Yours in Scandal

by Layne, Lauren

“Why am I sitting across from you right now instead of one of the city’s many event planners?” She asked it casually, knowing the question could be viewed as simple curiosity on how he’d found her, but it was a hell of a lot bigger than that. She wanted to know if he knew he was hiring Addie Brennan.

  The damn man gave nothing away. “How do you know you’re not one of many being interviewed?”

  “Am I?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed, and she knew she’d pushed far enough.

  She put on her best professional smile and backpedaled. “I apologize for asking so many questions. It’s just not every day a relatively new event planning company gets a call from the mayor’s office. It caught me by surprise.”

  “A pleasant surprise?” he asked in a teasing voice.

  She gave him a deliberately impassive smile and said nothing.

  The mayor shrugged. “My campaign manager recommended you. He attended a retirement party for one of his wife’s colleagues recently that you hosted.”

  “Oh? Do you remember the name?” She watched him carefully for any indication that this was all a sham to get close to the governor’s daughter.

  “No.”

  Strangely, it was the blunt answer that had her shoulders relaxing slightly. A politician with an angle would have gathered every detail and delivered a scripted answer down to the color of the tablecloths at said party. Instead he seemed merely a busy man who needed an event planner in a hurry and had taken the first business card passed his way. And she had hosted a retirement party just two weekends ago, fabulous enough to warrant attention, if she did say so herself.

  “You know, Ms. Blake, I confess I was under the impression that this meeting was an interview, and it is. But I had it backward, didn’t I? You’re interviewing me. Not the other way around.”

  She smiled and answered honestly. “I can’t pretend working for you wouldn’t make for lovely bragging rights.”

  “But?”

  “But,” she continued, “I factor in other criteria when determining workload for me and my team.”

  He blinked. “Team? So it wouldn’t be you specifically working on the party?”

  “I sometimes delegate. Does that bother you?” She studied him, again looking for any tip-off that his reasons for wanting to hire her were politically motivated.

  He merely shrugged. “I respect the need to delegate tasks. What’s your other criteria?”

  “Headache potential,” she replied. “I like to evaluate potential clients based on how many Excedrin I think I’ll need at the end of the event.”

  “How am I doing on that scale so far?” He smiled boyishly in a way that she suspected he knew was ridiculously appealing. Because it was ridiculously appealing. Even to someone as jaded on politicians as herself.

  Careful, Adeline. You know better than anyone that politicians are never what they want you to think.

  “To be determined,” she answered.

  “And if I promise to behave? To be a zero-Excedrin client?” he prompted, smile widening. “Do I have a new event planner?”

  He was damn sure he did—she could tell by the cocky tilt of his grin.

  The smile was compelling as hell, and he knew it. Just like she knew she’d never take this job until she could establish they were on equal ground. And for that, the mayor needed to be knocked down a peg or two. To let him know that her company had enough going on that they didn’t drop everything because the Man of the Year crooked his finger.

  Adeline’s smile was all polished professionalism as she stood. “I’ll have to assess my team’s availability. I’ll be in touch.”

  He let out a startled laugh as she turned and headed toward the door, but he called her name before she could escape to the safety of the hallway. “Ms. Blake.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and locked gazes with him, watching as the green in his eyes disappeared completely so that they seemed to glow pure gold as he looked at her.

  “See that it’s your availability you’re checking,” he said softly. “Not your team’s.”

  It was more command than request, and it should have set off alarm bells. And it did. But not because it signaled a high-handed element to his personality. And not even because it could be a sign that he knew who she really was.

  But because it did something strange to her lower stomach. Something that had nothing to do with him as the mayor and her as an event planner.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday, September 29

  “Mr. Mayor?”

  Robert swiveled his conference room chair slightly toward the education lobbyist and pretended that his preoccupation had to do with the subject at hand instead of the woman who’d left his office two hours earlier. He set his palm on top of the proposal in front of him and gave an assertive nod. “I like what I’ve heard. I look forward to reviewing it more carefully later this week.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Not a total lie, anyway. He had liked what he’d heard about expanding New York schools’ music programs. Until he’d tuned out.

  Robert was more than a little chagrined to realize his attention had wandered elsewhere mid-presentation, and since the issue was too important to pass judgment on without knowing the details, he had to put it off until he could read up on the parts he’d missed.

  God, he wished Kenny were back. His chief of staff was the master of knowing when Robert’s brain was juggling too many issues at once and knew how to steer him to the topic at hand. Of course, the issues usually fighting for attention in Robert’s brain were work related.

  He couldn’t claim that now.

  Carol Grinks opened her mouth, looking ready to argue, but then her mouth clicked shut. She was assertive and smart. And she’d apparently worked with Robert long enough to know when to push and when to bide her time. She stood, and her team followed suit. “Thank you for your time,” Carol said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Robert nodded in acknowledgment as they exited the conference room together, grateful for the reprieve. Grateful that one of the city’s most prominent lobbyists hadn’t realized his source of distraction wasn’t an opposing issue but a certain brunette who, in the span of their twenty-minute meeting, had managed to intrigue him in a way no woman had for months.

