The Phoenix Candidate(64)

“You’ve got a pretty extreme position on this, Congresswoman Colton. Your name’s been mentioned as a running mate for both Conover and Darrow. How do you imagine working on a ticket with one of the candidates? How could you reconcile your ideological differences?”

“I don’t think I need to, Rick. Do you? Do you think I should put these proposals on ice to make myself a bit more electable? Because that’s a pretty big slap in the face to all of the voters who supported me in the first place. They thought I’d fight for this, and for them. And I intend to keep my promise, even if that makes me an impossible running mate.”

Knox breaks for commercials and I want to run a little victory lap around the studio, but I’m assaulted by the makeup artist’s powdered brush and Knox makes a quick dive off the set for something.

When he returns, Knox gives me a quizzical look, like he can’t figure me out. “What you said just then? It’s brave, but it’s career suicide.”

I take a sip from my water bottle, shrug, and smile. “I know.”

“You could have been a running mate, Grace,” Knox says regretfully. “That’s what this show was supposed to be about. We were getting the exclusive before your big announcement.”

“With Darrow? Please. I didn’t fall in line. He’s not going to want me.”

“But he did. His campaign went nuts pulling out all the stops to get you on this show. And then you get here, and instead of backing his moderate point of view on gun control, you threw down the hard line. Why?”

“Let me tell you something, Rick. You say Darrow’s a moderate? Let’s look at his record. He singlehandedly undermined the three most significant laws in California on guns. And his top campaign contributors? Gun manufacturers and a pro-gun organization that actually defended a campus shooter’s right to carry.”

“So you think Darrow’s position is something that would block your legislation from moving forward?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I snort. “You’re assuming he’d be nominated. And assuming he’d win the White House. I intend to fight like hell to be sure he doesn’t get past square one.”

Knox nods, then pauses a beat. “Well, Congresswoman Colton, this has been an incredibly informative and candid chat. Thank you for coming to Knox on Politics.” He turns to the camera and delivers a few sentences of wrap up while the blood drains from my face.

Oh, God. We’ve been rolling tape this whole fucking time.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





“I love you, Grace. You know that?”

“I know,” I say miserably, and sink into the chair by Trey’s desk. Three empty grande triple-shot cups fill his trash can, and he looks far more chipper than I do considering that we both lost sleep last night.

Damn twentysomethings and their killer ability to bounce back. I’ve lost Jared, and now I’ve lost my chances with both Darrow and Conover. I feel like I should be in mourning, not dragging my rear back into my office directly off the shuttle back from New York.

I give Trey the play-by-play of what went down with Rick Knox, complete with sound effects and gestures as I demonstrate my opportunity with the Darrow campaign crashing and bursting into flames.

“That’s brilliant.” Trey’s grinning.

“Brilliantly underhanded, you mean.” I’m still stinging from Knox’s sleight of hand, but I really only have myself to blame. I knew I was miked, I knew I was sitting in front of cameras, and I knew it was a reporter asking me questions. The fault is entirely mine.

“I love it when you stick to your principles and give the world the finger,” Trey says. “I hope you’ve got a little more where that came from.”

“What?”

“Lauren’s on her way over here.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, God. I thought the segment wasn’t airing until tonight?”

“Friends in high places?” Trey shrugs. “She must have gotten a preview. You ready for this?”

My office door opens and Lauren Kennedy Darrow glides in, her pursed lips the only hint of her mood.

“May we speak in private?” she asks. No greeting. No preamble.

I’m tempted to take my lashings right here—I know Trey would enjoy the show—but I nod to my inner office. Once I’ve closed the door behind us, she straightens to her full height, several inches more than mine, and breathes fire into each of her words.

“You. Betrayed. Me.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days? I’d call it being independent.”

“I’d call it short-sighted. You just ruined a perfect opportunity.”