by Beth Fred
He cocks his head. “Marrying me might not be so bad. I’d pay for your education. I might even be inclined to send a tax-free charitable donation to your basket-weaving friends. It will make me look like a philanthropist.”
“My basket-weaving friends?” I exhale slowly. “Did my dad set this whole thing up?”
Eric and Evan both laugh. “Mandy—” Evan starts.
I turn back to face him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Mr. Hicks, how many times have we met?”
His forehead creases. Ha. I caught him off guard. “This makes three.”
“And were the prior two occasions entirely formal?”
“Yes,” he says.
“And have I ever introduced myself to you using my first name?”
Evan stands straighter. “No, ma’am, but your father has.”
“Ah. As it turns out, I am his daughter, not his pet. I’m of age and, while it may be beyond your comprehension, entitled to make some decisions for myself. It’s Miss Buchanan until I say otherwise.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Evan answered. “Miss Buchanan, do you think you could handle a reporter with that kind of stealth?”
I laugh. This situation becomes more absurd by the moment. “You mean could I put a reporter in check? Definitely. But I’m not interested in being Martinez’s trophy wife. And you can tell my father to go to hell.”
“Senator Buchanan knows nothing about this. We very discreetly made requests of a few talent agencies and talked to a few well-connected individuals whom we were acquainted with. Eric is right. Your dad would be one pissed-off farmer if he knew you were here.”
“I don’t buy that for a moment.”
Evan smiles. “Don’t get me wrong. He’d rather you be here than Kourtney Simpleton’s office, but not if he knew why.”
“Of all the ways I’ve dreamed up to torment my dad, I have to say marrying a rich Republican never crossed my mind.”
Eric steps forward. “I blocked his bill.”
“What?” I asked.
“I blocked his bill last year.”
“Why? You two should be drinking buddies.”
“He represents Arkansas. I represent Texas. What’s best for his constituents isn’t always best for mine, and I had promises to keep.”
“And I told you when you did that, keeping promises is easier done by making deals, which involves not being hated by your colleagues,” Evan says.
“And I told you then it had been a long time since the Senator was a working man. He has no idea what it’s like to be middle class now,” Eric says.
“I’ve told him that every night at dinner for more years than I can count. But, like you do?”
“I wasn’t always rich or even middle class.” Eric looks to Evan. “This is ridiculous. You’re telling me I need to make friends, and then you’re telling me to steal his daughter.”
Evan drops his hands on his desk and leans forward. “Okay. Let me make this simple. Senator Buchanan is wildly popular. You need his support. Do you really think he isn’t going to campaign for his son-in-law? He’ll help you because it’s better for his daughter.”
“One, you really do not know my dad. He hates me. Two, I’m not willing.”
Monica tilts her head up and makes eye contact with me. “Oh, yes, you are.”
“Monica, don’t proceed to tell me what I want. I’m not too stupid to know.”
“Yeah. And I’m not stupid either. You sat through traffic to get here and then paid for parking. You waited in that room for half an hour before striking up a private conversation with the senator.”
“I stood in that God-awful room for thirty minutes before the woman in front of me explained just how degrading this would actually be. As I fled from the room, I slipped on something and slid across the floor, where Martinez kept me from hitting the ground. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”
“You came here for a reason. Why?”
“I thought it would be a good way to pay my tuition,” I say.
Monica’s brows shoot up, and she wrinkles her nose. “Your dad isn’t paying your tuition?”
“She’s a tree hugger, remember?” Eric says.
“Well, I haven’t hugged any good trees lately, but trees are less misogynistic than some men.” I smile.
“Was that directed at me?” Eric asks.
“Do you think it was?”
“See, this is what I mean,” Evan says. “You sound married already.”
Monica looks at me with a blank face. “Agreeing to this would piss your father off and cover your tuition.”
“I’ll find a way to pay my tuition. Thanks.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure you will. You’ve obviously handled it this long. But the only way you could piss your dad off as much would be to take a job at Hooter’s. This has to be better than that.”
“Monica, I appreciate your work, but she said no. Leave her alone,” Eric says. Then he looks to me. “I’ll set up a scholarship to cover your tuition tomorrow. You can go.”
“Why would you do that?”
Eric sits in an office chair, his long legs stretched across the floor. “I owe your dad. I figure paying you back is as good as paying him back.” Those brooding eyes catch me, and they are impossible to escape.
“For blocking his bill? He won’t think helping me is helping him. Promise.”
Eric drops his head for a second then lifts his chin and looks at me. “I said I wasn’t always rich. Your dad gives a scholarship through Future Politicians of America. I would owe a whole lot of loans without him, which is why I don’t understand why he won’t put your basket-weaving causes aside and help you with school.”
I grin. “If my father found out you paid for school, he would be irate.”
Eric arches a brow. “Why? He hates me that much? It was a stupid bill. If I hadn’t blocked it, the Democrats would have.”
