“And my brother being the second?”
I snap my gaze up from the table to meet his. Of course, he would have had Kimba and me vetted before approaching us.
“Either your research team has been busy,” I say wryly, “or Maxim told you himself.”
“Both,” he says, his voice quiet and eyes steady. “My team’s good, but they probably wouldn’t have dug up that one week in Amsterdam. Maxim told me that.”
“He did?”
“Yes, he didn’t tell me much, but I know it ended . . . badly.”
There could not have been a good ending to what we had. I’d thought it would end because of the truth Maxim told me from our first night together—that he would walk away no matter what. Ultimately it ended because of the truth he withheld.
“It was only a week.” I lower my lashes, protecting any secrets my eyes might share without permission. “But we didn’t part on the best of terms. I’d like to know what role you see him playing in your campaign.”
“Well, I’m hiring Hunter, Allen because I trust your judgment.” He angles a frank look from under a lock of blond hair that has defied styling. “But my brother is very popular and well-respected.”
“Yeah. Handsome. Forward-thinking. Environmentally and philanthropically aware. A little too rich and privileged to trust completely, but then leaving your father gives him that bootstrap narrative. People like and trust him.”
“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”
“I give everyone some thought when they’re connected to one of my campaigns.”
“One of yours?” He lifts his brows. “So we’re good?”
“Not even close.” The comment has no real teeth, and we share a quick grin. “I still need to clarify how we’ll deploy your brother. I agree that he could be possibly your most valuable surrogate, but I don’t want to work with him.”
Owen’s speculation and my unbending will squeeze into the tight silence my comment leaves behind.
“Kimba or another staffer can accompany him when he goes on the trail,” I say. “We’ll assign someone who is not me to prep him for interviews and appearances.”
Iasonos comes in with my salad and Owen’s païdakia. Our conversation idles while Nos serves the food.
“Need anything else?” Nos asks.
“No,” I say with a smile. “I’m good.”
“So am I,” Owen says. “Looks delicious. Thank you so much.”
Ever solicitous and sensitive to the private nature of my business back here, Iasonos backs out quickly.
“So you want no contact with Maxim,” Owen says, picking up his fork and the thread of our conversation. “Got it.”
“I want to avoid any awkwardness, and a personal relationship, even former, could prove awkward, but I understand there may be times when we . . . encounter each other.”
“I get it,” Owen says around a steaming bite of food. “I’ll tell him.”
It feels cold, Owen delivering this message to Maxim, but I want as little contact with him as possible.
“The other issue may actually prove more difficult.” I heave a sigh and then dive in. “I don’t think your father should be seen as connected to the campaign at all.”
He looks at me for several seconds before laying down his fork.
“My father first mentioned the presidency to me when I was seven years old, Ms. Hunter. He will not take kindly to being completely cut out.”
“Please, call me Lennix.”
“Lennix,” he says pointedly, “my father is one of the most powerful men in the world. Having his support can only be a good thing.”