His Rise to Power
Book 1
Tasha Fawkes
Safira Press
Contents
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Reading Order
1. Jack
2. Blythe
3. Jack
4. Blythe
5. Blythe
6. Jack
7. Blythe
8. Blythe
9. Jack
10. Blythe
11. Jack
12. Blythe
13. Blythe
14. Jack
15. Blythe
16. Jack
17. Blythe
18. Jack
19. Blythe
20. Jack
21. Blythe
22. Jack
23. Blythe
24. Jack
25. Blythe
26. Jack
27. Blythe
28. Jack
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About Tasha Fawkes
Copyright © 2019 by Tasha Fawkes
All rights reserved.
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Reading Order
Thank you so much for reading the second book in the His Power series. All the books in the series can be read standalone, but if you’d like to read the entire series, I recommend reading them in the following order:
His Rise to Power (this book)
His Fall From Power
Book 3 Coming June 2019
Book 4 Coming July 2019
Book 5 Coming August 2019
One
Jack
“It’s good to be king!”
The phrase dominated the atmosphere at Sweet Liberty Bar and Grill. Red, white, and blue streamers hung from our private party room at the back, and the tables were filled with small party favors that I’d gotten for my staff. Glasses clinked off one another as my campaign team and I celebrated my reelection as congressman after my first two-year term.
The alcohol flowed freely, and I didn’t stop anyone as they went back for more. I’d already arranged for everyone to have rides home, and after the rigid campaign, they deserved to loosen their ties, kick off their heels, and relax.
And dance, apparently, which I could have gone all night without seeing. These were people I thought were incapable of doing anything other than running their fingers across a keyboard and bellowing, yet here they were, pulling out some of the most awkward dance moves I’d ever seen.
“Jack Drayson pulls off one of the most brutal campaigns in history with a congressional win of just over three hundred votes,” David, my chief-of-staff read from his phone in a dramatic voice. Around us, there were cheers and whoops of excitement. Allowing myself a grin, I raised a glass to my friend and my campaign staff.
I could not have pulled it off without them. I’d thanked them right after we heard the news, but I wasn’t the emotional type to do it over and over again. The party would be enough for me to let them know that I was thankful for them.
The only ones not drinking were my security staff, who stood rigidly at each of the corners and by the entrance of the room. Even now, they couldn’t relax. Carl, my bodyguard and head of the private guards that I’d hired during the reelection, took every death threat that I’d received seriously. I think it irritated him that I brushed most of them off, but in this world, you had to expect to make enemies, and since I was young and single and frequently televised, I also had my fair share of stalkerish fan mail.
For the best part of six months, our everyday routine consisted of long speeches, endless interviews, attending fundraisers, a couple of TV debates, and meetings with other party members. We were all running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Our coffeemakers were working overtime to keep up with the demand.
They all deserved to blow off some steam and relax. This weekend, they would spend time with the families that they had neglected, and on Monday, I’d start making headway on those campaign promises.
I downed the fourth glass of wine, catching a glimpse of the red, blue, and green spotlights up on the ceiling. The beat music was reverberating throughout Sweet Liberty, and the dancing was getting more and more ridiculous.
Champagne corks popped around me. Everyone was cheering and holding out their empty glasses. My staff was giving me more and more glances of admiration by the second.
“You ready to take a vacation now?” David asked as he flopped in a chair next to me and stretched out his legs. “I’m thinking a week at the Caribbean. Sun. Sand. Some little blonde in a pink bikini.”
At that, I snorted. The idea of a vacation was ludicrous. Just because the election was over didn’t mean that I needed to relax. I had campaign promises to fulfill. “This is Miami. You already have plenty of sun and sand, and you currently don’t have a little blonde to invite on vacation and dress up any color bikini.”
“Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll have a blonde and maybe a brunette for you as well.”
“Not interested.”
Sighing, David shook his head. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Jack. Believe me when I say that you need to take a breather every now and then. Get a social life. Get a woman. When was the last time you had someone in your bed?”
I tossed back a long drink. “The media scrutinized my every move for the past six months. It really wasn’t the time for me to pick up some woman for a quick fuck,” I pointed out.
David and I had been friends since college. He and I had similar backgrounds. Wealthy families, dismissive parents, and a path already set out before us. I broke away from my path, and when it became clear that David had little ambition and no plans to follow in his father’s footsteps, I took him with me. When he was focused, he had a sharp mind, but he still had a playboy side that came out when the waters were still.
