The Phoenix Candidate(73)

“Well, the press seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion, and so did Boyle. So he started throwing his weight around, promising people things he had no business promising on behalf of Conover. I gave him enough rope to hang himself and he did an excellent job of it.”

“Conover dropped him?”

“Cold.”

“I love Shep.”

“So do I. I worked on his first campaign—he recruited me right out of grad school. When he won, he could have forgotten about me and just gone to Washington, but then he told all of his contacts. He made my career.”

Ah ha. So there’s a deeper connection. That’s why Conover trusts Jared so completely, and why he demands I do the same.

“Did you ever work for Darrow?”

Jared is suddenly very interested in checking the gauges on his car, the rear view mirror, the road signs. Anything but answering.

I reach across the console and squeeze his knee, waiting for the answer.

“You know that saying, ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me?’”

I nod when Jared glances my way for confirmation.

“Well, it’s shame on me. I’d been working mostly East Coast and Midwest campaigns, and Lauren asked me to handle Darrow’s gubernatorial bid.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her to go to hell?”

“I was … taken by her.”

Taken by her. It’s an odd choice of words, heavy with meaning. Maybe she lured Jared in as surely as she lured me to trust her. Maybe she took more from him than just affection.

“She used what we’d had when I was running the AG’s campaign. She coerced me to run Darrow’s campaign, and that’s when I started to understand all the little deceptions their entire life is built on. All the favors, the money, and the façade.”

“She knew she couldn’t let an outsider get too close to the campaign.”

“Exactly. That was the poison pill. If I ever leaked about them, she’d reveal information about the AG—things I told her in confidence. If that became public, it would point straight back to me. My career would be over.”

“She needed insurance,” I blurt. “Just like with the photos of us.”

“I’m sure of it.” Jared reaches for my hand. “She probably planned to use them for leverage, and most likely later in the campaign. But when you blew up that interview so spectacularly, I’ll bet she said, ‘Fuck it, ruin her,’ and released them anyway.”

I shake my head. I can’t pretend the pictures don’t hurt—a lot. Shep’s made a very brave or very foolhardy move, choosing me to join his ticket when the pictures will likely alienate plenty of mom-and-apple-pie voters.

“Lauren probably thinks you told me about their gun-lobby funding. Even though you didn’t. Trey is a wicked researcher. But she probably thinks—”

Jared nods slowly. “I’m sure she does. And Conover knows. He knows he can trust me. But then, men with very little to hide tend to be a bit less protective of their privacy.”

“Do you ever … regret it?” I ask. “The threats and backstabbing and constant jockeying for position? When Lauren was pushing me to cut you out of my life, it felt like nothing was safe, or sacred. Like there’s never going to be a part of my life again that just belongs to me.”

Jared reaches across the console and squeezes my knee. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better for you, Grace. And I’ve decided my career running campaigns is over. It almost cost me you, and no election is worth that. This run with Conover—and you—it’s going to be my last. I’d better enjoy it while I can.”

He gives me a sad, pained smile and then he puts his eyes back on the road.





Chapter Forty-Three





Death. Spiders. Darkness. Heights.

Fear of public speaking tops the list. In political terms, those fears rank three to seven points behind public speaking—enough to defeat any candidate by a solid margin.

I’ve prepared for my speech for days, for years in Congress, and for a lifetime with every experience that brought me to this moment. But it’s doesn’t feel like enough, especially when Conover’s speechwriters can’t seem to decide how tough or sympathetic I need to be. My script is constantly changing, throwing off my cadence in each read-through.

Jared can’t figure out what he wants me to wear because he’s afraid that a too-sexy look will send the press into another frenzied commentary about our lusty photos, while too-conservative will have me unfavorably compared on talk shows to “bitches and dykes” in power.

Those are Washington words, not mine, and it’s embarrassing I hear them thrown around like locker-room chatter. Gay or straight, outspoken or dainty, I respect women in power. I just wish the rest of the Beltway did.