The Kingmaker

“What have I told you about watching those seventies re-runs on Nick at Nite?” Kimba swats Wallace’s arm. “What’s next? Blow up dolls? How the hell am I supposed to find you a normal girl with you watching Mary Tyler Moore?”

“I don’t like normal girls,” Wallace says sullenly. “Find me someone like Lennix.”

“Hey,” I pipe up, offended. “I’m normal.”

They exchange a meaningful glance before looking back to me.

“You’re not normal even a little bit,” Wallace says. “It’s why I love you, Lennix.”

He says it just as the door opens and we come face-to-face with none other than Maxim Cade.

I should have prepared for this moment better. I vaguely recall experiments where continued exposure to certain stimuli desensitized the subjects to the impact of it. I should have spent last night playing footage of Maxim non-stop on a loop so I wouldn’t have this reaction to him.

I’ve seen him over the years, of course, on television, but that screen and distance diluted the full impact of those gemstone e

yes and the burnished dark hair. I couldn’t smell him, couldn’t feel like I’m standing in the shadow of a great wall. My body clenches reflexively, reminding me just how long it’s been since he was inside me. The blood melts in my veins, slowing to a languid crawl under the fixed heat of his stare.

Leaves crackle under someone’s feet down on the sidewalk. Autumn wind whistles through near-barren branches. My surroundings feed me sensory information to ground me in this moment where I can’t seem to look away from Maxim, and he doesn’t even seem to be trying to look away from me.

“Ahem,” Kimba clears her throat and shatters the charged silence, moving toward Maxim for a hug. “So good to see you, Maxim. Been too long.”

He pats her back, his eyes still set on me. When he looks down at her, my breath whooshes out, and I realize I haven’t breathed since he opened the door.

“Good to see you, too.” Maxim’s smile for Kimba is warm and sincere. “You’ve been shaking up the world, I see.”

“Had to.” Kimba laughs and tips her head. “Me and the Kingmaker over here. Can you believe this one?”

Maxim’s smile dissipates, and he turns his attention back to me.

“I believe it, yeah,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’ve always known Nix was exceptional.”

The painfully awkward silence stretches until I’m sure my ears will bleed.

“Hello, Maxim.” I don’t make any move toward him and he makes no move toward me. “Good to see you again.”

“Same,” he mutters. His eyes chill when they rest on Wallace. “Introduce me to your . . .”

No way in hell am I completing that sentence for him.

“This is Wallace Murrow,” I say, slipping my arm through Wallace’s. “Wall, Maxim Cade.”

“So pleased to meet you,” Wallace says, extending his hand. Maxim just stares at it for a few seconds, waiting just beyond polite and shy of rude before accepting Wallace’s outstretched hand.

Wallace shoots me a glance, equal parts bewilderment and irritation. “Um, I saw you testifying before Congress a few weeks—”

“It’s cool outside,” Maxim cuts in over Wallace and opens the door wider. “You guys come on in. Everyone else is here.”

I walk in first, evading the hand Maxim extends for my arm. Without looking at him, I follow the sound of voices.

Our hand-selected core team is spread across couches and tucked into corners, drinking and nibbling from trays of hors d’oeuvres. I walk over to Joe, our field director, and his wife Erin. They’re standing with a woman I recognize as Millicent Cade, one of the most powerful political wives and hostesses in the city. An invitation to one of her parties cements one’s place in DC society, and a snub from her solidifies one’s place outside of it.

“Good evening,” I greet the three of them. “Mrs. Cade, I’m Lennix Hunter. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you, from Owen and Maxim,” she says, her cornflower blue eyes sharpening with speculation. “We need to chat real soon.”

“Yes, we have a lot to talk about. There’s a team member assigned to you for the campaign trail,” I say, deliberately misunderstanding her. “I think you’ll love June.”

“I’m sure I will,” she purrs, her smile deepening to pop dimples in her cheeks. “Be warned. I choose my own clothes.”