by Amy Faye
"You're absolutely right. But don't lie to yourself. She's getting in your head. If you're alright with that, then you're alright with it. But don't pretend it's not true. I'm not an idiot, Adam. Don't treat me like one."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maybe, Linda thought, she was over thinking things. Adam had survived everything up to this point. Why wouldn't he be able to get past a little interview?
He didn't seem to be the least bit worried about it, either. Maybe he knew something she didn't. Most politicians, like anyone who had to guess at the future, were gamblers. They thought they knew how the world worked, but in the end they were just guessing.
There were a few, though, who defied classification. They were gamblers just like any of their peers, but somehow, over and over, they proved to gamble right. If it's all random chance, there's no such thing as skill, no matter what anyone tells you.
But when there's a clear pattern, when the same person consistently comes out on top… well, that's a different story altogether. That's a situation where it's undeniably the result of some skill, even if that seems completely impossible.
Adam Quinn had been one of those figures in the tech world. He'd been one of those in the tumultuous world of television personalities. He'd come out on top of a thousand situations that could have turned bad, like an expert hand kayaking through white water rapids. If he wasn't worried, then she shouldn't be.
But Adam didn't pay her to make rationalizations about why she didn't need to do her job. Her job was to figure out options to protect the candidate from himself. She didn't get to vacate that responsibility because he was, by all outside indicators, immune to hurting himself.
So she was sitting at a diner, the sun long-since down, staring at a notebook with scribbled notes. Nothing that would be worth saving so far.
She could let him do his thing. That was a given, though. Whatever recommendations she gave, Adam would ultimately make the decision. She wrote it down anyways. Writing down ideas is like kick-starting an engine. It might take a half-dozen tries, but eventually the idea engine sputters to life and she'll figure something out.
He's got to demonstrate that he can make good decisions. Safe decisions. He's got a dangerous edge, and that's good. Not to mention sexy, she added. She didn't write that part down.
But as much as people were attracted to dangerous ideas, they wanted to know that they weren't personally in danger. They wanted to hedge their bets. Never go all-in, and never go into a room you can't leave again. Look, measure, then leap.
It was strange, because so few people were able to apply the same standards in their own life. But when it came to making a decision like who to elect to the Presidency, suddenly they made decisions on a thousand little signals that they wouldn't even have been able to explain if you tried to pay them for their insight.
That, and a thousand things that they would insist had nothing to do with the decision, as well. Like how good-looking the candidate is. How much he looks like someone that's in charge. How much he pays for his suits. How mean they think he probably is.
Nobody thought Adam Quinn was mean, which was a blessing in and of itself. But hard? Sure. Dangerous? Definitely. He was the picture of dangerous behavior. Thrill-seeking, unpredictable… He was one part James Bond, one part Thomas Edison.
A difficult combination to resist for anyone. Which was exactly his problem. Nobody resisted. Nobody wanted to resist. Hell, he was the one who had to resist. His animal magnetism had already gotten him into plenty of trouble with the sort of people that you don't want to have trouble with.
As an eccentric billionaire, it was cute. It sold magazines, sold advertising time on the evening news. Because it was a ratings magnet, and that's all it was. Nobody was going to throw their computer out because they didn't like the man selling them.
People didn't vote for assholes for President. At least, they didn't vote for someone they suspected of being an asshole. Usually, anyone hoping to run for President knows where they can and cannot be an asshole. Adam seemed to be testing where the line was, and that was dangerous.
So how could he demonstrate that he could keep his snake in his pants? Well, if he publicly turned someone down… that could be something. And it would be newsworthy. But it would look like a publicity stunt. Which might hurt the believability of it, if they weren't careful.
Then you could give him a reason that he wouldn't. Gay? Not a chance. Nobody would believe it, and it would be a lie.
Another idea flashed through her head, as the door opened, blowing a cold November wind through the diner. If he were in a relationship… well, it would work.
Someone settled down on the opposite side of the table from her.
"You mind if I sit?"
Tom Delaney rubbed his chin and unzipped his coat before she could respond, and she knew that he wasn't really asking so much as telling. And she knew that she wasn't going to do anything about it.
"Good," he said, without waiting for an answer. "Because we need to talk."
Chapter Thirty
Linda had to admit that he had surprised her by showing up. The second time in two days, now, that he'd done it. He should've kept himself to himself. Both times. But even though she was supposed to be immune to surprises, she'd been getting them fairly consistently since Thursday and it was starting to look like a problem.
"Is this absolutely necessary, Tom?"
He smiles and rubs his three-day growth of beard. "I wonder."
Linda stared for a long time. If it wasn't, then move on. If it was, then get along with it.
"Well, I can see you're not leaving. You want me to flag the waitress down and have her get you something?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
Linda turned just in time to see the young woman, neon-red hair pulled back into a ponytail, walk out with the look of someone who didn't want to be there. As midnight approached, Linda couldn't blame her. She raised her hand in a half-wave and smiled when the girl nodded at her.
