Knight (Political Royalty Book 1) (4 page)

He started to grin, and she had to take another swallow of beer to keep from blurting out
thank fuck
. They were finally getting somewhere.

“When I was sixteen or so, I snuck into my daddy’s liquor cabinet and got a hold of the bourbon. I drank just enough to make myself sick. Jones found me hunched over the trash can in the library, puking my guts out.”

“Jones?” she asked, stabbing the banh cuon with her chopsticks.

“My father’s butler. He cleaned me off and, God, cleaned up after me.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly embarrassed at the memory. “Then he took me to the servants’ quarters and tucked me away in an empty room until I sobered up. He saved my hide on more than one occasion.”

She skipped over the
your family had a butler
question hanging on the tip of her tongue. Of course they did. The Walkers were light-years from her family and the way she’d grown up. Her mother and father didn’t have help; they were the help. That wasn’t exactly true. Her mother had been a teacher’s aide and later a preschool teacher and her father worked for Caterpillar. He’d eventually worked his way up to management and the family into the middle class, but they may as well have been on a separate planet from the Walkers.

“Did your dad ever find out?” she asked.

Walker took a swallow of his beer, nodding with his lips still pressed to the rim. “I told him. Jones made me,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up. “But by the time I went to confess, the mess had been cleaned up, I was sober, and the hangover made it easy to look repentant. My father figured I’d learned my lesson and let me off with a warning.”

“Did you?” asked Haven, having no trouble at all picturing the senior Walker letting off his firstborn with less than a slap on the wrist. Even as a grown man, he himself seemed to live by the
boys will be boys
motto. Why would he expect anything else from his son? “Learn your lesson?”

“Damn straight. I didn’t drink again until I was in college and legal. Have you ever been sick on bourbon? I thought I was gonna die.” He shuddered, and she smiled in spite of herself.

“Drugs?”

“Pot in college. Nothing harder and just a couple of times. I didn’t like it. Made it hard for me to think.” He snagged a pot sticker, working his chopsticks like a pro. “What about you?”

“What
about
me?” she asked, leaning back in the buttery-soft leather couch. The apartment was small but furnished much better than most congressmen’s home away from home. For some of them, the challenge of finding an affordable place in the city left them living like college students again, but not Walker, and it was clear the apartment had been furnished by a woman trying to please a man. Haven didn’t know if the woman was Mrs. Walker or a designer, but given that the senator rarely spoke about his wife and the accessories were coordinated to within an inch of their lives, she’d bet designer.

“When did you take your first drink?”

“This isn’t about me. I’m not running for office.”

“You were a wild child, weren’t you? You have that look. Good girl exterior with a hellcat underneath.”

“No. I thought your ninja skill was reading people. You’re way off,” she said, deliberately ignoring the hellcat comment and the way his eyes widened when he said it.

She’d been so focused on getting into an Ivy League school and getting a scholarship to pay for it, she’d barely put a toe out of line in high school. By the time she got to UPenn, she was working so hard to keep up in her classes and earn enough money for food and books, she didn’t have the energy to waste her time partying.

“Humor me,” he said, pinning her with those dark-brown eyes that had her reciting the
these are not the droids you seek
line from
Star Wars
. No man should be able to wield that much influence with just his eyes.

“Fine.” If she talked, maybe it would keep him talking and then he might actually get around to telling her what she needed to know. “I drank a beer in the back of Ben Smithson’s pickup at the end of sophomore year.”

“What else did you do in the back of Ben’s pickup?” he asked with a grin that said he had no intention of dropping the subject.

“Not a damn thing. We watched the bonfire, and by the time it was over, Ben was too drunk to drive, let alone do anything else.” She’d had to call her mother to come pick her up. In hindsight, it could have been much worse, but she’d been so humiliated at the time. Ben was a year older than her, and it had been her first real date. None of it turned out the way she’d imagined. She didn’t even get a good-night kiss out of the deal. Of course, that didn’t stop Ben from lying about the whole thing the next day. Thankfully it was just a couple days until summer and by the time junior year rolled around, everyone had moved on to something else.