  Months? Who was he kidding? It had been years. Hell, for that matter, had he ever responded so immediately to a woman as he had the moment Adeline Blake had stepped into his office?

  Strictly speaking, she’d looked almost identical to the woman in the photo Martin had shown him yesterday. Her dark hair had been tied into a knot at the back of her head, and her clothes had been that of a career woman who played it safe with her wardrobe, her makeup subtle enough that his male eye didn’t have the faintest clue if she wasn’t wearing any or had just mastered the look of looking like she wasn’t wearing any.

  She hadn’t been flashy. She hadn’t been provocative. She hadn’t been the Addie Brennan of the tabloids.

  But whatever she had been was alluring as hell.

  It had been a strange type of torture having to sit across the desk from her, discussing timelines and dress code for a party, when all he’d wanted to do was lean forward and tug that tidy bun from its confines and see how long her hair was. Would it fall all the way down her back? Just to her shoulders? Would it be as soft as it looked? As soft as the curves he suspected she was hiding under the blazer?

  Robert gave a grunt of irritation at his thoughts and ran a hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? Not only had he completely failed to glean any information on why she’d changed her name to Adeline Blake, but he also hadn’t even remembered she was the governor’s daughter.

  Martin would be annoyed, but not nearly as annoyed as Robert was with himself. One of the reasons he was so good at his job was because he’d been immune to exactly this sort of distraction for eight years. He’d been in the game long enough to know that more than a few of the clichés about the political arena held uncomfortably true. Power was
abused, mistresses were almost expected, and plenty of officials were far more concerned with where their next vote came from than they were with the issue at hand.

  Robert had always prided himself on rising above. He was here to serve the people, not rule them. He’d dodged every seduction attempt that had come his way, and as he’d told Martin, he’d made it a point to not worry about the next job until the current one was complete.

  But apparently, all it took was one gorgeous brunette who’d shown zero interest in working with him, much less flirting with him, to command all of his thoughts.

  He shook his head and headed back to his office, intending to have a firm pep talk with himself about how he was the damned mayor of New York City, not a high school kid with a boner for the new girl in class.

  His assistant was standing in the entrance to his doorway, a takeout bag in hand.

  “What’s this?” he asked, when she handed him the bag.

  “You didn’t eat lunch,” Darlene replied.

  Robert frowned. “I didn’t?” Apparently he was even more distracted than he’d realized.

  “You didn’t. I got you a BLT with extra avocado, and if Rita Gagnon calls with one of her lectures on plant-based diets, I promise to say you held the bacon. Do you know, last time she was in here, she pointed at my tuna sandwich and asked if I’d murdered any fish lately?”

  “Yeah, well. If she had it her way, the entire city would be vegetarian.”

  “If she had it her way, the entire country would be vegan,” Darlene said. “Anyway, Martin called. Four times.”

  “Sorry about that,” Robert said tiredly. “I’ve asked him repeatedly to call my cell instead of bugging you.”

  “He said he tried that, and you weren’t picking up. I pointed out that you were the mayor and had maybe one or two things on your plate aside from taking his phone calls. But you know how he is. Said it was urgent, but when is it not with him?”

  Robert lifted his eyebrows. He was used to Darlene speaking her mind. He encouraged it. But she was usually a bit more subtle. “I take it we’re not a fan of Martin these days?”

  “These days?” she muttered.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Robert said. “I know he can be overbearing when he wants something, but he needs to know when to pick his battles, and with whom to pick them.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said with a relieved smile.

  Sir. Eight years, and he still wasn’t used to that. He knew it was protocol, but a little part of him wondered what it would be like to simply be Robert.

  He thanked Darlene for the late lunch and told her to head out for the day. Shutting the door to his office, he set the bag on the desk but didn’t take out the sandwich. It was nearly five now; he may as well wait another few minutes and call the sandwich a working dinner as he went through his emails.

  The prospect was slightly more depressing than it had been a year ago, when takeout inhaled in front of the computer had been the norm—something to sustain him between meetings, networking, and strategizing. He’d never minded in the past. Robert loved his job. He still did. It was just that with the end right around the corner, he was increasingly aware of just how little he had going on outside of work. He had plenty of friends, but lately he’d wondered how many of them would still invite him to golf if he could no longer grant political favors. How many would feed his dog when he went out of town?

  Not that he had a dog. No time for that. Certainly no time for a girlfriend. Getting laid, on the other hand . . .

  That was becoming all too pressing a need. This afternoon had made that painfully clear.

  He’d half-heartedly pulled up his in-box and just started to unwrap his sandwich when Martin came charging through his office door.

  With a silent grunt of protest, Robert tossed the sandwich aside, appetite gone.

  “You’ve been dodging me.” Martin dropped unceremoniously into the chair opposite his.

  “I’ve been busy.” Sort of.

  “Right,” Martin said, as usual getting right to the heart of whatever he deemed most important, regardless of what anyone else had going on. “So, what’s the scoop?”