“Buchanans don’t take charity.” The first thing I was ever taught.
“Then this is your opportunity.”
“Because helping the poor Senator’s daughter proves you’re not a misogynistic pig?”
Eric snorts. “Where do you get this stuff from? Has Simpleton already gone negative?”
“How long have you been in office?”
“Five years.”
“Okay, every woman in America has known who you are for at least five years. I’m sure some of them knew sooner.”
“Why do people say that about me?” The question is innocent, like he really doesn’t know. I wait for a sign that it’s an act, that he knows he’s a jerk, but it never comes. Good-looking guys are rarely told off, and being a senator probably doesn’t make people more likely to slap him. Maybe he really doesn’t know. But he caught me when I fell and offered to pay for my tuition after a quick conversation.
There could be more to him than Fox News airs. That would make sense. There is more to my dad than anyone knows.
“If you think you’re not a jerk, maybe you should look into a new speech writer.”
Chapter 5
Eric
My eyes are glued to Mandy’s body as she walks out of my office with Monica trailing behind her.
I look to Evan. “She’s the one.”
“You want her on your campaign, or you want her? I don’t think you should be serious about the girl we choose. Emotions cause problems,” Evan says.
“This from the guy who has been telling me I work too hard.”
Evan sits on his desk. “You do work too hard. If we weren’t on such a tight timeline, I’d say something different. But if you’re serious about her, I’m not sure it’s good to force a marriage of convenience.”
“How can I be serious about her? This is the first time I’ve talked to her.”
“I’ve purposely hired thin blonde assistants for you.”
“I’m not into blondes.”
“Right. My point is you’re surrounded by beautiful women…”
“So?”
“But you haven’t paid that much attention to a woman since Clarissa. And Clarissa was—well, not good for you.”
My jaw clenches at the comparison. “I’m sure Senator Buchanan’s daughter is not Clarissa.”
“She’s a tree hugger.”
I walk to the wet bar behind the desk and pour myself a scotch. “We could steal votes from the Democrats. We’re going to have to take a blue state or two to win this thing.”
Evan nods. “So she’s the one.”
“If I win the election, I’m stuck with this person for almost nine years. It would be nice if I liked them.”
“You heard her call you a jerk and a pig, right?”
I scan the hallway through the open door. “That was hot. I want that girl.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Evan says.
Chapter 6
Mandy
I walk into the parking garage and hit the button on my key to find my Bug. I drive the same car my dad bought me when I graduated high school. When he thought I would major in prelaw.
“Wait!” Monica screams.
I turn around to find her sprinting into the parking lot.
“Monica, what’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay?”
“I know who you are.”
“Yeah. It seems like everyone in there has a pretty good idea of who I am. If you don’t want my father to find out your creepy candidate is hoping to seal an election with a marriage of convenience, I won’t say anything.” I laugh. “I don’t even talk to him.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I’m curious. “Okay?”
“You’re Sarah Moore.”
So she does remember meeting me with Kristin. “If you know that, why would you want me here?”
“Here is the thing. You and Martinez play well off of each other. Part of having a psych degree means I evaluate people and situations well. I’d venture to say that you’re attracted to him, and since it’s mutual, I’m not sure why you’re so disinclined to do this. But your dad’s affair became public news last year. He was so discreet, he couldn’t figure out how anyone knew. He’s always managed to handle the press so well. But if you do some digging, that story first appeared on a small liberal-leaning blog authored by a writer with a key to his house.”
Heat rushes under my cheeks, and my head drops. “I was angry.” And ripped off. I blew the roof on my own dad and still didn’t get a book deal. That’s not why I did it, though.
“Understandably so. I’m just not sure he’s going to be as understanding.”
I keep my eyes focused on the squared toes of my black heels. “So you’re going to tell him?” My voice is barely audible.
“Well, it could be avoided. If…”
“If I agree to this shenanigan.”
“Right.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll blog Martinez? It’s happened more than once already. And when he finds out, do you think he’s going to agree to this?”
“Your blog is small enough he’s never seen it. You use tag labels well enough someone else did and then stole your story to put it on a platform people actually read. Eric never has to know.” She shrugs. “If you’re one of those honest types, you can tell him after the wedding has been made public. If you want. I don’t care what you do, but he absolutely doesn’t need to know before that. And no. I’m not going to ask you not to write your opinion of the senator. Bad press is better than no press, and it’s been proven you use tags well. Your options are to have him pay you, cover your tuition, and have all the access to the material you need for that little blog, or be broke and get disowned.”
Chapter 7
Eric
“I’m not doing this.” Evan pushes up the sleeves of his green button-up shirt.
“Yes, you are. This was your idea, and you’re doing it,” I say.
“It wasn’t my idea for you to tell Buchanan you had to see him then offer to fly to Arkansas to meet him.”
“The marriage was your idea, and if I’m going to take his daughter, the least I can do is tell him before I do it.”
“And if she doesn’t want to go meet her father?”
