Glancing around, I was glad to see my friend talking to some stranger she’d just met. I had an opportunity, and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Setting my glass down on the counter, I hopped off the stool, desperate to give him a piece of my mind.
“Bastard…” I muttered under my breath again, making my way towards the group. Some straight-laced giant of a man was standing guard outside the door. I gave him my prettiest smile. “I am so late. You know how it is when you’re at the bottom of the totem pole and get stuck with all the paperwork. Is there any champagne left at all, or did the vultures drink every last drop?”
The man blinked and stared down at me. Grabbing the attention of the men inside, I waved and winked. The guard turned, and my dupe, bless his little heart, waved back. “Better grab some food before that’s all gone too,” I chuckled as I slid by.
The guard didn’t follow me.
Drayson was busy pouring champagne into a tall glass, his back turned to me. Gritting my teeth, I felt my anger rise even more. Here he was, celebrating his win after he promised the district that he was going to work to clean up the city and improve their futures, when people like me, actively working to do just that, were snubbed.
“Excuse me.” I cleared my throat, tapping him on the shoulder, my mouth opening with the venom I was about to spew.
Then he turned, light-hazel eyes falling directly on me. He was smiling, drawing my attention to his chiseled jaw. I stared at his neatly trimmed beard for a second, at the same time struggling to force a word out of my throat.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked in a sensuous voice. He didn’t even look alarmed that I’d slipped passed his security or even surprised that I had approached him.
There was a knowing look in his eyes that was like a slap to the face. He didn’t even recognize me. Probably thought I was just some young woman hoping to get him into my bed. I wanted to scream.
“Rich boy gets reelected.” I forced myself to smile, bringing my hands together in a series of sarcastic claps. “Bra-vo. You must be really proud of yourself.”
The smile immediately disappeared. “Excuse me, do we know each other?”
“Nope.” I poked him in the chest and barely refrained from hissing in surprise when the end of my finger connected with a hard mass of muscle. He was no soft dumpling under that suit. I scowled at him instead. “Your staff made sure of that. Go ahead and ask them about me. The name is Blythe Hemsey. Go on. I’ll wait. It’s pretty much all I’ve been doing anyway.”
An even bigger man was instantly by Jack’s side. “Is this woman bothering you, sir?”
“No, Carl, but thank you.” Drayson’s gaze was still locked with mine. “I can handle this.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can.” I flashed him an ironic look, cocking my eyebrow. “You’ve been handling me for months.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I assure you, Mrs. Hemsey, that if I had been handling you, you’d know it. Now I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you’ve certainly got my attention now, so why don’t you enlighten me?”
“It’s Miss Hemsey, and I’ve been trying to meet with you for five months.” I realized my finger was still connected with his chest, and I gave him another quick poke before lowering it to my side. “I run Humane Miami, a non-profit. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some projects that actually matter to the community, things that could help you fulfill your campaign promises, but your staff has been jerking me around.”
“And you thought crashing my party was the right way to get my attention?” Jack asked with arched eyebrows. There was something about that cool exterior that fueled the flame of my anger.
“No, you idiot!” I barked out, casting a fierce glare up at him. “I’m not trying to get your attention. I’m trying to insult you. I’m pissed! Have I not made that clear?”
His lips tugged in a smirk. “Well, that’s…honest of you.”
I snorted in derision. “You want to talk about honest? Why don’t you tell me how you plan on paving a bright future for Miami when you lie to get away from people like me, people who have a plan to take care of our kids and educate them and keep them safe so they can be our bright future!”
“I think that’s enough, for now. Go home, honey,” he urged, his tone lowering in warning. The bar was rapidly falling silent. “I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”
“Honey?” I snarled at him. “You represent everything that’s wrong with the political system, Drayson. You pride yourself on being ‘a man of the people,’ but you’re not. You look down at people like me who have to beg for money. Well, let me tell you something, honey, that if you want to build a legacy, you should try getting your hands dirty once in a while.”
Jack parted his lips, but I whirled around and marched away before he could say anything. His staff always had the last word before they hung up on me, so this time, I was going to have the last say.
“Blythe?’ Rachel asked tentatively as she stared at me from the entrance to the private room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m leaving.” Grabbing my wallet, I slapped some cash on the bar. “You were right, Rachel. I did need this because now I know that I’m not going to let assholes like that keep me from my work.”
The bar was still quiet as I stomped out, but I didn’t care. Come Monday, I had a shit ton of money that I needed to start raising.
Three
Jack
Blythe Hemsey.
She haunted me all weekend. The look of desperation on her face. The angry accusations she’d hurled at me. The fire in her eyes.
Somehow, she’d gotten under my skin. Not only did I have no idea who she was, but I should also have been able to dismiss her as some drunken woman who was unhappy that I’d won the election.
For some reason, I couldn’t do that, and I couldn’t shake her. Nor could I shake the inane curiosity as to whether she carried that same fire for anything else in her life. Would she run just as hot in my arms?
