Knight (Political Royalty Book 1) (5 page)

“I’m sure,” he said, nodding.

“Then you need to speak to the majority leader and get all of that in motion. You serve on two committees, right?”

“Ag and Commerce.” He’d miss his time on the committees but as president, he’d be able to make a real difference in people’s lives. Food security had been important to him since college and the coming predicted shortage had global implications. He wanted to be in front of the issue, not reacting to it.

“You get your resignations in order and I’ll work on staffing and the announcement. I’ve already got the FEC filings started.”

Her taxi pulled up in front of the building, and he followed her out to the curb, staying close to her in the dark. It was a safe neighborhood, but it felt like part of his job to look out for her, although he couldn’t say exactly where that feeling had come from. Letting his hand rest on the small of her back, he tried to ignore the heat of her skin under the silk as he ushered her into the car. She looked up at him from the interior of the cab, her beautiful hazel eyes shining bright in the dim light.

“I’d tell you that everything we talked about was confidential but since you didn’t tell me anything worth sharing, that seems pointless. Congratulations, Senator. You’ve got a campaign.”

“S
O TELL ME AGAIN WHY we’re having this meeting at Tara?” asked Justin, his gaze roaming over the columns flanking the front of the Walkers’ house.

Mansion. Plantation. Haven wasn’t sure what to call the obscenely large home.

“Aren’t you half a century too young for that reference?”

“It was my nana’s favorite movie.”

Haven cut her gaze from the house to him, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Nana?”

“Shut up. You’re the one spawned from an egg.”

“I’ll let Mom know you said that the next time I talk to her.” Justin loved her mother. He and her dad were civil, but her friend had an instant connection with her mother the first time he’d come home from college with her.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, pausing halfway up the expansive stairs leading to the entrance, looking genuinely stricken.

“I might. It depends.” She wouldn’t.

“No, you won’t.” He continued up the stairs. “Are you sure we shouldn’t be using the servants’ entrance or something? I bet this place has a car elevator.”

She stifled a snort. “Promise me those words will never leave your mouth again until after November.”

“Like you have to tell me that. But seriously.” He gestured to the two-story high columns flanking an enormous paneled door.

“We can’t pretend he’s not rich. Everyone knows the family. No one would believe false poverty, and it would just piss off the voters. We may as well own it.”

She’d spent a fair bit of time thinking about how to handle the senator’s potential affluenza problem. In the end, she decided it was only a problem if they acted like it was. Americans liked successful people. They had a complicated relationship with the rich. On one hand, most voters wanted to be rich. It was the inherited wealth faux royalty aspect that got politicians in trouble. People might be fascinated with the super-rich, but no one wanted to vote for someone who made them feel like a serf. It’s why Bill Gates was okay with them, and Mitt Romney wasn’t.

“We’ll keep the focus on the fortune he made himself without making it look like he did it on the backs of the starving.” It was a fine line, but she’d find a way to walk it. “And we’re meeting here because it’s what Walker wanted, and it doesn’t hurt for the candidate to think he’s the one in charge.”

They were still holding onto each other like giggling teenagers when the front door swung open, revealing Sandra Walker in all her tall, blonde glory. She was the kind of woman words like statuesque were made for. Her pale-blue slacks skimmed the tops of her perfect nude heels. The even paler silk of her blouse set off the shine in her carefully styled hair and the blue of her eyes. She wore a pair of diamond drop earrings, opulent only because of the number of carats in each, and an enormous emerald cut diamond solitaire next to a wide platinum wedding band. She was so beautiful, for a moment Haven and Justin froze as if someone had turned on a spotlight, and they were caught in the glow.

The only thing out of place in her polished appearance was the tiny wrinkle in the center of her forehead caused by the puzzled expression on her face as she watched them. It was enough to shake Haven out of her momentary stupor, and she straightened, quickly offering the senator’s wife her hand.

“Mrs. Walker, thank you so much for having us in your home,” she said, ignoring the fact that moments earlier she’d been laughing like a hyena on the woman’s front porch.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Walker, seamlessly catching up and following Haven’s lead. “It’s my pleasure. You must be Ms. Graham. And Mr.?”

“Mansfield. And please call me Justin.”

Mrs. Walker took his offered hand and gave it one of those fingertip squeezes. Haven hated those. She kept hearing
slipping, slipping, slipping
in her head. It was as if the person shaking hands was looking for a quick getaway. Keeping their escape options open.

“Shep’s in here.”

Haven made the mistake of glancing at Justin and had to fight the bubble of laughter threatening to erupt again. She was going to have to figure out how to stop picturing a sheepdog every time someone said the candidate’s name.

Mrs. Walker led them through the entryway and into a small library. The senator and Travis sat in club chairs by a fire that looked great but was unnecessary given the temperature outside. Haven understood why the senator wanted to set up his main campaign office in his home state, but she didn’t know if she’d ever get used to the weather. January felt like May to her. She could only imagine what the summer would be like.

“Haven, Justin, come on in. Haven, you remember Travis.” Walker got to his feet, taking her hand in one of his and her elbow in the other. Even through her suit jacket, his hands felt warm. Strong.