“Any other forays into underage drinking besides with the disappointing fool Ben?” he asked, waving his chopsticks at her like a prosecuting attorney.

“Just stupid college stuff. No arrests or DUIs. No questionable behavior caught on video and before you ask—no, I didn’t use drugs. Now can we please get back to why we’re here?”

“We could if I knew. I’m not screwing with you. I didn’t do anything all that seedy. I never stole, I rarely drank to excess, and my drug usage was pathetic.” He set the empty takeout carton on the coffee table and reached for a sweet steamed rice cake. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I’ve run in three elections. I’ve been vetted, Haven. The press hasn’t reported anything because there’s nothing there.”

“Forgive me, Senator,” she said, sliding a heaping dose of condescension into her voice. “But running for Congress in a small Southern state isn’t the same thing as running for president. The national press corps isn’t going to give your past a cursory glance. They’re going to bring the backhoes and stay awhile. If there is something in your past to find, they’ll find it, and if there’s not, then something will ooze in to fill the void. You don’t want that. You may fancy yourself as a white knight, but the press would like nothing better than to knock you off your horse. Don’t give them the excuse or the ammunition.”

“You’re assuming you’re telling me something I don’t already know.” Without even shifting his posture, he managed to move from comfortable good ole boy to a man in his full power. “I’ve grown up in the most powerful political family this country has seen since the Kennedys. I was raised on this stuff. It’s in my DNA. I hired you because right now, in this moment, you’re the best at what you do. I respect your skills. Don’t underestimate mine.”

It was a fair point, but she knew men like him. Powerful men who assumed their money and family name kept them a step—or, in the case of the Walkers, a whole stairway—above the rest of the world. Admitting he was right would only give him ammunition and she had no intention of doing that. Instead, she went for the adult stance and rolled her eyes at him.

“Save it for the inauguration,” she said, digging out a dumpling and popping it in her mouth. “Since we seem to be hitting a dead end with your closet and you brought it up, what about your family? Your father has a reputation for being fond of his secretaries.”

Walker blew out a breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “That might be the understatement of the century. Since he’s hit his term limit, he’s not even all that discreet anymore. I can talk to him about toning it down during the campaign.”

“Seriously?” Haven couldn’t imagine having that kind of conversation with her father. She couldn’t imagine needing to. Her parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, but they loved each other. She didn’t think either of them had ever had an affair.

“My father is nothing if not a pragmatist. He hasn’t stopped before now because it didn’t bother my mother—or if it did, she didn’t say anything about it. It gave him a license to do what he wanted and get away with it.”

“Would he really stop just because you asked him?”

“Without a doubt. He wants a Walker in the White House more than he wants a piece of ass. After I’m elected, it won’t matter anymore and he can go back to doing what he wants.”

For the first time since they started talking, he looked tired, and Haven wondered how much his father’s infidelity cost him. It would be hard for a man like Shep to look up to a man who ran around on his mother, even if she didn’t complain. Maybe especially if she didn’t complain. Unless he himself was prone to the same kind of indiscretions.

“What about your marriage?” She’d seen pictures of Sandra Walker on the senator’s arm at events or in posed photographs with the couple’s daughters. She was a beautiful woman, blonde and lithe, a perfect counterpoint to the senator. Together they made a striking couple, the kind that looked like they belonged in the White House.

“What about it?” he asked, and she fought hard against the desire to poke him in the eye with her chopstick. She wasn’t asking him to solve calculus problems. They’d just been talking about his father’s infidelity. Her question should be self-evident.

“Have you ever cheated on your wife? Is there a chance there’s a secret baby somewhere? Is she okay with you running for president? Are you happy together? Do you love each other? Just pick a fucking question, Walker, and answer it.” She spoke slowly, the last of her patience exhausted.

“It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is.”

