The Kingmaker

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “And Stephen’s red hair. Mom doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s just glad one of her kids has reproduced.” He playfully nudges me as we make our way out of Reagan International and into the crisp fall air. “She was counting on you to marry me and give her grandbabies.” He laughs when I cross my eyes and poke my tongue out at him. “You ruined everything breaking up with me.”

  “What would have ruined everything,” I say, craning my neck to see if I spot the car Karla sent for us, “is divorcing after like three months and making it hella awkward with my best friend.”

  “I thought I was your best friend. That was my only consolation when you ended things.”

  “Of course you are.” I pat his hand reassuringly. “Just don’t tell Viv and Kimba, ’kay? It’ll be our little secret.”

  “There’s the car.” He points toward a waiting Lincoln Aviator.

  We settle into the back seat and I just want to close my eyes for a few minutes, but of course, Wallace keeps up a constant stream of chatter.

  “I thought biochemist types were supposed to be introverted, withdrawn creatures,” I say, faking exasperation . . . kind of. “You’re yammering like a chick at a sleepover, Wall.”

  “Is that why you dumped me?”

  “I broke it off,” I correct deliberately. “Because the sex was weird.” I say it to shock him, but it’s the truth. I can barely suppress my grin.

  “Ah, yes. Now I remember,” he says, tongue in his cheek. “You said it felt like kissing your foster step-cousin.”

  Our laughter bubbles over at the same time and fills the car. It feels good to laugh as hard as I do when I’m with Wallace. If only the sex hadn’t been weird and I hadn’t cared too much to let him settle for someone who didn’t want him the way he deserved.

  “You dodged a bullet, baby.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Is that what you’re doing by not taking on Owen Cade?” he asks. “Dodging bullets?”

  I regret telling him everything. He knows my history with Maxim, since Vivienne warned her big brother off dating me. She said I was rebounding from a guy I met in Amsterdam. It had been months by then, so I’d assumed she was wrong.

  She wasn’t.

  I’m just glad Wallace and I only dated a few months and I didn’t waste any more of his time. Just long enough to know we were better as friends. He did have the unfortunate honor of being my second lover, and Maxim was a hard act to follow. I don’t think anyone could have satisfied me right after being with him. I needed the effect he had on my body to fade, and it wouldn’t. As much as I hate admitting it, Maxim left an imprint on me, and other hands felt wrong. No one else inside me fit the same, felt the same.

  “You’re gonna miss the opportunity of a lifetime to avoid some guy you slept with for only a week ten years ago?” Wallace scoffs. “You’re better than that. Smarter than that. Too ambitious for that.”

  “Speaking of ambition,” I say, smoothly pointing the finger away from me. “Congrats on this promotion. Kimba and I love having you here in DC now.”

  “I’ve always wanted my own research team,” Wallace grins. “but I didn’t expect to have it for years. I’m pretty stoked about this opportunity with CamTech. Moving closer to you guys was a bonus for sure.”

  “Good things happen when you’re brilliant and work hard.”

  He shrugs off my praise with a lift of his shoulders and a modest smile. “Whatever. Now stop distracting me with flattery. Back to you and Maxim Cade.”

  Ugh. It was worth a try.

  “There is no me and Maxim Cade.”

  “Sounds like avoidance. What does your therapist say?”

  I release a two-ton sigh. “I haven’t talked to her about it. I will. I just . . .”

  “You just what, baby girl?” He pulls my head down onto his shoulder. “Go on. Tell foster step-cousin Wally all about it.”

  I snort-laugh and turn my face into the comforting scent of his sweater. “He lied to me,” I say, and I hate that hearing it still makes me a little sad. “And he played me for a fool.”

  “Did he really, Lenny?” Wall kisses the top of my head. “Or do you tell yourself that so you won’t have to deal with how he made you feel? Maybe still could make you feel?”

  My head pops up and I stare at him in the thin illumination lent by the city’s bright lights passing outside the car window.

  “Not you, too,” I say, making a disgusted sound in my throat. “You sound like my therapist. And Mena.”

  “I think maybe they’re both right.” Wallace searches my eyes, a concerned frown on his dear face. “There’s some part of you that’s afraid to trust happiness because of what happened with your mom.”

  “It’s not happiness I don’t trust. It’s him. And his lies. He made a fool of me.”

  “Okay. Then don’t sleep with him, but don’t pass up the chance to manage the next president’s campaign.”

  “Who knows if Cade will even win.”

  “He will if you and Kimba get a hold of him,” Wally says with a smile.

  “There’s still the matter of Owen’s father.” I spit the unpleasant word out. “I need to know he won’t interfere and that I won’t have to deal with that bastard.”

  “These seem like things you can talk through and work out. Senator Cade isn’t his father. Don’t miss out on this, baby girl. They call you the Kingmaker now. What will they say when you make a president?”

  “I don’t care what they call me. I just want to do the things that are important to me. To my people and other groups that have been disenfranchised, overlooked and dismissed.”

  “If you get Cade elected, you can write your ticket. Campaign managers for winners end up White House staffers, cabinet members, real power players. It could catapult you and Kimba.”

