And it dawns on me: she didn’t go hard on policy during the panel discussion today because that’s not what first ladies do.
After coffee is served, I finally ask the question that’s been hanging over my head like a cartoon speech bubble all night. “I appreciate our talk and this opportunity, but what do you want from me?”
I hold my breath, expecting him to ask me for an endorsement. Even though we’re both Dems from the West, I can’t. Not yet—not until Conover chooses me, or doesn’t. If I came out in favor of Darrow now, I’d lose all credibility if I joined Conover’s ticket. I’d undermine him.
“Grace, despite your obvious command of the issues, you and I both know you’re a one-issue candidate.” Darrow lets that hang in the air, and it gets under my skin.
“I’m not a candidate. I’m a congresswoman,” I bite out.
“That’s not what I meant. America knows you, Grace, for your personal tragedy. You’re a household name. That matters.”
“I know.”
Aaron holds up his finger, indicating he’s not finished. “But it doesn’t matter enough.”
I bow my head, biting back a sharp comment.
“Which is why I think we could both benefit each other if we considered working together. I’m looking for a running mate, Grace. I’m looking at you.”
My head snaps up, shock betrayed by every feature. No matter how many times the words vice president have been a hope or a wish or a dream in the past month, nothing prepares me for the intensity of Darrow’s request.
“Me.”
“Yes, you. You could be good for my ticket in a variety of ways. Boyle’s going to pull out of the race in a matter of weeks. He’s bleeding money and his campaign contributions have dried up. Conover’s a sweet old grandpa, but he can’t get it done. The Democrats might love him, but the Republican candidates will crucify him.”
“He’s been head of the Senate Foreign Relations committee for a decade.”
“And voters don’t care. They don’t connect with him the way you and I could connect with voters. We each bring something special to the table.”
“This could transform your career,” Lauren adds, as if I haven’t already grasped the gravity of Darrow’s offer. “We’ll need to do our due diligence, of course, but I’m sure you can imagine we’ve already started checking the boxes.”
“Grace Garcia Colton could be a lot more than just a junior legislator from Oregon,” Darrow says. “You could make history.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I ride back to my apartment in silence, my head swimming in possibilities.
Conover.
Darrow.
Me.
I pay the cab and walk to my building entrance, fumbling in my purse for my apartment keys.
Heavy hands land on my shoulders and spin me against the sandstone building, dragging a shriek from my lips until familiar stubble scratches my cheek.
Jared.
His hands are everywhere, wrapping around my waist and behind my knee, urging my leg around him. His face is buried against my neck, his teeth nipping at its cords while one hand tangles through my hair.
“You didn’t answer my text,” he growls, his other hand skating up the back of my thigh, beneath my dress. My back arches and I clench my leg around his hip, my body remembering every muscle of him automatically.
Too bad it forgets I’m still mad at him.
“I was at dinner.”
His fingers find the edge of my panties and my breathing goes ragged, yet I’m not so blinded by lust that I can’t see we’re on a sidewalk, illuminated by a streetlight and my building’s entrance lights, going at it like teenagers.
I push back on his chest. “Wait. Wait a damn minute.”
Jared’s mouth releases its hold on my neck, and he draws back enough to meet my eyes. I turn away from him, digging again for my keys and finally connecting with their jingle.
“I’m coming inside.”
“Good luck with that, buddy.” I punch my key in the lock, then pull the door open. He grabs the door before I can close it on his face.
“Wait, Grace. Listen to me!”
I can’t hide my evil grin any longer. I push open the door and surprise rearranges his features. “Had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?”
“You were—you were going to let me in?”
“So long as you keep the amount of stupid that comes out of your mouth to a minimum.” I give him a warning glare and then remember another requirement. “And promise you won’t fuck with my hair.”
Jared gives me a solemn nod. “As long as that’s the only part of you off the table, I can handle it.”
“You want to fuck with the rest of me?”
“So bad I can’t stand it.” He shoves me against the elevator wall and his hands trace up and down my body. “I hate this dress.”
I frown. “I like it.”
“I hate that it’s on you.”
He follows me down the apartment hall, groping hands never leaving me. I unlock the door and drop my keys on the kitchen bar, touch Ethan’s picture, and turn on the light. One, two, three.
I turn to Jared and cross my arms, a physical block against his advances. I want to get at what’s really hanging in the air between us before he clouds my brain with lust. “I didn’t bring you up here to fuck me senseless, Jared.”
He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, truly at a loss.
“I brought you up here to talk.”
“And then I can fuck you senseless?”
I laugh—a real laugh, loosened by wine and sleeplessness from the redeye flight and the roller-coaster emotions of today. “It’s a possibility.”
“Well, then, name your terms.” Jared steps around me, pulling open my refrigerator. It’s almost barren: just a few drinks, a box of baking soda, and some tired-looking condiments.
“Coors? Really?” He reaches for the only beer in the fridge.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” I snort. “I’m hardly prepared to host a beer snob in this place.”
“I’m not a beer snob.”
