The Phoenix Candidate(22)

“Foreign policy, especially military engagement in oil-producing states.”

“Oh, good. An easy one.” My sarcasm is thick and cranky.

Jared stands and touches my chin. “That is an easy one, Grace. Shep’s the expert. He’s got twenty years’ worth of experience there, and the polls show that people trust him more than Darrow or the incumbent to actually work out our problems.”

“So then why are we talking about it?”

“He’ll expect you to fall in line.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then it’ll be a short conversation, right?” Jared snaps his laptop closed and returns it to the attaché case. His shoes and jacket are on but his shirt hangs open where I tore off the buttons.

“Maybe it will be our last,” I mutter. I shake out my hair and anchor a bobby pin in my teeth, scooping my mass of dark brown curls back into the twist I’d carefully engineered this morning.

Jared comes up behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror as his hands rest lightly on my shoulders. “Not so tight,” he whispers.

I let the twist uncoil, loosening my hair enough that ringlets drop down by my ears.

Jared’s index finger trails down my cheek, across my lips, and takes the bobby pin from my mouth. “Perfect,” he breathes, sending a shiver down my spine. “You look perfect.”

I take the pin back and finish fastening my hair. His confidence infuses me with hope. I’m waking up to the fact that maybe I do want this. Maybe I want to be a running mate a hell of a lot.

“This won’t be your last meeting, Grace.” Jared’s voice is strong and sure. “This conversation is an easy one, but some of the others will be harder. Gun control, capital-gains taxes, some of your environmental legislation—you’re going to have to fight him on those issues. You’re pretty far apart, especially for being from the same party.”

“Who else is he considering?”

Jared shakes his head. “Can’t tell you that. Just go in for the meeting and remember what we’ve worked on so far—you’ve got a good story, and Shep will want to hear how you tell it in your own words.”

Jared’s chin drops. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he simply presses our foreheads together, like he’s offering a mind meld to help me make it through my next meeting.

“Good luck, Grace.” And he’s gone.





***





“Lovely to see you again, Grace,” Senator Conover booms from across the crowded room. He crosses the carpet in a few swift steps and grasps my hand between his much larger hands. His shake is more of an affectionate squeeze, and his brown eyes crinkle.

Which, of course, reminds me of Jared.

Damn.

“Let’s grab a conference room, shall we?” Conover nods at his assistant, the man who had me sign nondisclosure forms a couple of days ago, and leads me out of the reception.

“What was that?” I motion to the room we just left.

“Another grip-and-grin.” Conover shrugs. “It’s the best way to make sure I’m not leaving anyone out. Colorado’s not always a sure thing.”

I force myself to nod. This fundraising is in a whole different echelon compared to the grassroots effort of my campaigns. In addition to using part of my husband’s life insurance money, my supporters organized fundraising dinners, pancake breakfasts, and golf tournaments.

But at this level, nobody breaks a sweat.

Conover and I sit facing each other in leather club chairs in a small library where a coffee service is set up.

“Jared tells me you’re getting up to speed. And your background check is coming along fine.”

I sip my coffee. “What exactly does this background check entail?”

“The usual.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Your voting record, quotes in the press, any articles you’ve authored, and the civil stuff—liens and unpaid parking tickets.”

“I don’t have any—”

“We know.” Shep’s smile is very white, his eyes sharp. “We just don’t want any surprises.”

I hold up my hands. “No surprises here.” None on paper, anyway. The only things that could truly shock him lie buried within my heart.

Conover launches into a foreign policy lesson that is both intricate and insightful. I fill a couple pages with notes, interrupting him only occasionally to ask him for finer points. When he finishes, he takes his coffee cup and settles back in his chair.

“It’s important you know all of this, Grace, because your strength isn’t foreign policy.”

I nod at the understatement.

“We don’t want any gaffes.”