The Phoenix Candidate(44)
“Wet and naked,” I finish for him, reading a text that somehow came in without showing up as new. Hot damn, this guy can dirty-talk. He also has some nerve to assume that I’d just be OK with that, considering the fact that he froze me out for more than a week.
Jared pushes himself off the couch and strides toward me. His brown eyes capture my amber ones, and I watch as he opens his mouth and slowly, deliberately licks his finger.
And then he trails his damp finger along my collarbone. “Here’s wet. Now let’s get you naked.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trey gives me the hairy eyeball as I roll into my D.C. office a few minutes after noon. “Big night out?”
I shrug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you and Mama Bea.”
“Want to tell me what that’s about? Because your calendar is starting to look awfully suspicious.”
I shut the door to my legislative office, a small, two-room setup on the third floor of the Cannon House Office Building. Trey commands the desk in the main room, with another desk at the side for another staffer when we are in session, and a two-seat waiting area.
The inner office is mine, simply furnished and hung with photographs of Oregon’s varied beauty, the Pacific coast, Cascade Mountains, and eastern Oregon farmland. It’s not an ego wall of photo ops, the kind that cover most pols’ offices. I leave my laptop bag on my desk there and go back to the main room, pulling a chair opposite Trey’s desk.
“This is big.”
Trey sips the last of his coffee and tosses it in the trash. “Big, like, bill-out-of-committee big? Or big, like, front-page-news big?”
“Big. Like, thermonuclear.”
He crosses his arms. “And you’re holding out on me?”
“I didn’t know what I could say yet! But now I’ve got an idea.” And so I unwind the story, back to the point where Senator Conover called me for a meeting in Portland, and forward to the dinner with the Darrows last night.
I don’t mention my relationship with Jared. I can’t.
When it’s all out of me, I’m nearly breathless, my heart beating fast as I consider what’s possible. Conover or Darrow? The dark horse or the slick frontrunner?
Trey’s phone beeps and he picks up. “Congresswoman Grace Colton’s office. How may I help you?”
I wait, watching him tap a few keys on his computer.
“About how long do you think you’ll need?” Trey curls a finger and I go around his desk to see what he’s typing. Lauren Darrow, 2 p.m. He raises his brow to ask for permission and I nod. “That will be fine. Consider it confirmed.”
He puts the phone back down and grins at me. “Looks like things are moving fast in your world, girlfriend.”
“Let’s fire it up.”
Trey grins, gleeful over our next adventure. “You know I love you, Grace, right?”
“I know.”
***
I meet Lauren for a late lunch at an atrium restaurant. Over bowls of overpriced salad, she lays out the details of the campaign strategy.
She’s sharp, calculating, and ruthless in her ability to cut through the crap of politicking. I begin to see that Darrow’s greatest asset isn’t the campaign strategists on his team. It’s Lauren.
“We’ve done most of our due diligence on you, so the question is simply what you’re willing to do with this opportunity,” Lauren says.
Like it’s just that simple.
Maybe it is.
“I—I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. I can’t tell her about Conover, but a million questions about what I’m willing to do flood my brain.
Lauren sets down her fork. “Grace, now is the time to be decisive. To take action. I don’t want to pressure you, but—”
“But you want to pressure me.” I straighten in my seat. “Lauren, I’ll be the first to admit that this is an amazing opportunity. Truly. And I’m flattered you’re even considering me, since there are so many other people more qualified—”
“More qualified, but not necessarily more electable,” she enunciates. “That’s the difference, Grace. I don’t care if Bobo the clown is more or less qualified than the next guy. What I care about is a simple calculation: does putting Bobo on the ticket mean more or less votes?”
I open my mouth to respond, and then close it. Damn, when you put it that way. Part of me worries that Darrow sees me as a disposable asset. Will I reel in more or less votes? But another part of me, the ambitious, hopeful part, wonders if I need to push my feelings about Darrow and Conover aside and break this down into a simple calculus of my own: