Yours in Scandal

by Layne, Lauren

  “That I’d talk to you. I take it if he’s asking, it means she’s been . . . around?”

  Robert gave a single nod. “She’s stayed over. A couple of times.”

  Kenny blew out a breath, this exhale more apprehensive than the last. “You know what I’m going to say, right?”

  Robert dropped into his chair, staring bleakly down at his thumbs. “That Martin was correct. About Addie.”

  Kenny took his time responding. “Not about her character. I’ve told you before, I like her. A lot. I even think, on a personal level, she’s good for you.”

  Robert looked at the man he trusted above all others. “And on a professional level?”

  “That’s where Martin was right. I think you can have the woman. Or you can have the governor’s seat. But you can’t have both.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thursday, November 12

  “You know this is usually the scene where the unsuspecting woman dies, right?” Adeline whispered to Charlie.

  “Well, you’ve got an advantage. Seeing as you are suspecting.” The bodyguard gave her a brief smile over his shoulder.

  “Not exactly reassuring,” she said, quickening her pace to keep up with him as best she could in high heels fifty or so feet in the air. The railing was high and the floor felt secure, but she’d feel a lot better if she knew where she was going. She usually loved surprises, but not so much when they involved a catwalk.

  Charlie halted, and she stopped as well, peering around him, both surprised and not surprised to see the mayor grinning at her.

  She pointed at Robert, even as she addressed Charlie. “You’re his bodyguard, Charlie. You had no issue with him wanting to hang out up here in the catwalk of a theater?”

  “Oh, I had plenty of issues,” Charlie said darkly.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” Robert said, his smile widening. “You don’t have to worry about me getting shot up here.”

  “Right. Because nobody’s ever been shot in a theater.”

  “Don’t be macabre, man. Also, go away.”

  Charlie shook his head but did as he was told, disappearing from sight.

  Adeline tilted her head as she looked in the direction Charlie had gone. “Maybe things have changed since I played the role of the governor’s daughter, but isn’t part of this whole bodyguard thing that he’s supposed to, oh, I don’t know . . . guard you?”

  “There are only two ways up here,” Robert said. “Both accessible by a narrow staircase. Charlie’s at one, Roy’s at the other. To say nothing of the rest of the detail milling around the entrances to the backstage area. Besides, nobody knows we’re up here.”

  He emphasized his point by pulling her into a kiss, and Addie went willingly, even as a little part of her heart twisted in regret that they had to do things this way. Not that sneaking around didn’t have its benefits. There was something undeniably sexy about forbidden trysts, secluded hallways, and stolen kisses. Plus, she’d been the one to insist on the secrecy.

  But Robert was going along with it. Apparently, he’d decided he didn’t mind the clandestine nature of their relationship after all. And even more damaging to her heart, he now seemed to prefer the sneaking around.

  She’d thought it was what she wanted, and her brain did. Her brain knew that this was the way it had to be for both their sakes. The governor’s scandalous daughter was never going to be the practical choice for a man with Robert’s political aspirations. And the mayor was never going to be the right choice for someone with her political aversions.

  Her heart, on the other hand—her pesky, stupid, falling-for-him heart—ached at the realization that this was all they would ever be. Sneaking around wasn’t some short-term game; it wasn’t them biding their time until they could go public with their relationship.

  This was a forever kind of arrangement.

  Correction: this was a for as long as this thing—whatever it was—lasted arrangement.

  And realistically, she knew it wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t.

  Eventually, Robert would need a woman who could be by his side at black-tie fund-raisers, who could travel with him on the campaign trail, who could make pretty speeches on his behalf, and have his perfect country club babies.

  That wasn’t Addie. It would never be Addie.

  The prudent thing would be to call it now—the sooner she walked away, the less deep the cut, the less lasting the scars.

  But Addie had never been prudent. She was more of the life is short, have the cupcake mentality. Robert was the cupcake. And she wanted him for as long as she could have him, whether that was two hours, two days, or two months.

  She was hoping for the latter.

  It was November, which meant he still had a couple of months before the new mayor would be sworn in and Robert could start campaigning in earnest for the governor’s seat. At which point his relationship with her would be even more of an Achilles’ heel than it was now.

  Two months. And if two months was all she had, she’d take them and enjoy every damn second.

  “Please don’t tell me you brought me up here just to make out,” she said, her voice hitching as his lips moved down her neck. “When I said I wasn’t afraid of heights, I meant it, but I didn’t exactly mean I relished them for no reason.”

  “Oh, there’s a reason,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips and then pulling back, nodding to the theater below.

  As though on cue, instruments began their warm-up from the stage. “I know live events are sort of a no-go given our not be seen in public philosophy, but I had to figure out a way to take you to this.”

  “And this would be . . . ? There were no signs when we came in.”

  “There’s usually not at these Julliard things. It’s a student event, and they change just about every night. There is, however, a very classy paper program, made classier from having been shoved in my suit pocket.”

