Yours in Scandal

by Layne, Lauren

  Well, nearly untouchable. Martin handed Robert the iPad once more, this time with a different but equally recognizable face—at least to anyone in New York politics.

  Robert looked down at the laughing twentysomething girl at a party, the iconic red keg cup in hand, long blonde hair spilling down her slim back as she laughed. At first glance, she seemed a gorgeous young thing having the time of her life. At second glance, he registered the way she was looking straight at the camera, a touch of defiance in her blue eyes.

  George Brennan may not have made many missteps, at least publicly, but his daughter had made plenty. In the age-old story of rebellious children, Addie Brennan had been the governor’s Achilles’ heel in the last election—wild and unpredictable. There’d been a litany of drug charges, topless photos, and hanging out with a crowd very different from her father’s.

  Still, it was old news. Brennan had distanced himself from his daughter and won the election, and Robert hadn’t so much as heard her name in years.

  “This is your plan?” he asked skeptically. “Pulling up five-year-old gossip of the man’s daughter?”

  Martin merely handed Robert the second iPad.

  He accepted it, studied the image that was displayed for a moment, then looked up at his campaign manager, more confused than ever. “I’m not following.”

  “Look again.”

  Impatient, Robert glanced down at the woman on the second iPad: a brunette in glasses, with a librarian bun, on her laptop at a coffee shop. Robert didn’t recognize her, and he couldn’t think what she had to do with George Brennan. Or Addie Brennan, he thought, looking back at the blonde girl.

  Unless . . .

  His eyes flicked between the two iPads. He could think of only one reason Martin would be showing him pictures of two very different women.

  Because they weren’t different women.

  “Holy shit,” Robert murmured, squinting and sort of seeing similarities in the face shape, but he really had to be looking for them. The brunette was attractive, certainly, but not in the flashy look at me! way of her younger, blonde self.

  “Yup,” Martin said smugly. “She goes by Adeline Blake now. Dropped the Brennan altogether, and took her middle name as her last.”

  “Where the hell has she been? Hiding in plain sight this whole time?”

  Martin shook his head. “As far as I can tell, Adeline Blake didn’t exist until about a year ago. Where Addie Brennan was hiding the few years before that, I don’t have a clue. Yet.”

  Robert handed back both tablets. “The Clark Kent transformation is interesting, but I don’t see what it has to do with Brennan. He hasn’t mentioned his daughter in years, and by the looks of it, she’s after an entirely fresh start. I’m not going to dig up her old scandals.”

  “Not her scandals, no,” Martin said. “Even if we wanted to, it’s old news. All but the tawdriest tabloids would see right through us.”

  “Then what’s your plan?” Robert asked warily, instinctively knowing Martin had one brewing.

  “You and I both know that Brennan’s not half as clean as he looks, but he’s got an A-plus cleanup crew. Not a single whisper about the hookers or the heroin has made it to mainstream media. Somehow, the man’s managed to maintain the loyalty of everyone around him, either by bribery, blackmail, or just good old-fashioned ass-kissing.”

  “Hardly the first politician to do so.”

  Martin lifted his eyebrows. “The Boy Scout sounds almost cynical.”

  Robert narrowed his eyes in warning. He tolerated Martin calling him Robbie, as his father had done. But he hated when the press referred to him as a Boy Scout, and Martin knew it.

  “Anyway,” Martin muttered, averting his eyes from Robert’s glare. “If we’re going to get dirt on him, we’ve got to get as close to the source as possible. And who’s closer than his daughter?”

  “By all accounts, just about anyone. He basically disowned her, and she changed her name. I think it’s safe to say they’re estranged.”

  “Exactly. I’m guessing daughter is none too fond of daddy dearest. And I’m guessing she’s witnessed some serious shit.” He looked at Robert expectantly.

  Robert shook his head. “I will not destroy a woman’s life to get an edge in a campaign against her father.”

  “Jesus, Davenport, nobody’s suggesting you ruin her life. It’s just some good old-fashioned research on the opposition.”

  “I won’t play dirty.”

  Martin held up his hands. “Mud won’t get anywhere near you. I’m not suggesting you sell her out. You don’t even have to tell her you know who she is. But it can’t hurt to open up the channels of communication. Who knows what she might confide to the very single Man of the Year?”

  Robert shook his head more emphatically this time. “Unequivocally no. When I said I wasn’t a monk, I didn’t mean I’d stoop to seducing a woman to fuel your smear campaign.”

  “Calm down, Boy Scout—nobody said anything about seduction.”

  “Then what, I’m just supposed to bump into her at Starbucks and wait for her to tell me what kind of shady shit her father’s into?”

  “Give me some credit, Robbie. The woman runs a premier event planning company here in the city.”

  “And?”

  “And you like to entertain. You mentioned throwing a last hurrah here at Gracie Mansion in a few weeks, did you not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And Jada just had twins, so you’re short a party planner.”

  Damn. That much was true. His longtime event planner had just given birth to twins, and he had been meaning to ask his assistant where they were on finding a stand-in. But it wasn’t going to be Governor Brennan’s wild child daughter who, from the looks of it, wanted nothing to do with politics. He wanted the governor’s seat, but not if he had to step on someone else to get there. Robert would get there on his own merit, or not at all.

