I bow my head, biting back a sharp comment.
“Which is why I think we could both benefit each other if we considered working together. I’m looking for a running mate, Grace. I’m looking at you.”
My head snaps up, shock betrayed by every feature. No matter how many times the words vice president have been a hope or a wish or a dream in the past month, nothing prepares me for the intensity of Darrow’s request.
“Me.”
“Yes, you. You could be good for my ticket in a variety of ways. Boyle’s going to pull out of the race in a matter of weeks. He’s bleeding money and his campaign contributions have dried up. Conover’s a sweet old grandpa, but he can’t get it done. The Democrats might love him, but the Republican candidates will crucify him.”
“He’s been head of the Senate Foreign Relations committee for a decade.”
“And voters don’t care. They don’t connect with him the way you and I could connect with voters. We each bring something special to the table.”
“This could transform your career,” Lauren adds, as if I haven’t already grasped the gravity of Darrow’s offer. “We’ll need to do our due diligence, of course, but I’m sure you can imagine we’ve already started checking the boxes.”
“Grace Garcia Colton could be a lot more than just a junior legislator from Oregon,” Darrow says. “You could make history.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I ride back to my apartment in silence, my head swimming in possibilities.
Conover.
Darrow.
Me.
I pay the cab and walk to my building entrance, fumbling in my purse for my apartment keys.
Heavy hands land on my shoulders and spin me against the sandstone building, dragging a shriek from my lips until familiar stubble scratches my cheek.
Jared.
His hands are everywhere, wrapping around my waist and behind my knee, urging my leg around him. His face is buried against my neck, his teeth nipping at its cords while one hand tangles through my hair.
“You didn’t answer my text,” he growls, his other hand skating up the back of my thigh, beneath my dress. My back arches and I clench my leg around his hip, my body remembering every muscle of him automatically.
Too bad it forgets I’m still mad at him.
“I was at dinner.”
His fingers find the edge of my panties and my breathing goes ragged, yet I’m not so blinded by lust that I can’t see we’re on a sidewalk, illuminated by a streetlight and my building’s entrance lights, going at it like teenagers.
I push back on his chest. “Wait. Wait a damn minute.”
Jared’s mouth releases its hold on my neck, and he draws back enough to meet my eyes. I turn away from him, digging again for my keys and finally connecting with their jingle.
“I’m coming inside.”
“Good luck with that, buddy.” I punch my key in the lock, then pull the door open. He grabs the door before I can close it on his face.
“Wait, Grace. Listen to me!”
I can’t hide my evil grin any longer. I push open the door and surprise rearranges his features. “Had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?”
“You were—you were going to let me in?”
“So long as you keep the amount of stupid that comes out of your mouth to a minimum.” I give him a warning glare and then remember another requirement. “And promise you won’t fuck with my hair.”
Jared gives me a solemn nod. “As long as that’s the only part of you off the table, I can handle it.”
“You want to fuck with the rest of me?”
“So bad I can’t stand it.” He shoves me against the elevator wall and his hands trace up and down my body. “I hate this dress.”
I frown. “I like it.”
“I hate that it’s on you.”
He follows me down the apartment hall, groping hands never leaving me. I unlock the door and drop my keys on the kitchen bar, touch Ethan’s picture, and turn on the light. One, two, three.
I turn to Jared and cross my arms, a physical block against his advances. I want to get at what’s really hanging in the air between us before he clouds my brain with lust. “I didn’t bring you up here to fuck me senseless, Jared.”
He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, truly at a loss.
“I brought you up here to talk.”
“And then I can fuck you senseless?”
I laugh—a real laugh, loosened by wine and sleeplessness from the redeye flight and the roller-coaster emotions of today. “It’s a possibility.”
“Well, then, name your terms.” Jared steps around me, pulling open my refrigerator. It’s almost barren: just a few drinks, a box of baking soda, and some tired-looking condiments.