I shrug. “Most of my friends in Oregon are. It’s all craft microbrews. None of the best stuff makes it out to the East Coast.”
I take a step toward Jared, blocking his exit from my kitchen. “Where are you from, anyway, Jared?”
“All over.”
“Zzzzttt,” I mimic a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer.”
Jared takes a long drink of beer before answering. “Born in Kimberling City, Missouri. That’s a little ways west of Branson. Missouri State for undergrad. Grad school at UCLA. Campaign-hopping since then. Happy?”
I marvel at how little he manages to reveal about himself in that glib answer. “A little.” I slip past Jared and grab a sparkling water from my fridge for myself. I walk to my living room and step out of my heels, sink into my leather couch, and put my feet on the coffee table.
I take a long sip. Jared’s staring at me.
“What? It’s my place.”
“You just look … really comfortable.”
I put my feet on the floor. “I am. I’m comfortable with myself. I’m staring forty in the face and you know what? I like myself. I like my life. And I’m pretty much in love with my possibilities for the future. But what I don’t like is a man who makes me feel like shit because he pulls a disappearing act. I deserve better.”
Jared has the good grace to look chastened as he moves to the living room, occupying a chair opposite me. “You do. I already told you that.”
“And you told me you can’t … I don’t know, what? You can’t have a relationship?”
“Something like that.”
“No relationship, period? Or just not with me?” I’m trying to keep hurt out of my voice, but it’s too raw to go unnoticed.
“Not like this.” Jared stands and paces away from me, his hand deep in his hair, frustration radiating off him. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but he’s clea
rly not willing to tell me.
Finally, my patience snaps. “So why are you here, Jared? Because you can’t seem to stay away.”
“I told you in the text. I needed to talk to you. We’ve done image management, and you’re getting solid on the issues, and now we’ve got to do the vetting.”
I snort. “I find it extremely interesting that you put image first.”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s like reverse damage control. Fix what you can that’s going to be in the recent public eye as quickly as possible, so that down the line you have it to draw on. It’s a pretty typical strategy.”
“And this couldn’t have waited until morning?”
Jared’s eyes narrow. “The truth, Grace? It could wait. But I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Oh.” Jared’s admission floors me, tosses me on waves of emotion, hot and cold, feeling loss when he pulls away and then a rush of pleasure when he says something like that.
I take another sip of my water, the wine from dinner still working its relaxing magic through my body, and put my feet back up on the table. “Then what do we have to work through tonight?”
Jared pulls his chair forward until he’s near enough to me to reach my feet. He pulls them into his lap and presses his thumb into the ball of my foot, and I can’t contain my involuntary moan.
He chuckles. “Secret weapon.”
“I’ll say. I’d give up national security secrets for more of this.”
“Don’t even joke about that, Grace.” Jared’s tone darkens.
“Sorry. Vetting humor.” I relax into the smooth arc of Jared’s fingers along my instep. “So what do we have to do to get through this?”
“Vetting is about the past helping us predict the future. We can look at who a candidate is today, his résumé, his voting record, and get a pretty clear picture of what we’re getting if we endorse him or get him on the ticket.”
Jared shifts to my other foot and I bite my lip to suppress the moan. “Did you already do that to me?”
“Before we even approached you, yes.”
“And I passed?”
“With flying colors.” He pauses and smiles, and for once, it’s not laced with underlying lust.
“I’m still mad at you for picking me up at that bar. When you knew me. You knew who I was, Jared, and you let me just go with you like it would be a one-night stand that meant nothing.”
Jared’s eyes darken and he leans toward me. He picks up my hand and curls his fingers within mine, drawing my fingers to his lips. His stubble brushes across my knuckles, lips just grazing them. It’s not a kiss, not quite, but the tenderness arrests me.
“I’m glad it was more than that, Grace,” Jared says. “After I knew your file, I had to know more. I had to know you. That’s why I came to find you.”
I close my eyes and just feel him, feel this moment between us that is so very real. He releases my hand and I skim it across his rough jaw to that soft, hairless place by his ear. I lean closer and touch his face, memorizing his features with my fingertips. I breathe in his scent.
“I need you right now,” I whisper. Doubt and insecurity be damned, Jared’s disappearing act can almost be forgiven when I pull him closer until he’s out of his chair, leaning over me on the couch, his long body covering mine.
“What do you need, Grace? What can I give you?” Jared’s hands move up and down my body, shedding our buttoned-up clothes. “Because right now I want to give you everything.”
We’re almost naked, lying together on my couch, his skin taut over muscles that flex with each movement as he caresses my body.
“Kiss me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Kiss me,” I repeat.
It’s such a simple thing, a small thing. Almost a throwaway among consenting adults.
But with Jared, I know it means more. Something about his hesitation tells me that whatever’s wrapped up in this kiss is inexorably tied to his own personal demons.
And now I want to know them. The good and the bad, the light and the dark. I want his history and his present and maybe his future. I want to unpack his heart to learn his secrets, and let him unpack mine.