“It’s been two years since you and Sherry broke up, although to be honest, I’m hesitant to even call that a break-up. I don’t even know that you could consider her a girlfriend. You two made the most boring couple of all time. I’m not saying for you to pick up a stranger. I’m just telling you to pay attention to someone for reasons other than furthering your career.” He lifted his beer to his lips. “And the campaign is over, in case you don’t remember. Live a little until the next one.”
That didn’t mean that I was out of the spotlight just yet. In my early thirties, I was one of the youngest in Congress, and the media had immediately latched on to the fact that I turned heads when I entered the room. I wasn’t opposed to my good looks. Quite the opposite. I turned on the charm and let the whole package work for me, but it also meant that most everyone was looking to see why there wasn’t a woman on my arm.
It was irritating as hell. “As I’ve already said, just because the campaign is over doesn’t mean that I can slip up now.”
“Christ,” David muttered. “Sometimes I don’t even recognize the buttoned-up man next to me.”
“Drink your beer and keep your opinions to yourself,” I said mildly, even as I grinned into my wine. We had this argument at least once a month. When I was with Sherry, David urged me to set her loose so I could explore my options. What he really wanted was a wing-man, but I wasn’t that kind of man anymore. I couldn’t afford to be.
David wasn’t the only one unhappy that I was keeping myself isolated. My father, and the biggest contributor to my campaign, reminded me on
a weekly basis that if I expected to make it long-term in politics, I needed the right woman next to me. One that came from wealth and a family of politicians. One who knew the ins and outs of the media. One who was polished and serene.
He wasn’t wrong, but I just wasn’t ready to give up my bachelorhood just yet. That didn’t stop him from parading eligible women in front of me at every chance he got.
“I’m out. You want another?” David asked as he stood and waved around his empty glass.
I did want another, but I wasn’t going to get drunk at my own reelection party. “I’m good,” I said as I waved him away. Scanning my gaze over the crowd, I couldn’t help but cringe as the dancing turned more into the frantic waving like those blow-up machines they stationed outside of car dealerships. Christ, I hoped no one from the media accidentally walked in on this travesty.
A movement outside caught my attention, and I turned my head toward the window. The Miami sun was setting behind the buildings and cast a golden hue over the people hurrying by. The workday was over, and if people weren’t going home, they were heading out for a drink.
A young and harried looking striking brunette paced up and down on the sidewalk with her phone up to her ear while her companion looked disgruntled next to her. I couldn’t say what first drew my attention to her. Maybe it was the desperate look on her face as she walked faster and faster. Maybe it was something about the way her lips trembled.
Full. Unpainted. Kissable.
Puzzled, I blinked. Where the hell had that come from? It wasn’t like me to stare at women, and at first glance, there was nothing remarkable about her, but I couldn’t help but wonder who she was talking to. A husband? Lover? Ex-lover? Boss, perhaps? I smiled just a little. There were times I imagined my staff probably looked quite a bit like her while they were on the phone with David or me.
Liberty Bell, situated close to the government center, was a hub of politicians, judges, lawyers, and businessmen. In a sea of black and gray suits, she stood out clad in a pair of jeans and a bright yellow shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she wore the dingiest sneakers I’d ever seen. Definitely not the usual clientele for happy hour on a Friday.
Suddenly, she stopped pacing, and her eyes widened. That mouth that I couldn’t stop staring at worked in frantic motion until she balled her hands up in a fist. It wasn’t just disappointment that I read in her body.
Anger. Rage. A temper that was synonymous with passion.
Annoyed that I was so captivated by the stranger, I forced my attention away and drained the rest of my wine.
Maybe I’d get just one more. As much as I hated to admit it, David might be right. It had been too long since I’d been with a woman, and if a stranger on the street was stirring my cock like that, I should probably take care of the problem.
Two
Blythe
I was going to blow a gasket right there in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Mr. Henderson, I don’t think that I quite understand what you’re saying,” I said through gritted teeth. “Mr. Hirsh and I had an agreement. If I could prove that the sports complex was helping to cut down the crime rate, he’d fund fifty percent of the art center. I sent all the information you needed last month.”
Someone brushed up against me and muttered about idiots on their phones, but I ignored them. I was only at the government center to meet with Gordon Hirsh, the businessman who’d helped get my first project off the ground. Only, this time, he’d brushed off the meeting, and it wasn’t the first time. I had started to feel ghosted, but that was ridiculous. Hirsh and I had become friends. He wouldn’t be ignoring me now, right?
I was wrong. The coward didn’t want to tell me face-to-face that he wasn’t going to fund my second project, even though he’d given me his word. His pinched-faced cold-hearted assistant sounded almost gleeful as he relayed the message over the phone. “Miss Hemsey, all I can tell you is that we never received the paperwork,” he lied smoothly. “Unfortunately, we’ve moved on to a charity foundation that has a sturdier background and glossier reputation. Mr. Hirsh wishes you well on your project, but we will not be speaking to you on this matter again.”