“Let me talk to her.”
“I need a raise.” Evan walks out the door.
Chapter 8
Mandy
I step out of the door with just enough time to meet Dr. Meyer for details about the research project I assist her with. But of course when I close the door, it bounces open again. I push it shut a second time, but it doesn’t close.
“Kristin, did you call maintenance?” I ask from across the threshold.
“Yeah. They never came, big surprise. Just go. I’ll tie it up with the bungee cord again.”
A shiny black town car parks at the curb. Dad. What does he want? I place my hand over my pale blue messenger bag to keep it steady and dart down the stairs. I never glance at the town car.
All politicians’ kids know one thing: politicians hate scenes. If Senator Buchanan wants to interrupt, he’ll have to get out of the car and stop me.
Two strides and I’m even with the driver’s door. Two more would put the town car—and its passenger—behind me.
Ding. Ding. Ding. A car door opens behind me.
I stop in my tracks, because all politicians’ kids know one more thing: If a politician is willing to make a scene, it’s important.
“Amanda?”
That isn’t my dad’s voice. I turn, now face to face with Evan Hicks.
Not what I’m expecting. “What are you doing here?”
“If you aren’t busy, Senator Martinez would like to see you.”
“I’m busy.”
Evan folds his arms. “Unless you intend to back out of our agreement, the senator requires his fiancée.”
I laugh. “Oh my God. I knew he was one of my dad’s cronies, but I had no idea he thought he could ‘require his fiancée.’ That’s hilarious.”
Evan’s face falls. “Those words were mine, not his. I knew you would be difficult. He wants to talk to you is all. And given the situation, you two do have some things to talk about.”
“I agreed to help my advisor with a research project. Can it wait?”
Evan taps his Apple Watch. “I can wait for half an hour.”
“Fine. And after today, I require a written schedule.” I spin back around and march off. I’ll tell Dr. Meyer the meeting has to be short because I have to work. She’ll believe that. It’s almost true.
Chapter 9
Eric
Mandy tucks a single blonde curl behind her ear. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
I smile at her. “He would find out sooner or later. I think it’s best this way.”
“I know,” she says.
Amanda really doesn’t want to go through with this. Not just telling her dad but the whole thing. She doesn’t want to go through with any of it. She doesn’t want to be my wife.
Like you want to marry a girl who you don’t know and who doesn’t want to be married to you. Just pay her tuition and get you both off the hook. “Amanda—”
The door swings open. An older blonde woman in a white linen pantsuit stands in the entry way. I recognize her as Camille Buchanan. She throws her arms out. “Mandy!”
Amanda runs into the woman’s arms. “Mommy.”
My twenty-eight-year-old fiancée who doesn’t want her dad to pay her tuition just squealed “Mommy.” I can’t help but smile. I miss my mom.
Camille backs up. “How are you? I made your favorite for dinner.”
“Fish sticks and macaroni?” Mandy asks.
I can’t help but laugh. I had Amanda accosted on her way to meet her advisor, and she still wears a pale blue dress and matching jacket. We walked into rain coming out of the airport, so her hair has curled up around the edges, but this elegant woman belongs in the massive room with the marble floors and the winding staircase.
I’m still a Corona and tacos sort of guy because there are some things money doesn’t change, and I worked my way up. Corona and tacos are a “back when” for me. Amanda grew up here in this house, in this room. She doesn’t strike me as a fish sticks kind of girl.
“Of course,” Camille answered. “And banana pudding for dessert.”
Mandy smiles at her mom. When she flashes that perfect smile with one dimple on me, my pulse races.
“Eric, this is my mom. Mom, this is…my friend.”
The word friend hits me like cold water being thrown over my head. What were you expecting, Eric? At least, she didn’t call you her employer. Why do you care? You are her employer.
A clicking sound on the other side of the room draws my attention back to the winding stairwell. I can’t see him yet, but I know what it is. Jack Buchanan’s boots clicking against the marble floor.
“Mandy, if you had told me you were bringing home someone from school, I would have worn something decent.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” she calls up.
That’s interesting. From the things she said in the campaign office, I thought she hated him. He’s a millionaire, and he wouldn’t pay his only child’s college tuition. But she calls him Daddy. Affectionate for a girl who hates her dad.
The clicking gets louder as Jack makes it far enough down the stairs to see me. His blue eyes connect with mine and lose all the warmth. “You? What the hell are you doing here?”
The smile fades from Amanda’s face, and neither of us answers.
Camille breaks the silence. “Jack! You do not misbehave in front of Mandy’s friend. Senator or not. I won’t have it. If you can’t behave, you can sleep in the guest room.”
The room falls silent again, and Jack Buchanan’s eyes never leave mine.
Finally, he says, “You’re here with my daughter?”
His intense stare pulls away from my gaze. That might have been a relief except his sharp focus turns on Amanda instead. Way to go, Eric. Now she has to fight with her dad.