Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
There’s a pause, and I feel it—that flicker of sexual tension. It’s been there before, simmering under the surface when we’d work late nights at the campaign headquarters or share drinks after a long day. Tessa’s beautiful, smart, driven. If I gave her the signal, I know she’d be up for it. It’d be easy.
But…
Charlie’s and Beckett’s faces flash in my mind. I haven’t seen them in six months. I miss them. I miss them both so much, and the idea of being with anyone else feels wrong. Like I’d be betraying what we have, even though we haven’t exactly put labels on anything. They’re my people. My home.
Tessa’s looking at me like she’s waiting for a response. I clear my throat and step back, breaking that tension before it goes any further.
“You did good too, Tess,” I say, keeping my voice steady, friendly, but not more than that.
She seems to catch the drift, giving me a nod. Her smile slips back into something more professional. “Thanks, Will.”
The campaign manager and my boss, Pamela Kerry, makes her way over to us, squeezing my arm. “Will. Tessa. Hell of a job, guys. I knew we had a shot, but I didn’t think we’d pull this off so decisively.”
I paste on a polite smile and respond with the platitudes she expects. “Thanks, Pam. It was a team effort for sure.”
She nods, her expression turning serious. “Listen, I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow morning. Win or lose, actually. But if you’re interested, I’d love to bring you on full-time. Hit the ground running on my next campaign. What do you say? Come in tomorrow morning so we can discuss it?”
“Sounds good,” I tell Pam, but my tone is noncommittal. “We can chat about it.”
She moves on to speak to another member of the staff, leaving me with my thoughts. I glance at Tessa again. She’s already back on her phone, probably working on another speech for tomorrow.
The celebration swirls around me, people still cheering, drinking champagne, basking in the win. But I’m stuck in my head, replaying every moment of the last six months and trying to reconcile my feelings about everything.
As I’m stepping outside for some air, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see my father’s name on the screen. Great. Just what I need right now.
I answer it, bracing myself for the inevitable. “Hey, Dad.”
I don’t even get a hello.
“Do you know what the hell you’ve done?” He’s seething, like a pot about to boil over. “Do you have any idea what this means? You just helped one of my biggest critics get elected, William. Do you realize how that looks?”
“I don’t care how it looks,” I answer with a tired breath. “Not everything revolves around you and your precious image.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, son. Everything revolves around me! I’ve spent my entire life building this legacy, and you just tossed it aside for what? A flash-in-the-pan candidate who doesn’t have a prayer of lasting in this world in the long run?”
I grip the phone tighter. “You don’t get it, do you? This is my life, not yours. I make my own choices, and if that means supporting someone you don’t like, then so be it.”
“You think you can just walk away from the family name? From the expectations?” His tone shifts, taking on that condescending edge that has driven me crazy my entire life. “You’re making a huge mistake.”
“Then it’s my mistake to make. And maybe it’s time for you to realize that I’m not just an extension of you, Dad. I’m my own man, and I’ll live my life however the fuck I want.”
Silence hangs on the line for a heartbeat before he explodes again. “You’re ruining everything I’ve worked for—”
“Goodbye, Dad.”
I hang up before he can say another word. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I didn’t want to lash out, but I’ve had enough of his controlling bullshit. I’m sick of being caught in the shadow of his expectations, of his ambitions.
But along with the usual anger comes a pang of…
Damn it, I think it might be compassion.
I thought working for a “good politician” wouldn’t just provide some sort of meaning, but it would prove that you can survive in this realm without having to be a narcissistic prick. That my father is an asshole and there are public servants who truly want to make the world a better place.
There aren’t. Or rather, there might be, but they can’t do a damn thing about it. The system is too corrupt, and it’ll be next to impossible to dismantle it, even from within.
And the system corrupts. I just spent six months watching a woman bend and compromise and make deals that chipped away at her policy dreams and her morals. And yes, it got her elected, but Harper is now indebted and beholden to so many different agendas that I can’t imagine how she’ll ever enact her own.