The Kingmaker

“No, because now you believe in Owen and you won’t let the inconvenient fact that I want you derail his candidacy.”

“You’re right. You’re not worth me giving up on someone who can advance my causes.” A bitter, brittle smile appears on her lips and then shatters. “But if you think you get a second chance, you don’t.”

She stands and so do I. I don’t bother being discreet with the glance I rake over her in the bright red dress molded to her body from shoulder to hip, tracking the curve of her thigh. Her stilettos bring her to my nose. I tease her scent out from all the others wafting through the coffee house. Hers is spicy, studded with sage and honey.

I want to pull her onto my lap, bury my face in the curve of her neck like I did once before. Nibble at the silky skin until she trembles against me. I’d do indecent things to her in broad daylight if I thought I could get away with it.

She moves to walk around me, and I gently grasp her elbow. The contact with her skin affects me. She’s a jolt of electricity and my body is a live wire, struck by the power she probably doesn’t even know or care that she holds over me.

“It’s a shame you’ll set your resentment aside long enough to elect a Cade,” I say. “but can’t find it in yourself to forgive one.”

She flicks a glance from my hand on her elbow and up to me. “No, I don’t forgive you, and you can’t make me. You can’t will me to.”

“I’ve spent the last ten years getting what I want, not because I’m a Cade, but because I work harder than everyone else. I keep working after everyone else has gone home. I take risks no one else even considers. I don’t give up on seemingly lost causes. When I want something, really want something, I’ll do whatever I have to until I have it.”

The strength of her resistance and mine collide. No one looking would know this charming coffee shop is actually a battlefield, and our weapons are drawn.

“I know I can’t will you to give me another chance, but remember this, Nix.” I bend my head so close my breath stirs her hair and her scent stirs my pulse. “The harder I have to work for something, the harder I take it.”

41

Lennix

It’s been a month since Maxim ambushed me at the coffee shop. I know he and Kimba have kept in touch, but there isn’t much for him to do right now. We’re the ones working our asses off. We formed Owen’s exploratory committee and have been discreetly raising money from interested donors, of which there are many. We’re strategizing, gathering data, preparing to formally announce that the committee has been formed. In the year or so between now and Iowa’s February caucus, there is a lot less for Maxim to do than there will be later.

Not a day has gone by when I didn’t think about our confrontation in the coffee shop. I keep waiting for Maxim to jump out from behind a bush and try to kiss me or something. He made all those declarations about wanting a second chance, getting rid of Wallace, getting me to forgive him, and then . . . nothing.

You sound almost disappointed.

This from my inner voice.

Well, inner voice, you can shut it.

I’m not disappointed. I’m just braced for his next move. If he’s not going to make one, why is he still in town?

I can’t tear my eyes from the large flat-screen mounted on the wall across from my desk. It’s Beltway’s “Night on the Hill” segment showing Maxim out with some DC socialite seventeen years his junior. The man is thirty-eight. What’s he doing out with a twenty-one-year old?

Okay. Even I hear the petty in my judge-y.

“Why are you still here?” I ask my empty office, plopping a carton of Indian takeout on the desk.

“Why is who still here?” Kimba asks from my office door.

Our space is industrial meets modern and is located in DC’s center city complex. We were so proud to open Hunter, Allen & Associates. We chose every piece of furniture, all the paint, the fixtures, and rugs ourselves. It was a labor of love. This whole operation has been a labor of love.

“Oh, hey.” I poke around in my tandoori chicken. “Thought everyone had left for the night.”

“I forgot something.” She holds up a folder.

I nod and scoop up some rice. “Gotcha.”

“Why is who still here?”

Inward groan.

“Mmm, no one,” I mumble, my mouth deliberately stuffed with savory meat.

“Oh, cool.” Kimba leans against the doorjamb. “Because I thought you were asking the television why Maxim Cade is still in DC. Or even why’s he dating a gorgeous woman ten years younger than you.”