  “I’m not sure I have a choice anyway,” I reply somewhat petulantly. “Kimba wants to do it. Everyone thinks I’m the bulldog, but behind closed doors she makes me look like Bambi.”

  “Just think about it.” Wallace kisses my knuckle. “And who’s to say he’ll even be involved? Maybe he’ll keep his distance. He has for a decade. Why stop now?”

  When the time is right, I’ll be back for you.

  Those words remind me of how he looked at me that day in the conference room. Like we were inevitable. That hum that was always just beneath my skin when I was around him is back even though we haven’t come face to face. I can’t help but wonder if somehow he feels it, too.

  37

  Lennix

  “He has arrived, gliko mou.”

  Iasonos’ words are unnecessary since I see the two bodyguards who always accompany Owen Cade seated in the main dining room. They’re already digging into the taramasalata and bread spread on the table in front of them.

  “Thanks, Nos.” I smile warmly at the man who’s been my friend since I moved to DC seven years ago. In search of good Greek, Kimba and I stumbled into this classic unassuming “hole in the wall” that ended up serving the best baklava I’ve ever tasted. It was near closing that first night, and Kimba and I shut the place down. It only took a few times for Nos to “adopt” us.

  His restaurant, Trógo, is closed on Mondays, but we’ve conducted more than one covert meeting in his back room when he wasn’t open for business. Today might be the most important to date.

  “Is he already here?” I tip my head toward the closed swinging door.

  “Yes,” Iasonos confirms. “Just you today?”

  “Yeah, Kimba’s at the office, but you know there’ll be hell to pay if I don’t take back some of your spanokopita.”

  “I’ll have it ready,” he says, a pleased smile creasing cheeks. “For you, too?”

  “Nah. Just a salad for me.” I roll my eyes at the obvious disapproval in his expression. “If it was up to you, I’d be popping out of all my clothes.”

  “You need meat on the bones.”

  “I’ve got plenty of meat on the bones,” I say, laughing and h
eading for the back room. “Salad, please.”

  Owen sits at one of the few tables in the back room. It’s covered with a red-and-white gingham tablecloth and topped with unlit candles. He’s on the phone, but smiles when he sees me enter.

  “Okay, Chuck,” he says. “I need to go, but I’ll see you back up on the Hill before the meeting.”

  I take the seat across from him and reach for the carafe of water. “Hope you didn’t cut your call short on my account.”

  “I did actually. I know how valuable your time is, and didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

  More considerate than most candidates. Plus column for him.

  “Did you order already?” I sip my water. “Want something stronger than water?”

  “No, I have a subcommittee meeting after this and need a clear head.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “I was glad to hear from Kimba.” He pours water for himself. “She sounded excited about working with me, and I was curious when she mentioned you wanted to talk before finalizing?”

  “Yes, she’s excited.” I offer a genuine smile, something I reserve for genuine people. “I’m excited. I know it may not seem that way, but I like all my cards on the table, so I wanted to talk with you before we go any further.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” His smile is the real thing, too, and puts me at ease. Selling him to voters will be like handing out free candy apples at a county fair. He’s the perfect candidate waiting to happen.

  “There are a few things we need to discuss before I sign on,” I say, tic-tac-toe-ing in the squares of the gingham tablecloth with my index finger. “Your father being the first.”

  “And my brother being the second?”

  I snap my gaze up from the table to meet his. Of course, he would have had Kimba and me vetted before approaching us.

  “Either your research team has been busy,” I say wryly, “or Maxim told you himself.”

  “Both,” he says, his voice quiet and eyes steady. “My team’s good, but they probably wouldn’t have dug up that one week in Amsterdam. Maxim told me that.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, he didn’t tell me much, but I know it ended . . . badly.”

  There could not have been a good ending to what we had. I’d thought it would end because of the truth Maxim told me from our first night together—that he would walk away no matter what. Ultimately it ended because of the truth he withheld.

  “It was only a week.” I lower my lashes, protecting any secrets my eyes might share without permission. “But we didn’t part on the best of terms. I’d like to know what role you see him playing in your campaign.”

  “Well, I’m hiring Hunter, Allen because I trust your judgment.” He angles a frank look from under a lock of blond hair that has defied styling. “But my brother is very popular and well-respected.”

  “Yeah. Handsome. Forward-thinking. Environmentally and philanthropically aware. A little too rich and privileged to trust completely, but then leaving your father gives him that bootstrap narrative. People like and trust him.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”

  “I give everyone some thought when they’re connected to one of my campaigns.”

  “One of yours?” He lifts his brows. “So we’re good?”

  “Not even close.” The comment has no real teeth, and we share a quick grin. “I still need to clarify how we’ll deploy your brother. I agree that he could be possibly your most valuable surrogate, but I don’t want to work with him.”

  Owen’s speculation and my unbending will squeeze into the tight silence my comment leaves behind.

  “Kimba or another staffer can accompany him when he goes on the trail,” I say. “We’ll assign someone who is not me to prep him for interviews and appearances.”