Glossier reputation? What the hell did that mean?
As he hung up, I pulled the phone down and stared at it. Rachel, my friend and assistant, made a small sound of distress in her throat, and I turned to her and took a steadying breath. “Hirsh is pulling out. He claims that we didn’t send the paperwork, which I know is bullshit. I both emailed and faxed the information over, and when I didn’t hear back, I walked that information over personally, and I’ve made numerous calls to follow up. I don’t understand why he’s doing this.”
“Oh, god. Oh, god.” Reaching out, Rachel gripped my arm. Sometimes the woman was a little over-dramatic, but this time I was right there with her. We were already too deep into the art center. The owner of an old warehouse was holding off on publicizing the sale of their building on the promise that we would be able to make the down payment in six weeks. We were already struggling to make up the other fifty percent. I’d spent the last two months calling businessmen and politicians non-stop, hoping to get their support for donations and fundraisers, but I kept getting the same answers over and over again.
We are unavailable at this time.
We are not in the position to donate at this time.
We require more time before we make our decision.
Or, my personal pet peeve, I got the run-around where I was transferred to person to person to person before finally getting cut off.
And now we were losing all of our funding. There was no way that I’d be able to make up all of it in six months.
“I need a drink,” Rachel said in a trembling voice. “In fact, I think I need several drinks.”
“Can’t.” I shook my head and tried desperately to think. “I don’t have time for a drink. I need to figure out a way to fix this!”
“Blythe, you won’t be able to fix this in one night. Or one weekend.” The dramatics were over, and my logical assistant was back. “You’ve been working yourself to death over this project, and now you need to take a step back and regroup.”
I wanted to snarl and snap. Take a step back? Regroup? I didn’t want to do any of that. This was the political and Fortune 500 hub of Miami. The block of the city that we were standing in was swimming in money. I was asking for a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of that wealth. To help our youth. To help the future of our nation. Crime rates of juveniles in the city had been on a steady climb, and I wanted to do something about that.
So why the hell didn’t they?
Still in the middle of my mental rampage, I didn’t notice that Rachel had pulled me into whatever bar we had been standing next to. She pushed me onto the barstool and ordered us both shots of vodka. When the bartender sat it in front of me, I automatically grabbed it and shot it back.
Rachel ordered us another.
And another.
Four shots later, I sighed and waited for the warmth spreading in my belly to turn into a buzz that might dull my unhappiness. Maybe my anger was overriding the buzz. “I never thought that I might fail,” I muttered to Rachel. “It never even occurred to me.”
“I know, Blythe.” She squeezed my hand and blinked. Obviously, the vodka was already hitting her. Lucky. “Not everyone is as passionate about helping people as you are, but we haven’t failed yet. This is just a setback.”
Maybe that was what was wrong with the world.
I blinked, trying to clear my head when raucous laughter drew my attention.
Squinting, I made out a group of at least twenty people, cheering and high-fiving each other in the back room. It was a celebration of some sort with patriotic decorations. For the first time, I realized how odd Rachel and I must have looked.
We’d planned our meeting with Hirsh in this ritzy area two weeks ago, but we came straight from the Youth Sports Center. We both had some paperwork to catch up on, but one of
the volunteers had called out sick, so I had to fill in during the tumble tots class. We were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts, but everyone else was wearing suits.
One of them was staring at me.
My vision was starting to blur just a little, but there was no mistaking those piercing hazel eyes. How many times had I stared at a picture of that handsome face? How many phone calls had I made trying to get a hold of him? He was the media’s favorite politician, and if I could have even received a single quote of support from him, I wouldn’t be in this position.
“Bastard,” I muttered, anger surging through my veins.
He was Jack Drayson, or “one of the great victors of the election,” as mainstream media had put it
What a load of crap.
I’d been trying to secure a meeting with him for months, but to no avail. His chief-of-staff had given me all sorts of excuses, like he’s in a meeting, he’s in a conference call, and he’ll be in Tampa for the rest of the week.
Right after that last excuse, Rachel had seen the tall, dark, and handsome asshole jogging along the beach of Key Biscayne, surrounded by three of his guards. My hands clenched around my glass as I watched him laugh with his lying mouth, probably spilling more lies to the adoring fans around him.
Well, Mr. Jack Drayson wasn’t going to duck me anymore, not if I had anything to do with it. And there was no time like the present.
His Rise to Power: Book 1 Page 1