Executive Engagement

"I already have the connections I need to get these factories here," I tell her, looking her in the eyes. "And after we get the factories back, we’ll move on to other towns. And if I ever do decide to be Governor, I’ll do it on my own fucking merits. Not being bought and paid for by a special fucking interest."

"You?" Tina asks, cocking her head and taking another step closer. I can all of a sudden smell her perfume. "Have connections?"

"I’m working with Senator Hawthorne," I say, not knowing what else to say. The truth is, I’m trying to win her over. Maybe I should have fucked her harder. Although that wasn’t possible. She was basically a quivering mass of flesh in a sex haze by the time I was done fucking her.

"You are too funny," Tina Ling says in a snort that leads to a laugh.

I don’t even realize how, but all of a sudden she runs a hand down the side of my abs.

I tense up. But my cock fucking twitches.

No. Not for this bitch.

"The Vivian Hawthorne is your inside connection to get this deal passed?" Tina Ling asks me. "You really are just a mayor that sits and drinks with the poor commoners, aren’t you?"

"I think you’d better get the fuck out of my fucking house, lady," I tell her with gritted teeth.

She shrugs. "If the person you’re counting on to get your back in this is the woman that’s sleeping with the Governor of this state and defending the legislation that will kill your factories, then sure, I have no problem with that," Tina Ling says and takes another step closer to me. She lifts herself on her feet and leans in closer to me and whispers. "But if you want real friends. Not ones who are spending time with your enemies having brunch at the Harvard Club, or friends who will take care of you. And make you…happy, then give me a call."

I feel her hands on my abs again, and then slide down. She's at the waistband of my pajamas and she slides her hand in.

I gasp. But she quickly pulls out. I feel something else. I look down.

She’s left her business card.

Literally.

She’s stuck her business card in the fucking waist band of my fucking pajama bottoms.

"I didn’t have anywhere else to put it," she says to me, smiling sweetly.

She turns away from me and walks to the door. I turn around to watch her open the door.

"I did have fucking pockets, you know," I say to her, trying to get something in this conversation.

"I know," she says without looking back. "We make those pajamas in a factory in Shanghai. Call me if you decide you want to get serious about your future."

And just like that, she’s out the door and walking toward her car.

I watch as she drives away, thinking about what she said.

Vivian and Carter.

I think about what the newspapers said.

They’re probably both in Manhattan right now.

Maybe it’s time I paid them a visit.

Carter

These high ceilings, crisp white tablecloths, and that signature 'Ivy League Scramble' with eggs, sausage, and goat cheese makes me feel at home. I've brought Vivian here to the Harvard Club for brunch, and I can tell that even she's i

mpressed. I know what you're thinking, this is a club exclusively for Harvard alumni and that makes me some sort of effete liberal.

In fact, if you’re so inclined, the whole Harvard thing with my protecting the environment makes me one of those wimps you see on television.

You couldn’t be farther from the truth.