  He handed her a wrinkled program clearly printed on the cheapest paper available. She flipped it over so she could see the front cover.

  THE MUSICAL CROSSINGS SERIES: MICHAEL JACKSON MEETS CLASSICAL

  “You said you like exploring all kinds of music,” he said, pointing to the word Classical. “But you also said you like Michael Jackson. Best of both worlds.”

  Addie didn’t look up from the program.

  “Hey.” He nudged her leg with his knee. “We don’t have to stay. If you’re not feeling it, or if the seats suck, which—frankly, we don’t have seats—”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just . . .” She looked up into his concerned hazel eyes. “You remembered. I mentioned that I liked Michael Jackson offhand weeks ago, well before we started sleeping together, and you remembered.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, giving her a confused smile, and leaning down. “See, that’s what you do when you have a crush on a really cute girl. You learn everything you can about her so you can make her happy.”

  Happy didn’t quite cover it. She felt something closer to infatuation. And not with the show. With him.

  As though reading her thoughts, he gave a slow smile and moved closer. “You know, it just occurred to me. I think you had a hell of a crush on me, too.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Check your ego, please, Mr. Mayor.”

  “You did,” he insisted with a grin. “I mentioned that I wanted my parties to be more fun. You made a mental note, remembered, and turned a black-tie event into a board game party.”

  “I made a mental note of your preferences, because you were literally paying me to make sure you were happy.”

  “And yet”—he kissed her mouth softly—“I’m not paying you now. But here you are, making me very happy. Like I said, hell of a crush.”

  She closed her eyes and kissed him back with every wonderful, awful, confused feeling in her heart. Hoping he couldn’t sense the truth: she was teetering on the ledge of this being so much more than infatuation—something much more dangerous than a crush
.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thursday, November 19

  “So, there’s something I’ve been dying to know,” Robert said.

  “Uh-huh. And it’s something that had to be addressed during the workday? That couldn’t wait until tonight?” Addie asked, leaning back in her desk chair and smiling into her cell phone. “For that matter, how do you have time for this call? I thought mayors of giant metropolises were supposed to be busy.”

  “I am. But I can’t possibly even begin to process this proposal on increasing minimum wage until I know this. So, I’ll never make a decision. And, well, I don’t know, Blake, do you really want that sort of thing on your conscience?”

  Addie rolled her eyes. “Fine. What is this nagging issue that I can help with?”

  “Do you remember that late afternoon at my place? The one where we . . . got to know each other?”

  Addie heated at the intimate memories. “There have been a couple afternoons like that recently. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Well, one in particular comes to mind, when you looked like you had some very interesting ideas on what we could do with my tie. And I’ve been meaning to ask . . .”

  “Yessssssss?” she said, drawing out the word with a smile, even though he couldn’t see it over the phone.

  “I want details. I want to hear every pornographic thought going through your head in excruciating detail. And then I want to act them out later exactly as they play out in your head. Much like we did last night with the . . . shall we say . . . props?”

  “You know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Addie said. “And I think the people of New York have a right to know their mayor has an extremely dirty mind—”

  “Your fault. You’ve corrupted me. And you like my dirty mind. Don’t deny it.”

  She bit her lip and smiled. She did like it. She liked everything about him. Too much.

  Someone knocked at her office door, and she moved the cell phone away from her mouth so as not to shout in Robert’s ear. “Yeah. Come in.”

  Cordelia opened the door and stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. The mayor’s chief of staff is here to see you.”

  “Kenny?” Addie asked, surprised.

  “Kenny’s there?” Robert asked, sounding even more surprised than she did.

  “Yeah, you didn’t send him?”

  “No, I assumed he was just taking a long lunch.”

  “He says it’s urgent,” Cordelia said in a low, worried voice.

  A tiny warning bell went off in Addie’s head. She couldn’t think of a single reason Kenny would be here on urgent business without the mayor’s knowledge that would be good news.

  The bell grew louder when he stepped into the doorway and she saw his somber expression. Nope. Whatever he was here to say was not good news.

  “I’ll call you back,” she told Robert, ending the call before he could finish his protest. “Hey, Kenny, come in. What’s up?” she asked, her nervousness making her voice sound borderline screechy even to her own ears.

  “Hey, Adeline,” Kenny said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Cordelia had closed the door, and coming toward her.

  Without preamble, he handed her an iPhone.

  She should have been ready. Even before she met the mayor, she’d been mentally preparing for this moment, somehow knowing that it would happen, even if she didn’t know the how or when.

  Now, she wasn’t sure knowing the how or when would have made a difference. She was pretty sure it would have taken her breath away, warning or no warning.

  She looked down at the two photos of herself. One, taken years ago. Blonde and carefree, eyes shining bright with the joy of dancing, friendship, and yes, maybe a little tequila. The other taken mere weeks ago. A brunette version of her, with the same carefree happiness on the dance floor.

