Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Shit. My dick didn’t get hard with Katya’s little hand wrapped around it, but the thought of Lennix’s kisses from ten years ago has me stiff as a tree trunk.
“Someone’s taking photos for tomorrow’s papers,” Katya whispers, leaning over. “Let’s make her jealous.”
“What?”
Before I can stop her, she kisses me.
CHAPTER 43
LENNIX
“This will be fantastic.”
Millicent fairly glows reading the plans we’ve drafted to announce Owen’s exploratory committee on New Year’s Eve. Take-out cartons, coffee cups, laptops, and iPads crowd the glass surface of our conference-room table. The faces around the room look tired, but her response makes the hard work worth it.
“I agree,” Owen says absently. “Fantastic.”
He’s been reading the draft of a bill during the meeting, negotiating the challenge of still serving in the Senate while running for president. That will only intensify the further we get into this process.
Millicent gives him a heatless glare and rolls her eyes. “He’ll be no fun until that bill goes through. Now I do have some questions about the menu and decorations. It is still New Year’s Eve. It has to be festive.”
“It’ll be at our house,” Owen says, still not looking up from the massive stack in front of him. “Our Christmas decorations are up from Thanksgiving ’til St. Patrick’s Day. You don’t get more festive than that.”
“He exaggerates,” she says with a smile. “They’re down by Valentine’s Day.”
She crosses her arms and begins what resembles a military march. “But that is neither here nor there. We need to discuss menu, additional decorations, entertainment, fireworks—”
“Fireworks?” Owen, Kimba and I ask simultaneously.
She lifts one haughty brow, her general’s face on. “Are we going to have a problem with my fireworks? It’s the least we can do to launch one of the greatest presidential administrations in our fine nation’s history. A Cade finally sitting in the Oval? We need to blow some shit up.”
Silence hangs in the air. Everyone exchanges nervous glances. Then there is a snicker from the far end of the conference-room table. It’s Maxim, who hasn’t said a word the entire meeting. With his head and shoulders hunched over his iPad, I assumed he was barely paying attention. His humor seems to uncork everyone else, and then we’re all laughing. Owen laughs loudest and pulls his wife down onto his lap.
“My girl wants fireworks,” he says, kissing the top of Millicent’s head. “My girl gets fireworks.”
She giggles and burrows into his neck. “Thank you, O.”
I stand and put on my general face.
“There’s something else we need to discuss,” I say, waiting for the laughter to settle down. “This announcement is taking place at your house. Your Pacific Heights mansion in San Francisco, to be more precise.”
“It’s our home,” Owen says, his voice stiffening. “I thought we agreed that would personalize it rather than at a city hall or something.”
“I think the party at your place is great,” I say. “And Millicent’s known to be an incredible hostess, so treating it like a party is perfect. We just need to be cognizant of the optics. Republicans will paint you as elitist, and speaking frankly, there’s a lot about your background that screams wealth and the dirtiest buzzword of all right now—privilege.”
“We can’t change who we are,” Millicent says, a little defensively.
“I’m not asking you to change who you are,” I reassure her, keeping my voice calm. “I’m asking you to manage how they see you. We don’t want struggling working-class voters to feel like they could never relate to you. Seeing all your rich friends gathered around the sprawling ballroom in your mansion does not exactly communicate ‘I feel your pain.’”
“Okay,” Millicent says with a small frown. “What do you suggest?”
“I think we need to make sure you don’t look like the one percenters you actually are if we want the middle class pulling the lever for you next year, Senator Cade. Most Americans don’t even really tune into politics until we start gearing up for elections. Do you want their first impression of you to be the elitism your opponent will surely accuse you of?”
My words land with a thump into the subsequent quiet. I give it a beat and am about to elaborate, but Maxim speaks before I can. “She’s right, O.”
I look up to find his stare fixed on me, but he quickly shifts it to his brother. “Not many people grew up the way we did or live the way we do. We want them to know we may have a lot, but we want to use what we have to help.”
“Exactly,” I add. “I’m not suggesting you hide who you are or fake poverty. That would be disingenuous, and your authenticity is one of the most appealing things about you.”
“Then what?” Owen asks.
“Your political positions and your personality, everything about you polls really well with millennials,” I say. “You feel like a breath of fresh air to them.”