  “We can beat Brennan without bringing his daughter into it,” Robert said.

  Martin lifted an eyebrow. “Can we? He’s got the incumbent advantage. Your approval ratings are good, but so are the governor’s.”

  Robert blew out a breath. “How can that be? The man’s an egotistical poser.”

  “Behind closed doors, yes. On camera, he comes across as a goddamn Founding Father.”

  Robert gave in to the urge to crack his knuckles again, hating that Martin was right. He believed down to his very soul that he was the better man for the job. He and the governor had worked together for years, and while Robert knew that playing nice with people you didn’t agree with was half the battle in politics, his dislike of the governor went beyond any policy differences. There was a slick smugness to the man, and Robert’s gut told him the whispers of corruption weren’t off base. Knowing it was one thing. Proving that the governor was unscrupulous was something else entirely. The man was too careful, and no one person ever spent enough time in his orbit to learn all his skeletons.

  No one except his daughter.

  For a fleeting moment, Robert considered Martin’s suggestion. If anyone had proof of the governor’s lack of principles, it was someone who’d lived with him for decades.

  Robert shoved the thought aside. She had distanced herself from her father for a reason. He would respect that. “I won’t drag Brennan’s daughter into something she wants no part of.”

  Martin shrugged as he stood. “So find out if she wants to be a part of it. She’ll be here tomorrow at two p.m. to talk about your party.”

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday, September 29

  Adeline Blake had thought she’d learned to control the troublesome urges of her youth as Addie Brennan. Control. But not abandon altogether.

  She still liked to dance, but in the privacy of her apartment, not on top of bars.

  She still liked tequila, but in a civilized, sipping manner, body shots a thing of the past.

  She still wore sexy underwear, but she no longer showed it to strangers,
and she definitely didn’t take it off for strangers.

  If she swore, it was under her breath; if she yelled, it was into a pillow; and while she still loved the thrill of adventure, her new definition of living on the edge was trying to catch a cab on a rainy Friday afternoon when already running late for an appointment.

  Things she did not do: go anywhere near the world of politics or put herself in the presence of anyone who stood a better-than-average chance of recognizing her as Addie Brennan. Which did not explain what she was doing outside Gracie Mansion in Yorkville, mentally gearing up for a meeting with the mayor of New York City.

  Who, according to every newsstand in the city, was the sexiest man alive, or the universe’s hottest bachelor, or some dubious honor awarded to men with great jawlines and massive egos.

  Who, according to the email she’d received requesting a consultation, was in need of a last-minute event planner. That an invitation for such a high-profile client had come to Adeline Blake of Jet Set Events was flattering. That it had simultaneously come from the mayor’s office to Addie Brennan was a red flag. Especially if the rumors about him making a bid for the governor’s seat next year were true.

  Which led her to the last of those pesky bad qualities that she hadn’t apparently shaken by age twenty-eight: curiosity.

  When the man who may or may not be trying to oust your bastard father from office summoned you, you said maybe.

  When the mayor of New York City and oft-theorized future president of the United States summoned you as his potential party planner, you said perhaps.

  And when the Man of the Year summoned you as a woman . . . you said yes.

  Which is where the curiosity came in. Addie was dying to see if he was as hot in person as he was in photos and on TV.

  Adeline never claimed to be a saint. Just a slightly reformed sinner.

  She gave a quick glance down at her appearance to make sure she looked the part of a Manhattan professional.

  Tailored black slacks, check. Fitted blouse with an appropriate two buttons undone, check. Black blazer to ensure red bra under the white shirt wasn’t visible, check. Black pumps just high enough to be stylish, but not so high as to be absurd, check. Deep side part of her hair smooth, bun firmly in place at the nape of her neck, check.

  She smiled. Even without her glasses as an extra layer of disguise, she was fully confident that the mayor would see exactly what she wanted him to see: Adeline Blake, premier event planner.

  All vestiges of Addie were safely tucked away.

  Cool smile firmly in place, Adeline entered the mansion. One of the mayor’s assistants had emailed her the process for getting to his offices, so she was prepared for the bag check and the scrutiny of her identification.

  She swallowed, unexpected nervousness rushing through her. Gracie Mansion wasn’t exactly like the Executive Mansion in Albany, but it was close enough to flood her with memories, none of them pleasant.

  Addie, how many times have I told you not to run? Addie, stop that. Quiet, Addie, I can’t concentrate. Damn it, Addie, I’m busy. What the hell are you wearing, young lady?

  Shoving the toxic thoughts aside, she fixed her professional smile on the middle-aged assistant who greeted her. “Hi, I’m Adeline Blake, here to see Mayor Davenport. I’m a little early.”

  “No worries,” the woman said with a friendly smile. “His one-thirty had to reschedule. Let me see if he’s available to meet with you now. Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.”

  Adeline did as she was told.

  A moment later the woman returned and gestured her forward. “He said to head on in. End of the hall,” she said, pointing.