  “Scoop?” Answering a question with a question was a stalling tactic usually reserved for press conferences, and Martin knew it, because his brown eyes narrowed on Robert for a moment before clarifying. “The Brennan girl,” Martin said. “How’d the meeting go?”

  Well, let’s see, I can’t stop thinking about bending her over my desk, so there’s that . . .

  Robert shrugged. “Not much to report.”

  “Bullshit,” Martin said. “She’s Addie Brennan, for God’s sake. That girl was never able to walk into a room without turning something upside down.”

  “Well, she’s not a girl any longer,” Robert said, carefully keeping the irritation at Martin’s condescension out of his voice.

  Martin’s smile turned lascivious. “No?”

  Robert wanted to knock the lewd grin right off Martin’s face. He closed his eyes to rein in his irritation. Get. A. Grip.

  “You think she suspected you knew her real name?”

  Robert was a little embarrassed to admit to himself he hadn’t really given this as much thought as he should, so he considered it now. “I don’t know,” he answered finally. “She definitely seemed interested in learning how I’d heard about her, but that also could have just been curiosity or caution.”

  Martin snorted. “Caution? You’re the fucking mayor. She should have been on her knees trying to land the deal.”

  Robert heard a faint popping sound, then looked down, surprised to realize he’d cracked his knuckles without so much as a chance to stifle the urge.

  He took a deep breath and tried to calm his temper and refocus on the reason Adeline Blake was on his radar in the first place. “She seemed pretty confident I wouldn’t be looking at her as anyone other than Adeline Blake.”

  “She has a right to be confident,” Martin said. “She did a damn good job covering her tracks. She ruthlessly eliminated every trace of Addie Brennan.”

  “Obviously not every trace. How’d you find her?” A little late to be asking, but he was curious about the woman in a way he hadn’t been yesterday, when she’d been merely a name and a face in a photograph. Adeline Blake had been an intriguing mix of candor and subtle wit. The fact that she was a damned attractive woman hadn’t escaped his notice, either, though he wished it had.

  Martin lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t usually want to know how the sausage is made.”

  Robert wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know now, either. At his core he was a control freak, but he’d learned early in his political career that to have a chance of making it in this world, he had to know when to delegate so he could focus his efforts on where they were needed. “Were your means illegal?”

  “No,” Martin answered automatically. “Absolutely not. You made it clear when you hired me that you played it straight, just like your dad did. I may look for loopholes in laws, but I never cut the rope.”

  Robert felt a pang in his chest at the mention of his father. At the reminder that the man had never had a chance to prove just how much he’d loved this city and helping people.

  Martin was absolutely right—his dad had embraced clean politics, and Robert was aspiring to follow in his father’s straight-as-an-arrow footsteps. But Robert Sr. had died before he’d even had a chance to tarnish the halo the whole damn city had placed on his head.

  That halo had been transferred to Robert, and he’d bent over backward ensuring it stayed straight and shiny. But he was aware it could slip at any moment. Or rust. Or get thrown off altogether in sheer weariness at having to be so damn infallible all the time.

  Robert had been only fourteen when his father had died at age forty-one. New York royalty struck down in his prime by a brain aneurysm just weeks before the mayoral election. Robert was thirty-five now, and terrified he was playing a losing game against time.

  How long c
ould one man play at perfection?

  “And what sort of loophole led you to the realization that Addie Brennan and Adeline Blake were one and the same?” Robert asked, dragging his attention back to his father’s former junior campaign manager—a man Robert was seriously wondering if his father would have kept around if he’d known just how low Martin seemed willing to go at times to achieve his goals.

  “Luck,” Martin surprised him by admitting. “She was on the local news a few weeks back talking about planning the perfect Labor Day party, or some such.”

  “A bold move for someone trying to keep her real identity a secret.”

  Martin nodded in agreement. “She almost got away with it. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Addie Brennan, but I’d been watching the girl talk for a good ten minutes and didn’t figure it out. Good thing I’ve got a behavioral psychiatrist for a wife.”

  “Sandra figured it out?” Robert asked in surprise.

  “Not right away. But the entire time we were watching, she kept insisting the event planner reminded her of someone. Bad luck for Addie that Sandra was writing a research paper on whether or not mannerisms are hardwired into our DNA. Adeline may not look like Addie, she may not act like Addie, but apparently she tilts her head in the same way and makes the same gestures when she speaks. Sandra figured it out a couple days later in the middle of the night, delighted to have put the pieces together. Needless to say, I treated her to a very nice dinner that night. Come to think of it, I should expense it to your office. Her realization may have won you the governor’s election.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Robert said. “We haven’t officially started the campaign yet, and having met Adeline Blake, I’m not sure she’s going to be the open book you were hoping for.”

  Martin waved a hand. “So she’s a good actress. It was only the first meeting. I didn’t really expect her to make it easy for us.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “To be honest, I wanted to know if she’d even show up. She had to know she’d be walking right into the lion’s den.”

  If she had known, she hadn’t shown it. Adeline Blake had acted every bit the part of a professional career woman testing the waters with a new client, not a wild child looking to thwart her father by cavorting with his enemy.