The woman who stood just barely over five feet tall had managed to sweet-talk her way past my security detail. David had already blasted the man up and down, demanding if he was going to let every looker through. It made me feel at least a little better knowing that I hadn’t been the only one to notice the hour-glass figure hiding behind that t-shirt and jeans or the delicate face that had been framed by the wispy tendrils that escaped whatever harried bun she’d piled on top of her head.
And those lips. Goddamn, but I thought about those lips all weekend long.
By Monday morning, I was determined to learn a little bit more about Miss Hemsey, if nothing more than to be prepared in case her little spat reached the ever-listening ears of the media.
“Congratulations, Congressman,” one of the guards greeted me enthusiastically as I walked through the metal detector in the lobby. The pristine black and white tile gleamed, and the footsteps echoed in the great halls as people hurried through to the elevators and stairs. I actually preferred my Miami office to the office that I worked when I was in DC. The spaces were more open, and faces here were friendlier. “My wife sure is happy that you’re going to be sticking around. She’s still talking about the time you kissed her hand.”
Smiling ruefully, I shook my head. “You bring her back to the Christmas party this year, and I’ll kiss her other hand.”
That got a cackle out of him as I hurried to the elevators. There were a few go-getters who’d gotten into the office before I did, but when I saw the light of determination in their eyes as they rose out of their chairs, I waved them off. “I need fifteen minutes for coffee, and then you can send me whatever you have.”
Immediately, they sat down, and I closed the door to my private office. Although I didn’t need a second cup of coffee that morning, I started one anyway. What I really wanted was some privacy to look up Blythe.
Not only was Humane Miami a real charity organization, but they already had one successful youth shelter
set up. A sports complex. Impressed, I clicked on the tab.
The Humane Miami Sports Complex was built as a recreational center for underprivileged youth. Some of the inner-city schools didn’t have the funds for their own athletic programs, especially the community schools for kids who had already been expelled. The sports complex had activities for toddlers up to high-school students. They had casual hours for kids to play after school and structured classes and training. In addition, they were working on an accreditation that would allow the older kids to compete with the other schools so they’d have access to college scholarships.
The website led me to one of her social media pages. The large cover photo was her, the blonde who had been with her Friday night, and several kids dressed in basketball jerseys. It was a thank-you for the local business that had funded the jerseys, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Her hair was up, but instead of the mess she’d worn the other night, her ponytail was neat, and there was no hiding that heart-shaped face. The bright sunlight brought out her creamy skin tone, and her stunning almond-shaped, pearl gray eyes were glimmering. Her simple white t-shirt stretched over the gentle curve of her breasts, but the photo cut-off before I could get another look at the way her jeans fit over her luscious hips.
I’d thought she was an attractive mess Friday night, but here, she was an obvious stunner.
The photos on the social media page looked like proof that her sports center was a success. Most of the pictures were candidly showing the wide grins of the youth as they played and the obvious sweat as they competed. Every post was further proof that Blythe Hemsey was proud of her accomplishments and the kids. She did shout-outs for the senior who could hit a home run and the six-year-old who learned to do a cartwheel.
Switching back to her website, I clicked on the “About us” tab, eager to find out more about her. She studied political science at the University of Miami and graduated just five years ago. The next tab revealed that she hadn’t waited long to establish her company, just four months after her graduation. Clearly, her passion followed her from college. Was this a dream that she’d always had?
Checking out her future projects, I frowned. While there was a whole list of sponsors for the sports complex, there was no listed funding for her arts center. Like her previous project, the arts center was to help develop the underprivileged musicians, writers, artists, and crafters of the future.
I could see why there might be more hesitation here. Arts were hardly held in as high esteem as sports. Most of her donors probably saw it more as a giant playground to keep the kids out of trouble, but an arts center was unnecessary. They could be closed off in the sports complex and kept off the streets. They didn’t need to learn to play the flute.
Still, after her success with the sports complex, I found it difficult to believe that there wasn’t at least a little support. The bar for money raised sat squarely at zero.
And the first deadline for a fraction of the money was in six weeks.
I scoffed. That wasn’t just ambitious, it was downright crazy. She’d need a miracle to pull it off. If I was her, I’d be happy with the sports center and just focus on that.
Curious about why her anger was directed at me, I opened up the general email account. They were sorted by the staff and prioritized. Typing in the charity name in the search bar, I waited.
Fifty emails. There were fifty emails from her that were trashed. Clicking through, I saw that a few of them had responses, but they were all brush-offs.
My chest tightened in anger. I should have at least been notified that a charity was reaching out.
Someone needed to explain.
Getting up, I walked briskly to David’s office. As my chief-of-staff, he should have at least been apprised of the requests.
It didn’t surprise me one bit to hear a giggle from the office. David was a lover of women, all kinds of women, sometimes more than one at a time. While I had asked him to keep his seduction out of the office, he often caught the attention of other women who worked in the building.