––––––––

H
OW WAS HE supposed to explain his marriage to Haven? He had a feeling the fierce, beautiful woman sitting across from him never settled for anything in her life. So how did he explain to her that he and Sandra’s marriage was more a convenience—a check this box—instead of a love story?

He’d much rather talk about her and the back of Ben’s pickup. He loved seeing her slightly rattled as she remembered. He didn’t imagine that often happened. That wasn’t the only first time he wanted to hear about either. Not that he’d ask. Not when he was trying to convince her he’d always been faithful to his wife, which was the truth. His sex life might suck, and his marriage might have all the depth of a glossy magazine page, but infidelity was a line he’d never crossed. He’d made his icy bed, so he’d lie in it.

“Sandra and I have known each other since we were kids. Our families have been friends forever. We didn’t start dating until after college. I’d just started Aqua Biofarms and wanted to make a run at the state senate. She wanted a husband and children more than she wanted a career, and I needed a wife. It just made sense for us to choose each other. Our parents were thrilled. It certainly made holidays easier.” He shook his head, struggling to believe it had all boiled down to that.

“You’re seriously trying to tell me it’s a marriage of convenience? You, William Shepherd Walker, married a woman because she was in the right place at the right time and not because you loved her?”

It sounded a hell of a lot worse when she said it. Most days he could convince himself that he’d done what made sense for both him and his family, but with Haven looking at him as if he’d sprouted another head, it was hard not to feel the loss of everything he’d given up. Which was stupid. He’d gained so much more than he lost. Without Sandra, he wouldn’t have his children, and it’s not like he knew anyone who actually had a happy marriage. His parents were a case in point.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to discuss his choices with Haven. He hated the idea of seeing judgment—or even worse, pity—in her gorgeous hazel eyes. All she needed to know was that despite the temptations, he’d been faithful to his wife. The rest wasn’t any of her damn business.

“Sandra is happy with my decision to run. She wants to be first lady, and she’s politically savvy enough to be a real asset to the campaign. She understands the importance of appearances.” His wife was the queen of appearances. He was pretty sure most of the time how something looked mattered a hell of a lot more to her than the reality. Again, not that he had any intention of discussing that with Haven. “I have two daughters. Given what you know about my father, this must be hard for you to believe, but I’ve never cheated on my wife.”

She watched him for a long moment, either deciding to believe him or to let it go for now. He had no doubt she’d bring it up again.

“If you’re telling me the truth,” she said, setting her empty carton on the table and picking up her phone, “then you’re an aberration.” She swiped out a quick text before tucking the phone into her bag and standing up. “An honest politician is a unicorn and I don’t believe in unicorns. Prove me wrong. Is there anything else you need to tell me—not that you’ve told me anything so far.”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet beside her. “There really is nothing to tell.”

She shot him a look that said not only didn’t she believe him, she suspected he might be using the faithful senator thing as a pick-up line. He had no doubt she’d seen much worse.

“Let me call my driver,” he said as she ran a hand over her clothes, straightening her silk blouse and dark-brown trousers. Her clothes should have looked business-like but there was something about the way the silk hugged her toned body that he found uncomfortably distracting.

“No need. The cab’s on its way.”

“At least let me walk you down.”

She nodded her agreement and turned to go. Shep snagged his keys from the table beside the front door and stuffed them in his pocket. Following her out of his apartment shouldn’t give him this sense of loss. He was in worse shape than he’d thought if takeout food and uncomfortable questions with Haven ended up being the high point of his week.

“So what’s next?” he asked, following her down the narrow flight of stairs.

“Now we make plans for your announcement and start getting the rest of the team in place. Are you still serious about resigning?” She stopped in the empty lobby and glanced over her shoulder, waiting for his response.

He’d thought long and hard about it. He’d been proud to be the senator from South Carolina, but the people of his state elected him to represent them. He couldn’t handle the added commitment of a presidential campaign. It wasn’t fair to the people who’d counted on him to look out for their interests.