthy. It definitely made it almost impossible to find any joy in the moment—not a great strategy when a guy was supposed to be inspiring confidence in others. When he finished talking to someone, they were supposed to walk away feeling empowered and encouraged, not like t
hey had just escaped from someone going down for the last time.

  It wasn’t until he caught himself yanking a shirt out of the washing machine and wondering if he could simply put it on damp and hit the road that he realized he was reliving his corporate days.

  He tossed the shirt into the dryer, poured a coffee, and made himself sit down. No notepad. No laptop. No news station playing in the background. Just him and his breathing and his thoughts.

  He couldn’t make time stand still. But he damned well wasn’t going back down Hyper Road.

  So when Ram put up a sign in the office with a countdown to the primary, Cole asked—nicely—if he could take it down. When Allison started answering phones with a chirpy “September thirteenth is Primary Day,” he asked her to stop. And when Aubrey asked about post-primary dates for events, he went to the giant calendar on the bulletin board and put a huge red X over September 14.

  There would, he hoped, be many functions and phone calls and interviews after that day. But September 14 became the carrot he held out to himself. He was going to take the whole day off and do nothing but sleep. If he did force himself out of bed, it would only to binge-watch the last season of Game of Thrones before people killed him because he had forbidden them to reveal the ending in his presence. He definitely wasn’t going to get dressed.

  If nothing else, it would be a day in which he wouldn’t have to wonder how to keep himself from watching Jenna.

  Her final semester of classes had begun, cutting into her hours on the campaign, but it didn’t matter. Lately, she seemed to be in every corner and conversation of the office. She was there in person, buzzing between desks and phones in those flippy little skirts that floated and swirled and practically waved to him. Or she was behind the latest strategy that Allison and Ram were discussing. Or she was in the back of his mind as he greeted the host of a fund-raiser—or as Tim reported on the contributions, which, just as Jenna had predicted, had started to climb when they made that tweak to their system.