Bishop (Political Royalty Book 3) (15 page)

Walker paused. There were about a thousand ways this could go wrong. His sole opponent was a black woman. He couldn’t afford the visual of being sympathetic to a white guy proudly sporting a symbol of the Confederacy and what many—hell, most north of the Mason-Dixon line and a considerable number south of it—considered a symbol of racism. It would get played in a loop on every cable channel and the evening news. Even if he managed to beat Collins, he sure as hell couldn’t beat whoever the Democrats ran unless he did better with the African-American vote than the last three Republican nominees had. He couldn’t afford to alienate the base either. Primary voters were different than the general electorate. Walking the line between the two was like walking a tightrope.

It was more than that, though. It was the closet
wink wink, nudge nudge
hint at racism because he and his pretty blonde wife and little girls looked like what the guys selling the racial divide Kool-Aid wanted them to look like and his opponent’s family didn’t. It pissed him off.

“Can you be a little clearer? What do
you
consider our American way of life?” If he got the guy talking, maybe he’d be able to see a way out of the swampland he was currently sinking in.

“I mean good Southern values,” the guy said, motioning to his chest and looking a little confused. “I’m proud of my heritage and I don’t want anyone to take that from me in the name of political correctness.”

Aw hell.

He paused for a moment, watching the man while he tried to figure out exactly how to thread the needle. He’d been having this argument in some shape or form for most of his adult life, but he’d been making it in South Carolina, not on a national stage. The truth might be the same but the delivery sure as hell wasn’t.

“I’m proud of my heritage, too. My ancestors emigrated here from England, of all places.” He let his accent deepen a bit and watched the guy to make sure he still had him. “They grew businesses and crops and helped build this country.” By this point, the man was openly nodding along, and he was pretty sure somewhere the press was salivating, waiting for an opening to talk about the
crops
long-dead generations of Walkers grew.

“They did good work, things that to this day benefit me and my family, but they weren’t perfect. None of us are, right?”
Keep them nodding so when the pivot came, they were inclined to make the turn.
“I think one of our most powerful American values is our ability to adapt.”
Again, an easy yes
. “The people who built this country had to innovate. They didn’t sit back and wait for things to get better. They made them better.” Not only was the questioner nodding along with him, but he could tell he was picking up other parts of the audience as well. “And when they found a better way, or knew better, they did better.”

Now for the shift
. “I’m from South Carolina, so I’ve had some experience with that symbol on your shirt.”

“The Confederate flag,” said the man, nodding, obviously eager to stay on the same team.

“That’s what most people think, isn’t it?” Still a nod, but Shep could see the confusion creeping in. He rolled ahead. He’d laid the groundwork and either it would work or it wouldn’t. It was unrealistic to assume he’d change the mind of a man who wore General Lee’s battle flag on his chest. “Did you know that was never the official flag of the Confederacy?” The crease in the center of the guy’s forehead appeared to be taking up permanent residence, but he hadn’t bailed yet. “There were a couple of official flags.” Three exactly, but bringing the Stainless Banner into this wasn’t going to get him anywhere he wanted to be.

“They actually stopped using the Stars and Bars—the real one, not the symbol you’re wearing—because it was too hard to distinguish it from the
American
flag when the wind was still.” He punched the word American and prayed he’d read the crowd right. “I’ve gone off track, haven’t I? Y’all can Google this. You don’t need me to lecture you in American history.” Maybe some enterprising reporter would take up the challenge. He paused for a second as if he were considering something.

“But there is something to that, isn’t it. They changed the flag because it was too hard to distinguish from the American flag. We started this ramble,” deliberately self-deprecating, he grinned at the audience, “by talking about supporting American values. It seems to me that venerating the flag flown in battle against America might not be the best way to go about it. And given that it’s also a symbol that’s been appropriated by white supremacists, it’s probably not one we want to keep beating each other up with. We did that for a long time in South Carolina—longer than most. It didn’t serve us.

“We can argue about whether the symbol you have painted on your shirt is a symbol of Southern pride or racism. Lots of people have lots of opinions about that. But the
fact
is, it was a flag flown in battle against the United States, and if we’re really going to be the
United
States then it’s a symbol we shouldn’t work so hard to hold onto.”

This was where he’d lose the Southern states, but honestly, at this point he was too angry to care. He was tired of having the same argument over and over again and being slapped with a label that didn’t fit. White man from the South didn’t equal uneducated racist redneck.

“It was General Lee’s flag, and after the war, he was one of the strongest advocates for setting it aside as a divisive symbol in the newly reunited nation. I’m comfortable following his lead in that one thing.”

He spared a glance in Haven’s direction, hoping his off-the-rails tirade hadn’t cost them too much. Meeting his gaze, she smiled at him before shaking her head. He knew he’d just made her job harder. At the very least, the campaign was going to have to put out press statements and clarification. But instead of looking disappointed or concerned, she looked proud. He knew without a doubt he’d never get tired of putting that look on her face.

S
ANDRA HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH of her husband’s misguided idealism.
Honestly, the man had been in politics most of his adult life.
He’d grown up in a political family. Surely he knew better than to go against the party platform or to get lured into a discussion of the Confederate flag on camera.

The TV host announced the clip and then leaned back as they played the section of Shep’s ramble that called on unity. It wasn’t that she had any kind of attachment to the flag, and she wasn’t a racist. But the point of campaigning was to increase the number of voters willing to back a candidate, not alienate a huge chunk of them.