A redhead in a tight black skirt and a white blouse that was buttoned a little too low giggled again as she perched on top of David’s desk. He sat back in his chair, clearly appreciating the view while they both sipped coffee.
Clearing my throat, I folded my arms. The woman gasped and quickly slipped off the desk. Pink stained her cheeks. “Congressman Drayson. I was just congratulating David on the win.”
David smirked and lifted his cup. “She brought me coffee.”
“So I see.” Raising an eyebrow, I stepped aside and let her hurry past. “I would have thought by now that you would have seduced every unmarried woman in the building.”
“Some of the offices in here have a high turnover rate.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sarah? Sandra? Samantha. Definitely Samantha. Maybe.” He yawned and set the cup down. “I was pretty close to getting her to come to my place for my famous spaghetti tonight.”
Sitting in the chair across from his desk, I stretched out. “Your famous spaghetti comes from Mama Lou’s.”
“She doesn’t need to know that.” He grinned. “You need something, or did you just miss my pretty face this weekend?”
“Blythe Hemsey.”
If the name rang a bell, David didn’t show it. “Who is that? Reporter? Potential date? Need me to order a background check?”
“She’s the brunette who accosted me at Liberty Bell.”
Immediately, David sat up. “Shit. I thought that was just a drunken woman pissed that you’d won. Is she threatening to cause more problems?”
“No. She’s the bleeding heart behind Humane Miami.”
This time, there was a gleam of recognition in his eyes, and I glared at him. “You knew that she was reaching out to the office for support on her new project, and you brushed her off.”
David shrugged. “If you knew about everyone who wanted mon—”
“Fifty emails,” I interrupted with a slice of irritation. “Fifty, David.”
“Some people are persistent. She’s not an established charity.”
“Established? She built a fucking sports complex in the middle of the city. She had the support of the mayor and the governor.”
My friend started to turn red. “One successful project isn’t enough, Jack. You know that. You’re not just representing your family name. You’re representing an entire district. We need to be careful about supporting charities. There’s a lot of press these days about how money is allocated, so we only need to be looking at charities that have been fully vetted with a solid reputation. She’s been on the circuit for what, three years? Four? That’s not enough.”
“Charities who have been fully vetted already have support.” Straightening in the chair, I glared at him. “You could have hired someone to vet her.”
“You were in the middle of a reelection campaign. I just figured…” He shrugged, like the gesture would tell me everything I needed to know.
It didn’t.
“You figured?” I pressed my thumbs to my temples. “My whole campaign has been about openness to the people. They needed to know I was one of them, that I would hear them out, pay attention to their problems. Does shutting her out sound like any of those things?”
“No…” He sighed, dragging his gaze away from me.
“You’re goddamn right it doesn’t,” I practically shouted, banging my fist onto the desk beside me. “What the fuck were you thinking, man?”
His eyes widened, and he just stared at me. “Jesus, Jack. This is a little over-the-top. Are you okay?”
Hell, I never lost my temper like that. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Now that my position is solidified, I want to hit the ground running.” I deliberately relaxed and calmed my tone. “Associating my name with a charity that deliberately affects the city looks good for me. Get someone to check her out. Vet the company. I want the information in three days.”
>
“Sure,” David said slowly as I stood. “Is there any other reason that you might be interested in her?”
I shot him a warning look. “And David? Next time someone reaches out to me like that? Make sure that I know.”
As I swept out of his office, I tried to put her out of my mind and focus on the mountain of tasks that waited for me, but before I knew it, I was looking up the directions to her office.
Four
Blythe
Monday morning found me bleary-eyed with a pounding headache. Rachel hovered around me all weekend and reminded me that I’d made a scene while I was drunk in public. On the edge of panic, I scoured the news for the piece that would paint the owner of a charitable foundation as a careless and angry drunk. Thankfully, my name was kept out of the media.
I researched new ideas to raise money. I drank more when those ideas didn’t seem reasonable. I didn’t eat much. I didn’t sleep much.
By the time I dragged myself out of bed on Monday, I looked worse than something the cat might drag in.
The room was spinning, and I was struggling to focus my gaze on my clothes. I was supposed to be in my small office all day. That meant no jeans in case I was lucky enough that some rich bastard would wander in and throw money at me. I had to look professional. Black pants. Blue blouse.
Nope. That blouse was wrinkled. Damn, did I forget to do laundry this weekend?
Green blouse. Heels. I hated heels.
Food. Standing in my kitchen, I opened the pantry cabinet and eyed the cereal. I was torn between hunger and nausea. In the end, I rejected the cereal and just made a cup of joe. Mr. Coffee spluttered and groaned as I forced it to wake up and brew.
Tapping my finger on the counter, I tried to focus on what I needed to get done today, but my thoughts kept wandering back to the man who featured in both my wet dreams and was the star of my anger.
His Rise to Power: Book 1 Page 2