  The dark hair that had served as a surprisingly effective disguise for the past year had failed her. Looking at the photos of herself side by side like this, blonde vs. brunette, there was no mistaking the fact that it was the same woman, just with different hair.

  And in case anyone missed that fact, the headline below the images confirmed it:

  Governor’s Wild Daughter, Hiding in Plain Sight

  Addie felt surprisingly calm as she read the article. It confirmed that Adeline Blake, event planner, was in fact Addie Brennan, wild child and national scandal from five years ago.

  The author didn’t claim to know where she’d been in between the last governor’s election and her reappearance in Manhattan a year earlier, but it was extremely thorough in what she’d been up to since donning the Adeline Blake mantle.

  The article went on to list her clients, including her most famous client, and the “unconfirmed rumors” about her having a relationship of a more personal nature with the mayor.

  Then Addie’s calm evaporated into a bone-cutting chill as she read the next line:

  While the mayor’s office was not available for comment on Mayor Davenport’s personal life, the governor had this to say about his estranged daughter’s relationship:

  “A biological father doesn’t get to choose his child. He can only do his best to reconcile himself to the fact that sometimes even the best parenting efforts go awry. On the other hand, a man does choose who to become involved with romantically, and all I can say is that a man who’d choose to get involved with a loose cannon like my daughter, well . . . I’m not sure that’s anyone I’d want running my government.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Adeline whispered quietly. “Best parenting efforts, my ass.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kenny said, the genuine kindness in his tone easing the ache in her chest. Slightly.

  She looked up. “The mayor doesn’t know?”

  Kenny shook his head. “I got a courtesy heads-up from an old college friend who works at the Times. They’re planning to run it tomorrow, and I’ll show Robert before then. But I thought you had the right to be the first to know.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said quietly, staring down at the headline again before looking back up at Kenny. “This is bad, isn’t it? For Robert’s campaign.”

  He hesitated, and she sensed the usually straight-as-an-arrow Kenny had an out-of-character urge to lie to her.

  Then he sighed and told her the truth. “Yeah. It’s really bad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Friday, November 20

  Robert had just hung up the phone with his lawyer—his third call of the hour—when Addie stepped into his office.

  At least he was pretty sure it was Addie.

  He shot to his feet, barely registering Kenny quietly exiting the room, leaving the two of them alone.

  Robert rounded the desk. “Where have you—I’ve been trying—What are you wearing?”

  She peeled off the oversized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat, then shrugged out of her coat. Not the sexy trench coat with very pleasant memories, but a huge wool thing.

  “Disguise. Outside my apartment is crawling with paparazzi. Outside the mansion is even worse. I came in with one of the tours and waited until I could find Charlie to bring me through one of the back hallways. I don’t think anyone saw me.”

  He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t care who knew she was here.

  But of course, it did matter. And he should care.

  Instead, all he could think about was the fact that it had been nearly twenty-four hours since their world had been turned upside down, and he hadn’t been able to get ahold of her. Hadn’t known if she was okay . . .

  “What the hell, Addie?” he asked quietly, knowing the hurt in his voice came through, but not able to stop it. “Where have you been? I’ve called you a million times.”

  “I know.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he realized it was one of the few times he’d seen her out in public with her hair down. She looked younger. More like Addie from the gossip rags years ago, less like the buttoned-up Adeline.
“I needed some time,” she said.

  “I get it,” he said quietly, reaching for her, relieved when she didn’t pull away. “I wanted to come by, but with all that’s been going on . . .”

  I couldn’t be seen with you.

  The thought made him nauseous, both the truth of it as well as the thought of her enduring her father’s betrayal alone.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  His eyes squeezed shut. He hated that she understood. He hated that she thought she deserved to be hidden away and kept at arm’s length like a pariah. He hated that if he had any other job, he’d have been able to laugh off her twentysomething antics. Hell, had he had any other job, he’d have probably had some twentysomething antics of his own that they could laugh about together, trading war stories of their wilder days.

  Today, he’d woken up, wanting nothing more than to go to her; tell her to put on her tiny, sexy nurse costume; and then take her to a boozy lunch, maybe shoot the literal bird to any paparazzi.

  Instead, he’d spent the entire day in meetings with Kenny and his team of advisers, trying to figure out his damage-control options. The verdict? There were no options. The overwhelming suggestion had been to put as much distance between himself and the governor’s daughter and wait for it to blow over.

  It had sucked to hear it then, but it sucked even more to see the expression on her face and know she agreed.

  Robert felt a surge of resentment at the situation. He wouldn’t lose her without a fight.

  “All right, so I’ve got good news and bad news,” he told her with a grim smile. “The good news is we’re pretty sure it was Martin Tillman who leaked your identity to the press and your father, and we can press charges since he’s in breach of contract. The bad news is—”

  “We can’t undo the damage he’s already done,” she finished for him.

  He exhaled. “Yeah. That. Though, technically, it’s still all conjecture. We can still try to—”