I want to let him in enough to know me. Even if he finds the rough edges: the bitter hurt, the chasm of loss, or the loneliness of existing in a marriage that stood shakily on a foundation of one perfect human—Ethan. And little else.
Jared pushes himself up on his elbows, his hair falling over his forehead. Dark eyes watch me, searching for some answer, and I would answer him if only I knew the question.
“You can’t just be my lover,” he says, and his voice vibrates through his chest so I can feel it in mine. “If I kiss you, you can’t just be a woman I know, and touch, and taste. You have to be more.”
“I am more than that. I’m more than that to you already. I know it.” I fight the rising panic in my voice, the desperate need for him to admit that he wants me in every way I want him. “I know this means more, Jared, which is why I’m not going to let you get away with another hard fuck when you should be making love to me.”
Jared’s hips tilt and his knee nudges mine apart. I bite the inside of my cheek, debating whether to roll him off me now and cut my losses. He doesn’t push inside me. He doesn’t kiss me, either.
This is humiliating. I’m putting myself out there and still, his dark eyes watch me. He doesn’t move.
“Kiss me, Jared, or if you won’t, get the hell off me.” I grit my teeth, my hands gripping his shoulders as I prepare to push.
“Give me one fucking minute, Grace.” Jared draws a ragged breath and I can tell he’s rolling words around in his mind, searching for what to say. “I need you to know things, so you can decide whether you really want this. Want me.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”
He pulls back from me and I feel a chill across my breasts where the heat of his body had been. His eyes squeeze closed as if he’s in physical pain. “I fucked you to control you, Grace.”
I freeze. The sharp certainty of his statement arrests me. “You. What.”
“It was a mind game, between me and her, this … woman I used to be with. She fucked me to get where she wanted to be.”
“And you did the same to me?” I choke on my sharp intake of breath, my body convulsing, and I push Jared away, tucking my knees into my chest.
Jared turns away and his words are forced. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Then what the fuck was it?” Anger washes over me, bitter and hot, as I realize his tempting little promise of “no strings” on the night we met was all about strings. Getting his hooks into me. Something to hang over my head. “Leverage?”
Oh, my God. The things he has on me now. I can kiss my political future goodbye.
“No. It was never political blackmail.” His voice is pleading.
“Just personal blackmail, then?” There’s a vicious bite in my tone.
“No! Jesus, Grace, will you just listen to me for one fucking minute? I was coming off a head-trip relationship. And when I started vetting you, there was just something so … right about you. So real. And I watched your videos, and read your history, and it wasn’t enough. I had to know you. As intimately as I could.”
“That’s disgusting.”
His drawl drops to a whisper. “I know.”
“She used you and so you wanted to use me?”
“No. She controlled me, and I thought I’d finally gotten out of her orbit. But when I met you, I wanted you … and I wanted that control.”
“I’m not a pawn, Jared.”
“I know.” His voice breaks, a flood of regret.
That’s when I see what’s changed between us: maybe he did want to control me at first. But now? Now he’s crossed into wanting more, wanting me. And a kiss would tip the balance of power.
“Also, I don’t believe you.” I cross my arms, preparing for a fight. “As bossy as you ar
e, if you think you’re just doing a head-trip on me like your last relationship, you’re wrong. I know where I stand.”
He turns to face me, finally, his eyes swimming with confusion. “You think I’m not controlling you?”
“I’m not doing what you want. I’m doing what I want. I won’t be controlled.” I lay my hand on his shoulder and he flinches. “You can recommend, but you can’t require.”
Jared springs from the couch like I’ve just hit him. “I have to require it, Grace. We can’t do some soft compromise. This election is war, and if I can’t be sure you’ll follow every demand, every requirement, I can’t be sure of you. I can’t be sure we’ll win!”
The conviction in his voice guts me. He sees in black and white, laser-focused on the certainty of his mission. Either I get on the bus, or I’ll be roadkill.
Jared stalks to the back of my apartment and I feel the rush of air as he passes.
I drop my head in my hands and massage my scalp. I should hate him for this. For coming into this relationship with some twisted agenda, for thinking he could play me as surely as he’s been played. I should hate him for this, but I don’t.
I understand him.
I finally know what makes him tick. Guilt. Regret. Power, taken by whatever means. And work, his only constant. Winning isn’t a job for him, it defines him, and when our connection shifted from leader and follower to something far more complex, I became his biggest liability.
I’m a risk.
And so I go to Jared, finding him drying his face on my bathroom towel, his eyes rimmed red, his hair tangled and damp.
I pull his chest against mine, my arms crossing behind his neck, and bring my lips to his ear. “I forgive you,” I whisper.
Jared’s body stiffens, but I pull him tighter. “I forgive you. I forgive you for starting this so wrong. But you can make it right. It was a mistake. I understand that.”
Jared’s shoulders slump. “If I can’t control you, we can’t win this.”
“But if you keep trying to control me, you’ll lose me entirely.” I pull him behind me toward my bedroom. “Take a risk, Jared. See what happens when you let go of the reins.”
The Phoenix Candidate Page 11