"What's this about? I've still got work to do if this is a social call."
"No, it's about work," he says. Still being evasive. Linda doesn't like it, but she doesn't say anything, just turns her head down and takes a deep drink of water. "You're worried about your fling with Adam getting out."
The point of her pen hovered dangerously close to the paper, threatening to start writing at any moment. Just as soon as she had something to put down. Instead, she rapped the butt of it against the pad, as if it would help to jar the ink free.
"What's your point?"
Tom leans back as the waitress comes up. She reminds Linda immediately of every teenager that she's ever met. There's a bittersweet charm to it; good and bad memories that mingle easily in her mind. "Is everything alright?"
Tom speaks up with his throaty growl. "I'll have a cup of coffee and a plate of french fries."
"Is this a separate check?" The girl's eyes flit from Tom to Linda and back.
"Yes," Linda answers without looking up. The girl walks away without writing anything on her pad, and Tom leans in almost in exact time with it.
"Well, I've been giving your little problem some thought."
"How kind of you." Linda taps her pen again, sitting back but not looking up from her pad. "I'm still not seeing how this is your business."
"I suppose I'm just a good friend," Tom answers, smiling. "Do you think of me as your friend, Linda?"
"No," she answers. Finally she looks up. "I think you're in this for yourself. I think you always are."
"Aren't we all?"
"Oh, I'm not judging you, Tom. You're good at what you do. But I don't believe you're in it for friendship, or for the money, or even to build a reputation. I think you do what you want to do, and when you get tired of doing the job, I think you'll move on."
Tom's lips pinch together, but he can't hide the upward curl at the edge of his mouth.
"Oh, Linda, I didn't know you cared."
&n
bsp; She smiles back at him. It slips an instant later back to a sour expression. "What's this got to do with anything? What do you have up your sleeve?"
"I have your solution, Lind. I have the way you get out of the accusation that you're sleeping with Adam. He won't admit it, not if you tell him to keep quiet about it. He's a good guy like that."
"But that doesn't stop rumors from cropping up."
"No, you're right. It doesn't, especially when the rumors are true."
"So there's more to your plan than 'ask nicely,' I assume."
"Damn right there is," he agrees. The redhead sets down a thick ceramic mug filled with brown liquid that smells vaguely like coffee. Tom adds a heaping spoonful of sugar before he even takes a single taste. "Do you want to hear it?"
"I assume you're going to tell me."
"Guess."
"I don't have time for this."
"Oh, don't be a spoil sport. Give it a guess."
"I don't know, run our own television network?"
Tom's smile widens again, showing off his teeth. They've got an unusual sharpness to them, a sort of animal threat that he's unable to quite hide.
"Now there's an idea. No, try again."
"Tom, I'm trying to work—"
"If you were dating someone else, and they assured everyone of their absolute faith in you, then your problems would be solved."
"But I'm not," Linda answers. Her eyes drop back to the page. What a stupid idea. "And I wasn't."
"No?"
Something stirs in the back of her mind, but she can't quite wrap her fingers around it.
"No, Tom. You think I'd be doing anything at all with anyone at all if I was dating someone? You think I'd have been—where I was? No. Don't be an idiot."
"You could start dating someone now."
"What would that matter? Anyone would be able to tell that there was a time lapse, and I could have screwed my way into my position here in that time. Not a solution. I'm working, stop wasting my time. I'm serious, now."
"They wouldn't know if the person you were dating told them a different date for when you started seeing him."
"Why would he do that?" She doesn't look up right away, but Tom's lack of response is unusual enough that finally she has to look up. He raises his eyebrows, confidence oozing out of his every pore.
"I suppose that would depend on what was in it for me."
Chapter Thirty-One
It occurred to Adam, first as a minor nagging feeling that only grew as time went on, that he'd be putting Linda through her paces more than she might have initially expected.
She might have expected for him to do something dangerous, once or twice. Then again, she might have hoped that he would follow her advice when she gave it, and in that regard at least, she was bound to be sorely disappointed.
It shouldn't have bothered him. He was paying her, and he was paying her quite a comfortable amount. But Adam couldn't deny that it took up more of his attention than it was owed.
Aside from the outburst yesterday—one that he could have predicted, if he'd given it any thought—she hadn't complained. So perhaps there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps she expected her clients to ignore her a bit. Like a dentist, or a nutritionist, maybe there's an expectation that nobody wants to hear what you have to say, in spite of needing it.
And yet, he worried.
The office was still dark, in the early hours, and she hadn't come in yet. That was no criticism—she was the second to arrive most days, behind him, and generally the second-to-last to leave. No, there was no room for criticism there.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself back from the desk. Too much going on in his head, too many distractions. If he couldn't get his head on straight, then there was no use doing work that would only need to be redone later. Duplication of effort was the biggest drain on time that could be easily avoided. Do it right the first time, and you don't have to re-do it all again later.