The family values argument had been a different matter entirely. She could clearly see how he’d expanded his reach, praising families whatever they may look like and then standing on stage with her and the girls by his side, creating an image the party base found completely comfortable. But this thing with the flag was different. She didn’t see an obvious upside, just a lot of downside. The television interview on the Sunday morning show was one of the only positives to come out of the whole thing.

The clip ended and the host asked her husband a question about race relations in South Carolina, as if talking about that while people had their morning coffee would get him any closer to the presidency. He whipped out the obligatory Brown versus the Board of Education and started in on the flag over the state capitol, and she let her attention drift. She’d only bothered to come watch the taping because there had been some confusion over whether they wanted her to appear on camera with Shep. They hadn’t, so instead of having an extra hour of sleep and time on the treadmill, she’d ended up shuffled off to a dark corner of the set to listen to her husband give a civics lecture. She could have watched from the green room, but that woman insisted on watching from the set and there was no way Sandra was going to let her have a better place than she did.

She glanced over at her husband’s campaign manager and fought the urge to roll her eyes. That would just add weight to the lines already setting up residence on her forehead. The other woman watched Shep with an expression more suited to a groupie than a campaign manager. She wasn’t quite as bad as Abby, but she clearly thought more of Shep than she should have. He talked a good game, but she couldn’t help but hope the woman got disillusioned soon.

The only thing that kept Sandra from making it her life’s work to complicate Haven’s life was the poll numbers. Despite the fact that the other woman had overinflated, unrealistic ideas about her husband, she also seemed to know how to run a campaign and more importantly, how to win. So for now at least she’d coexist with the woman fucking her husband. While it suited her purpose.

Shep made some comment about calling on the country’s better nature and Sandra bit back a sigh. Inspiring soldiers before they went into battle was one thing, but voters didn’t want a politician reminding them that they had a better nature, let alone admonishing them to use it. They wanted the illusion that they were great the way they were, that their country was great the way it was. They needed reassurance that the guy running understood their struggles overlaid with a thin film of icing, not some crazy make the world a better place bullshit.

At least he looked good. The dark-charcoal suit fit him perfectly and the red tie worked better on camera than it did in person. He might have gone off the rails with his opinions, but he looked presidential doing it. Some days that mattered more. The host went on to talk about delegate counts and primaries in the Northeast and Sandra paid enough attention to be sure things were moving in a favorable direction for the campaign. She’d heard the senior staff strategize for hours on how to handle primaries in states predisposed to be favorable to the general from New England.

They seemed cautiously optimistic, but she’d be sure to catch the repeat of the show in the afternoon to see if the panel’s projections lined up with what she’d been hearing from the campaign. Pushing up against a break, the host thanked her husband, called his viewpoint refreshing and invited him back any time. Shep returned his thanks and gave the camera his best
working the crowd
smile. Maybe there was a way to spin refreshing into reassuring. At a minimum, it looked like it would generate some free television time. She’d take the wins where she could get them.

As the show went to break and the round table panelists started taking their places on set, she took a step forward and waited to stroke Shep’s ego. Men always did better with a little praise. But instead of heading in her direction, he made a beeline for his campaign manager. Not willing to cede that much ground to the other woman, she closed the distance between them, coming to stand beside her husband. He didn’t look up. Neither of them acknowledged her; it was as if she wasn’t even there. She had an irresistible urge to stomp her feet and demand someone pay attention to her, but pitching a fit wouldn’t get her anywhere she wanted to be. Smoothing her skirt, she straightened and waited for the two of them to finish eye fucking each other over a stupid bit of policy that never should have come up.

“What did you think?” Shep kept his gaze glued to the other woman, which made no sense at all.

In her dark-brown pants and ordinary blouse, there wasn’t a lot to hold a man’s attention. She had a decent figure—a bit too curvy and by the time the camera packed on ten pounds, she’d be a disaster—but with her minimal makeup and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she practically faded into the background. Or she should have.

Sandra wasn’t above being catty and she knew of the two of them, she was the more beautiful, but she had no intention of lying to herself. Even if it did soothe her ego. The other woman had a presence completely unrelated to her appearance that commanded attention. She’d seen it when the staffers were all together. And right now, Haven held her husband’s full focus. And the crazy thing was instead of using it to bolster her position, she seemed to give it right back.
What a waste.

“You did good. You need to tighten up the history lesson so you don’t lose people, but honestly, I don’t think it could have gone better.” The woman raised her hand almost as if she intended to touch Shep’s arm but she caught herself.

Sandra had been about to step in to break up the love fest before one of them did something stupid and ruined everything, but her husband’s smile stopped her dead in her tracks. He didn’t smile at her—he’d never smiled at her—like that. Hell, she’d never seen that expression on his face before.

“Shep, darling,” she said, taking her husband’s arm and demanding his attention. “We need to go. The children are waiting.”

It was a bullshit excuse. The nanny had the girls at the hotel. They were probably having a blast at the pool, but let him try to say no to leaving with his wife to get to his children.

She needed time to think, time to figure out her next step. She needed time to decide how to keep her future on the course she’d charted, and the expression on her husband’s face threw a wrench into all of it. It was more than sex. More than infatuation.
The bastard had gone and fallen in love.