  Iasonos comes in with my salad and Owen’s païdakia. Our conversation idles while Nos serves the food.

  “Need anything else?” Nos asks.

  “No,” I say with a smile. “I’m good.”

  “So am I,” Owen says. “Looks delicious. Thank you so much.”

  Ever solicitous and sensitive to the private nature of my business back here, Iasonos backs out quickly.

  “So you want no contact with Maxim,” Owen says, picking up his fork and the thread of our conversation. “Got it.”

  “I want to avoid any awkwardness, and a personal relationship, even former, could prove awkward, but I understand there may be times when we . . . encounter each other.”

  “I get it,” Owen says around a steaming bite of food. “I’ll tell him.”

  It feels cold, Owen delivering this message to Maxim, but I want as little contact with him as possible.

  “The other issue may actually prove more difficult.” I heave a sigh and then dive in. “I don’t think your father should be seen as connected to the campaign at all.”

  He looks at me for several seconds before laying down his fork.

  “My father first mentioned the presidency to me when I was seven years old, Ms. Hunter. He will not take kindly to being completely cut out.”

  “Please, call me Lennix.”

  “Lennix,” he says pointedly, “my father is one of the most powerful men in the world. Having his support can only be a good thing.”

  “Oh, really? When you’ve distanced yourself from him on half the votes his oil lobbyists pushed?”

  “Well—”

  “When your brother, whom you just said will be one of your most important surrogates, has been estranged from him for nearly fifteen years based on deeply entrenched philosophical and political differences?”

  “True, but—”

  “When I have led several protests against him when Cade Energy infringed on restricted tribal property?”

  “I know, but—”

  “Him speaking for you makes the three of us look like hypocrites.” I lean forward and defy Emily Post to prop my elbows on the table. “And I haven’t been in politics long enough to be okay with looking like I don’t mean what I say.”

  “He has connections we could use.”

  “Some of them, if uncovered, could lead to unsavory places.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’ll protest. “I said unsavory, not illegal. We’ve already started digging. Just because something isn’t illegal doesn’t mean the public will like it.”

  “You’re saying I should cut my father out altogether?”

  “I’m saying if your daddy is pulling any strings, I don’t wanna see them.”

  “He’s not pulling my strings,” Owen says, the closest thing to anger I’ve seen showing in his eyes.

  “Then this is a moot discussion.”

  “Isn’t there some middle ground between him representing the campaign and not being involved at all?”

  “I didn’t say he couldn’t be involved at all. I think aligning yourself with him publicly too closely will backfire. I said I don’t want to see the strings, not that he couldn’t work backstage.”

  “Let’s get something straight, Ms. Hunter,” he says, pointedly ignoring my invitation to address me informally. “My father is not a ventriloquist and I’m no dummy. You’re running my campaign, but never forget it is my campaign. I understand the differences you have with my father, and that you don’t want anything to do with my brother. I won’t hesitate to put distance between me and either of them if necessary, but I won’t disavow them simply for being who they are.”

  His expression softens. “They’re family. We don’t always agree on every single thing, but we support each other and set aside differences when it matters most. I’d say me running for president qualifies as ‘most.’ I hope voters will relate to that.”

  Perversely, his pushback solidifies that I do indeed want to work with Owen Cade. I drew my line in the sand and he didn’t move his to satisfy me. If he can be that principled fighting for the causes I care about, I’ll count his victory as ours.

  “Senator Cade, I think we can work
it out. Let’s lay some ground rules, and take exceptions case by case.” I nod and offer a pleasant smile. “How about dessert? The baklava is divine.”

  38

  Maxim

  “Owen tells me you have a crush on his new campaign manager.”

  At my sister-in-law’s words, I stiffen before handing my coat over to the young woman waiting to take it.

  “He said what?” I try to play it off with a quick laugh, but Millicent’s no fool. Foolishness is one of the few luxuries Cades can’t actually afford.

  “Lennix, right?” Millicent adjusts flowers in the arrangement dominating the foyer of their Georgetown townhouse. “I haven’t met her yet, but I hear she’s brilliant.”

  “Well you’ll get to meet the entire team they’ve assembled,” I answer, re-steering the conversation. “Isn’t that the point of tonight? To have the family meet the team?”

  “Yes, O thinks it’s important we feel comfortable with the people who’ll play such a big part in our lives for the next eighteen months.” Apparently satisfied with the floral arrangement, she turns to me and slips her arm through the crook of my elbow. “I especially can’t wait to meet your new girlfriend.”

  I drop my head back and groan. “I’m gonna kill my brother.”

  “It’s just been so long since you liked anyone.” She squeezes my arm. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy, Mill. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course we worry. You’re always off risking your life in some godforsaken place, and for what? Algae? Plastic samples?”

  “I haven’t been anywhere truly dangerous in a long time.” I smile down at her. “I kind of miss it, and I think you’re oversimplifying complex scientific research that could possibly reverse global warming.”

  “Ahh, it must get so heavy.”

  “What?”

  “The whole planet on those big, broad shoulders of yours.” She widens her eyes innocently. “How will the world keep turning without you and your recycled sports bras?”