  Adeline thanked her and walked in the direction indicated, assuaging her curiosity by taking in every detail. She was uncomfortably acquainted with New York state politics, but New York City was a whole other ball game. Something she’d enjoyed reminding her father of, after she’d identified it as one of his hot buttons.

  George Brennan had never made peace with the fact that he lived in the one state where the mayor of a single city continually overshadowed the governor of the entire state. And that had been before Robert Davenport was named Man of the Year, launching his celebrity status to a borderline nightmare level.

  The door was open, and Adeline rapped a knuckle against the doorjamb. “Mayor Davenport?”

  He was studying a folder on his desk, but his head snapped up at the interruption, his gaze colliding with hers.

  Adeline sucked in a breath.

  Well, that answers that question. He is definitely as hot in person.

  She should have been prepared. The man’s face was everywhere, after all. She’d known he had sandy-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a classically handsome face that the camera loved.

  But the cameras had missed plenty.

  The pictures didn’t quite capture the gold flecks in his eyes, or the raw masculinity emanating off him in waves. Nor did photos catch that the polished politician’s smile currently spreading across his face, while perfectly friendly and authentic, she suspected also served as an armor of sorts.

  Instinct told her that what you saw was what you got with Mayor Davenport, but there was plenty he’d never let you see.

  “Ms. Blake?” he said, rising and extending a hand.

  “Yes. A pleasure, Mr. Mayor,” she said, sending a rare silent thank-you to her past for teaching protocol for addressing public officials. Mr. Mayor. Mayor Davenport. Sir.

  In her teens, she’d added more mocking salutations to the mix when addressing her father. Your Majesty. Your Highness. Your Excellence.

  She spared the mayor her derision. For now.

  His fingers were dry and firm as they closed over hers, shaking her hand with confidence befitting a man who’d probably shaken thousands of hands over the course of his career. Then his gaze locked on hers, his eyes seeming to glow wolf’s gold, in a way that felt anything but routine.

  Her stomach flipped. Irritated with herself, she tugged her hand away.

  His assessing look transformed back to charming politician, and he gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite his. “So, you’re an event planner.”

  “I am.” She sat, setting her purse on the chair beside her. “And if I may say so, sir, I’m a bit surprised to be meeting with you in person.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She’d forgotten this, the way good politicians knew to ask more questions than they answered. “I would have thought the mayor of New York City would delegate party planning to an assistant.”

  “True. And Darlene is more than capable of handling it,” he said with a slight smile. “But I’m not a CEO hosting a gathering on behalf of the city. I’m a host, throwing a party on behalf of myself. Thus, I choose my team personally. And carefully.”

  “I see. Rough timing with Ms. Sanchez being out of commission so close to the end of your term.” Adeline had never met Jada Sanchez in person, but anyone who’d even so much as looked at buying a streamer in Manhattan knew the woman’s name. She was remarkable, not only for her A-list clientele but also for her staunch commitment to never expanding her company. She was a one-woman show, which was impressive, to be sure, but had left her clients without a party planner during her maternity leave.

  “You know, it’s strange,” he said in a musing voice. “It’s almost as though her unborn twins didn’t take my status as mayor into consideration when choosing their birth date.”

  She was pleasantly surprised by his willingness to mock his own celebrity status. Her father had had exactly zero sense of humor when it came to the prestige of his position. In fact, her father probably would have quite literally resented Jada’s children for daring to come into the world at a time that inconvenienced him.

  “Nervy of those babies,” Adeline said with a smile, playing along. “Perhaps they simply missed the memo that you’re also Man of the Year?”

  His flinch was so brief she nearly missed it, but it told her plenty about how
he felt about that particular honor. Yet another surprise.

  “I have to ask, do you even need an event planner with so little time left in your term?”

  He didn’t flinch this time, but the light in his eyes seemed to dim in a way that made her think he loved being mayor as much as he disliked being Man of the Year. “It’s actually because of the end of the term that I need an event planner,” he responded. “I’d like to have one last hurrah, or whatever you want to call it. I’ve enjoyed hosting here. Having people in my home gives me a chance to connect with them as a person, rather than simply a mayor.”

  “I’m sure you think so. But trust me, they’re always quite aware that you’re the mayor,” she said, before she could stop herself.

  He let out a surprised laugh. “If I may say, you seem a little hard to impress, Ms. Blake. I’m going to go out on a limb here—did you not vote for me?”

  His voice was teasing, so she smiled in response. “I’m afraid I was denied the opportunity. I actually wasn’t a New York City resident during either of your elections.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Her smile never wavered, even as she avoided the question and pulled out her tablet to take notes. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so perhaps get right to why I’m here. The party?”

  He smiled blandly in response. “Of course.”

  Adeline nodded, careful to hide her relief at having dodged the need to give any details about her personal history. “What sort of timeline are you thinking for the event?”

  He nodded. “Ideally within the next few weeks.”

  “Cocktail? Formal dinner?”

  “Cocktails. No sit-down dinner, but enough food for people not to leave hungry if they don’t want to. I’d been contemplating black tie. Go out in style, and all that.”

  She nodded and wrote it down, then looked up. “And why me?”

  “Why you what?”