She finally managed a nod, gently extricating her hand from his. Of course she remembered Walker’s chief of staff. What threw her for a moment was the way her entire focus immediately shifted to the man in front of her, as if she were some kind of compass and he was true north. He stole all the available space in the room, filling it with something undeniably him. It made him a powerhouse of a candidate and made it even harder for her to breathe.

“You’ve met my partner, Justin Mansfield,” she said, yanking back her control before soft-eyed groupie replaced her badass campaign manager reputation. “Justin, this is Travis Davidson, the senator’s chief of staff.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” said Justin.

“Sit, sit,” said Walker, motioning to the small love seat after the hands had all been shaken.

It was only after she settled into the buttery-soft leather that she realized Mrs. Walker was gone, and the senator hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. That could be a problem. The public wanted their first couple to be happily married, or at least to be able to pretend.

“Travis and I’ve been working on hammering out my platform issues.” Walker leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I’m a fiscal conservative who only cares about social issues if they impact my chances to get elected. Unlike my father, I’d prefer not to deal with the issue at all. I trust people to handle their own sex lives without my input or censure.”

Haven opened her mouth to explain there was no way on God’s green earth that he could win the Republican nomination without embracing the social conservative movement. He held his hand up, and she stopped without uttering a word. It was fucking Pavlovian.

“I’ll say what I need to and do what I need to,” he said. “It’s not my first election. I know what’s expected. I’m just letting you know where my heart is. I couldn’t care less about same-sex marriage, early-term abortions, and the number of vibrators people can own in Texas. I do care about banning assault weapons, but I’m not about to do anything to wreck my NRA rating. At least not until after the election.”

“Fair enough,” she said, both impressed and a little repulsed by his pragmatism. It didn’t make sense to pretend the truth was anything other than what it was. If he intended to win his party’s nomination, there was a long line of asses he’d have to kiss and a string of unappealing bedfellows he’d have to get good and cozy with. “What’s your platform? What sets you apart from the rest of the field?”

He met her gaze and for the first time he acted a little sheepish. “I want to run on food security.”

She bit back a groan. Feeding the world was not a winning platform. Not for his party. Not for the presidential election.

“I know it’s not popular, but hear me out. By 2050, we’re going to have more people on the planet than we know how to feed. Farmers have been talking about it for decades, but it’s finally starting to make it into popular culture. But it’s not enough for a couple of big ag companies to own the issue and control the discussion. It’s too important to belong to just a few. Safe, reliable food is a Homeland Security issue. It’s more than that. It’s a global issue.”

“It might be,” she said, feeling like the bitch stealing food from hungry children. “But it’s not a winning issue. Global hunger isn’t sexy. It’s going to make voters feel bad about themselves, and they tend to move away from things that make them feel bad, not toward them. You can’t win with this.”

He searched her face, and she saw the resolve settle over him. She opened her mouth to be gracious and tell him she’d help him come up with something else.

“Figure it out,” he said before she could object.

“I don’t think you understand. People might want to be good in some kind of abstract way, but ultimately most don’t give a rat’s ass about the greater good. They might cry crocodile tears about starving children, but unless those children live in their house, they’re unlikely to care enough to actually
do
anything about it. And that includes casting a vote for a rich white guy who promises to make the world a better place.” She met his gaze, so sure in her assessment of the general public that she didn’t see a reason to discuss it further. Once she won the presidency for him, he could go all altruistic.

“I’m not going to bend on this, Haven.” He held her gaze, and she felt like an errant child who’d pitched a tantrum over not getting her way. Every response she came up with felt like stamping her feet. “I’ll say whatever I have to on the other issues and do what you expect me to, but this is a non-negotiable. Figure out how to make it work.”

Haven glanced at Justin and saw concern war with adoration on her partner’s face. He knew it was impossible too, but she could tell the senator’s conviction to the issue mattered to him. Maybe that was something she could work with.

Every cycle there was at least one candidate who looked crazy on the outside, but managed to gain traction on nothing more than the courage of their convictions. Granted, it was usually an Evangelical and the traction was short-lived, but it might not have to be. She might be able to take that feeling and turn it into something deeper. Something with more staying power. Every step of the way had to be perfect, but that was what she did.

Keeping her gaze locked on Walker’s, the seed of an idea started to take root. Some of her thought must have shown on her face because he started to smile, the certainty shining in his dark eyes feeding her own.

“I’ve got an idea,” she finally said, unwilling or unable to look away and not sure she cared which it was. “But we’re both going to have to call in a bucketful of favors.”

“D
O YOU THINK HE KNOWS she’s in love with him?” asked Justin.

Haven looked up to see Abby Moore following two steps behind the senator as he walked through his new headquarters. The woman rarely said ten words and when she did, it was always to reiterate something Walker had said or to agree with him. She was too unobtrusive for it to be considered sucking up, but Haven had seen the way the woman watched the senator. There was some serious idol worship going on there.

“I don’t think
she
realizes it,” she said, turning back to the whiteboard map in front of her.