Kimba’s eyebrows raise to the same level of speculation I feel. “Sure. Yes, sir. Of course.”
“No sirs, please,” he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“I grew up in Atlanta,” Kimba says dryly. “You’ll have to excuse my southern roots knee-jerk manners. They’re hard to shake.”
Owen leans against the wall with a half-smile. “I’m going to run for president.”
Maxim predicted it years ago, but hearing it from Owen still takes me by surprise. I clear my throat and reply, “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll make a fine candidate.”
“I think I can with the right team running my campaign,” he says, looking between the two of us. “How would you like the job?”
For a moment, I’m too shocked to respond, and then I do in the most inappropriate way. I snort . . . as one does in the face of a powerful senator.
“Sorry.” I cover my mouth and shake my head as if clearing it. “You’re just not our usual client, and I’m not sure how we could help you.”
“Why is that?” He frowns and tilts his head.
“Because rich white boys don’t need our help,” I say flatly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, our mission is to put people in power who will champion the marginalized.”
“Which I plan to do,” he replies without missing a beat. “Did you not hear me discussing my plans for criminal justice reform, women’s pay equity, and missing and murdered indigenous women? Where better to install an ally than in the oval?”
“I don’t think—”
“All I’m asking you to do right now is to think about it,” he cuts in and hands Kimba a card. “That’s a direct line to me. I hope I’ll hear from you soon.”
And with those final words, he leaves.
“Can you believe that guy?” I ask once the door closes behind him.
“Yeah. The nerve of him, offering us the biggest opportunity of our lives,” Kimba says, an irritated note in her voice. “That man is probably the next president of the United States, Lenn. You know that, right?”
I remember his smooth answers, recall the open, honest face that has the added bonus of being movie-star handsome.
“Maybe,” I concede. “But that doesn’t mean we should represent him. We can’t compromise our mission.”
“He may embody our mission. Look, I’m all about putting women and people of color in power as much as you are. You know that, but ultimately, we want changes made in the system to help them. A friend at 1600 Pennsylvania can only help.”
“I just don’t know that it’s the right fit for us.”
“And I just don’t know that it’s only your call to make,” Kimba fires back. “We’re fifty-fity in this thing, boo. My fifty says we do it. In addition to advancing the causes we care about, we will have elected a president. Do you know how much business will come our way if we pull that off?”
“A lot,” I mutter without much enthusiasm.
“A lot. We can’t not consider it.” Kimba props one rounded hip against the makeup table, watching me closely. “Hey, this is me. Let’s talk about the real reason you don’t want to work with Owen Cade. His brother.”
I slingshot a baleful look at her. “That’s ridiculous. You think I’m still in my feelings for that man?”
“I saw you two together,” Kimba reminds me softly. “In the words of m’girl Sade, it was no ordinary love.”
“It was no love at all. It was a week.”
“He was your first.”
“Everybody has a first.”
“Everybody’s first is not Maxim Cade. And you may not have been his first, but it was obvious you were special to him.”
“So special he lied to me,” I spit, clinging to the righteous indignation I wrapped around myself like armor. “He knew how I felt about his father.”