Queen Move

Losing Daddy remains and may always be the most devastating moment of my life. When he died, that unconditional love and acceptance died with him and left behind such a void. The last few years, I’ve kept busy enough to fill that void with work and ambition and, yes, power. I’ve acquired power for myself and for others by staying in constant motion. But with the problems crowding in on me—the possibility of never having children, and maybe never getting this shot to make history for the state of Georgia because the congressman is “keeping me in mind,” I can’t be still.

Not to mention I’m still not sure what I should do about Ezra. Oh, I know exactly what I want to do, but can I afford the emotional attachment it could easily become with him? Can I afford that now? And should we get involved when things are so uncertain with Aiko and Noah? Family shit gets messy, and I have enough mess of my own.

I stride from the bathroom and come face-to-face with Anthony Rodderick, my sometime-nemesis. Yale educated. His family are Augusta National board members who yield power across the entire state. He holds a guaranteed spot on Sunday morning’s political news circuit that I usually

eschew. He’s your typical entitled male, but a liberal, so in some ways he’s even blinder to his own privilege because wanting to save the world assuages his guilt for getting all he wants from it.

“Kimba,” he says, his deep voice modulated by an expensive education, years of breeding, and just the right twinge of a Southern drawl to keep him approachable. “So good to see you again.”

“Good to see you, too, Tony,” I say, deliberately using the sobriquet I know he hates.

His expression twitches almost imperceptibly if you don’t know what you’re looking for. But, of course, I do.

“I think the last time I saw you,” Anthony says, “was at the Inaugural Ball.”

He leans against the wall and slides his left hand into his pants pocket, but not before I notice the lighter band of skin where his wedding ring used to be. Relationships—marriages, families, friendships—are the greatest liabilities of any campaign. I know that firsthand.

“It was very gracious of President Cade to invite his rivals to his big night,”

Anthony continues, grudging admiration and some envy evident in his voice.

“The president is a gracious man,” I reply neutrally.

“And his wife, too. You’d know that better than most considering she was your business partner and best friend. Must be nice when your connections land you the plum jobs.”

“You’d probably know more about that than I would.”

His scoffing laughter slithers under my skin. “Seriously? My family may be rich, but there are no schools, parks, bridges or streets named after us.” His expression goes granite. “And that kind of thing means nothing to Mateo Ruiz. He’s more interested in winning over people in this state who would resist his bid. People like my family and the guys I grew up with. I know how to reach them.”

“I know how to reach them, too. Being like your enemy is not a battle strategy. Thinking like them is. I could outthink you with a concussion.” I step close enough to whisper in his ear. “And you know it.”

He chuckles, his eyes roaming over my face and body with undisguised admiration. He’d fuck me if he could, but that won’t ever happen. I turned him down when he was drunk enough to actually ask, which only makes him more determined to beat me.

“Maybe,” he whispers back. “Maybe I know it, but Mateo doesn’t, and he’s this close to hiring me to run his campaign. You could always come work for me, Kimba. I’d take real good care of you.” Innuendo sours his voice.

“Tony, you wouldn’t know how to ‘take care of me’ with step-by-step instructions, but I’ll consider…no guarantees now…hiring you to work for me on Mateo’s campaign. I’m sure I could find something for you to do. If I remember correctly, you make a great cup of coffee.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says as I turn and head for the exit. I’m not sure what it will take to persuade Congressman Ruiz, but this wasn’t it. I’ll know my move when it’s time to make it, and it will have Congressman Ruiz coming to me.

I pull my phone out to call for an Uber and see a text message from Mona.

Mona: Wanna get faded? I have wine and edibles. Gummies, to be exact.

These men who think I should bow and scrape to them have me feeling tight and close to my feelings. I could use some loosening.

I hit send on my message back to Mona.

Me: Girl, on my way.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kimba

At least I’m not as drunk as Mona.

This occurs to me, though, whilst my legs are straight up in the air, the hem of my dress is scrunched at my waist, and my head hangs off the arm of the couch. I may not be drunk exactly, but maybe a little looser than I planned? And I only had half a gummy.

“I’m deadass serious when I ask this question,” Mona says, her words only slurring the slightest bit.