What had him so worried about her? She was a big girl, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She'd proven as much several times over. She couldn't have gotten as far as she had the business of politics without a good head on her shoulders.
He hadn't gotten her into any trouble, had he? No, her name had only been mentioned a handful of times. She hadn't complained about anything. She hadn't been caught up in any scandals, which was the only thing that she really had to worry about.
Linda had gotten herself into some trouble, but it hadn't come down on her head. And sure, he'd slept with her, but why should that matter? It shouldn't, but it did. He had slept with an employee, but this was hardly the first time.
He hadn't worried so much any of the other times. Easy and free. It was only sex, and it didn't have to mean anything at all for the sex to be good, for it to be fun and totally worth it.
It was his first time doing it as a political figure. That could make the difference. But that would only hurt him. It gave no reason that he should be worrying about her.
And yet, he worried. All the self-assurance in the world made little difference to the fact of the matter, and the fact was that he worried.
About her.
He laid his head back. He'd be tempted to believe that he was thinking about her because of a fondness for her. He'd been fond of all his previous wives. But he'd never been worried about them, not even fragile Yana, who seemed to break out into tears whenever anything surprised her. Everything could be managed, everything prepared for, and everything was safe because he was around and he would keep her safe.
But Linda… with Linda, he worried. He opened his eyes to the dark ceiling, illuminated only faintly by the computer screen behind him. Tom would be the one to talk to about this. Whatever the right move was, the way that he could protect her from the press…
Linda might be better-suited for the project, but something stopped him going to her. And Tom would know how to turn it in Adam's favor as well. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.
He made a mental note to discuss it when Tom arrived, and seemingly instantly, his shoulders loosened up. The fog in his mind lifted, and he turned back to his computer. He had code to re-write. Some idiot had been worrying about a girl instead of good coding practices when he'd done it the first time.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Adam Quinn had waited long enough. It felt like it had been all day, but maybe it hadn't. An hour. Maybe two hours. But if you wait too long, you miss the evening news cycle, and two days of nose-diving poll numbers told him everything that needed to be discussed about how things were going.
Too much controversy, and not enough answers. If he pulled out of the nosedive he was in, then he'd recover. Stronger than before, because people like a winner, and he'd proven once again that he could survive just about anything.
"I need to talk to you," he said softly, leaning in. Tom nodded without turning his head, and rose to follow behind a moment later. They didn't say anything until they'd gotten clear of the bullpen, stepped out the door and down the hall to the break room.
Adam flicked the light on, and slowly, with a soft fluorescent hum, they flickered to life. He leaned wordlessly against the counter as Tom let the door swing shut behind him.
"What's this about?"
"You know what it's about."
His lips pinched together. "Your poll numbers?"
Tom seemed to be incredibly stiff from where Adam was sitting. "Yes."
"Well, I've been thinking about it."
"Good, because that's what I pay you for. I need to turn this into a win. I need something that answers the question, and I can't have it coming from me. I don't need to look like I back down under pressure this early in the campaign."
"No, I suppose not. A gay lover maybe?" Tom's eyes twinkle as he says it, his rocky voice lilting as he teases.
"Oh, but then they'd have to find out about us, and you know how much I care about the special relationship we have, Tom."
Tom closes his eyes and
a thin smile spreads across his face. "So no gay lover, then. I was so ready. You'd just have to be a regular monk until you got out of the white house, or risk the discovery that you'd let people be led by the nose all that time."
"I'm sorry. I know you love the salacious stories best."
"What can I say? It's what I'm good at." Tom opens the fridge and looks through the food. Adam doesn't see a reason to mention, just yet, that nothing in the fridge is his.
"Preferably something that's not a lie, please, Tommy."
"No lies? Oh, you're really starting to stretch my playbook here, Adam." He comes back out with a yogurt cup and heads for the silverware drawer. Adam's hand comes up to block his chest. "Are you sure that's yours, Tom?"
"Are you going to tell Jim that I ate his yogurt?"
"That depends on what you come up with," Adam says. "I've always allowed you certain latitudes when you're useful, haven't I?"
"You have," he agrees. "Then give me a spoon, would you?"
Adam reaches back and pulls the drawer open without looking, removes a spoon and holds it out gently. As Tom's hand reaches for it, he lightly pulls back and holds it away.
"What have you got for me, then?"
Tom's eyes light up again. "I've got a good one for you."
"Oh? What's that?"
"Have you ever been unfaithful in the past?" He pauses a beat and answers his own question. "No. Not that anyone knows about, anyway. You were a ladies man, sure—but a loyal one, if you actually let anyone tie her string to you. That's your in. You're in a relationship, you're not having flings. Besides that, getting married would be good for your run, so… keep that in mind."
"I'm not interested in a political marriage, Tom. You know I'm only doing this because—"
"I do know, and you know I don't care one bit why you're doing it. It doesn't have to be a political marriage. You could marry her 'cause the sex is good. I know you've done it before."
