by J D Wade
Nathan: Talked to the annulled wife. Things went well. Will go forward with your plan. Thank you. Lunch meeting at one.
A smile spread on my face as I started to tap back a response about how great that was and that I’d be at the meeting. However, something in the back of my head warned me about doing such a thing, so a simple “OK” was all I sent. Short, to the point, professional. Even though Nathan somehow made something in my stomach tumble—in a good way—I was only going to be working for him through Super Tuesday. I barely knew the man, and less than two weeks is not long enough to truly get to know someone.
A little fun never hurt anyone, though.
As long as it doesn’t get out of control.
Instead of finding a standard outfit that was suitable for a lunch meeting about Nathan’s crisis and how we decided to solve it, maybe I’d spruce myself up a bit. Even if we were only going to be in close proximity for a little more than a week, at least we could each have something nice to look at when the options were limited, right?
Chapter 9
Timothy
The Advisor
None of the other staffers were in the meeting room when I showed up, though I was about ten minutes early. Marty was absent as well, and Nathan had his phone to his ear as he stood by the windows, staring out at the world. The Secret Service agents at the door had waved me in with a cursory check when I had arrived, though I had met neither before. With a chuckle, they had told me that the next time I went to McDonald’s that I better not forget them. Food means a lot, and word travels fast, apparently. I laughed and agreed as I had stepped into Nathan’s suite and headed directly to the meeting room. I knocked on the doorframe as I entered since both of the doors had been propped open. Nathan looked over, his phone still pressed to his ear, and gave me a smile. He waved at the meeting table, and I took the suggestion, finding myself a seat in the middle of the table on the side facing the door. I didn’t want Marty Goldman at my back for this meeting for even a second.
“Yes,” Nathan spoke into his phone, his eyes on me briefly before he turned back to the window. “We’ll be flying out the day after tomorrow, then? Okay. Okay. Great. Sounds great. Thanks again.”
When Nathan lowered his phone, I gave him an inquisitive look.
“We fly out to Las Vegas for the debate the day after tomorrow.” He explained his phone call. “The debate is that evening.”
“Got it,” I said. “Have you talked to Marty yet?”
“Not specifically.” He winced and took his seat at the head of the table. “She’s not going to be pleased. But, as you will see, it won’t matter.”
“You don’t have to take my advice,” I said. “I’m often wrong about things.”
He chuckled. “It’s the only way I can see to handle this going forward. Besides, have you heard any other ideas being offered up?”
“No. But I’m not really a Crisis Manager, so—”
“Speaking of which.” Nathan laced his fingers and placed his hands on the table as he leaned forward. “You’re my Interim Social Media Advisor now.”
“That better not come with a reduction in pay.”
“No.” He chuckled. “I just think it might be better for optics. Introducing you as a Crisis Manager might not look great if there’s ever a need.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I kind of figured that out.”
“I knew that you would.” He replied. “Timothy, if things go well at the debate—and I don’t end up getting burned at the stake, I think I’ll need to reach out to the public without a gatekeeper. CNN, MSNBC, freaking FOX News—I just want to be able to talk directly to average citizens. The voters. I want to repeat my story that will surely come out during the debate.”
“We can do that.”
“What would you suggest?” He asked, looking at his watch.
The man still wears a watch. Freaking adorable.
Stop it, Timmy.
“Do you want to do it live, or do you want to make sure it’s acceptable before people see it?”
“Let’s do live.”
“Are you sure?” I grinned. “I may have gotten in trouble that way once.”
Another warm chuckle. “The debate will be live, so why should this be any different?”
“Fair enough.”
“And I want to do that at least once a day following the debate up until Super Tuesday, as well. Keep in touch with the public, give them a chance to ask questions. Is that possible?”
“Absolutely.” I nodded, reaching for my phone, so I could type out some notes. “If you go live, people can comment while you’re speaking with any questions or comments they have. Full disclosure—there will be people who call you a faggot.”
He winced.
“Sorry.” I glanced up at him. “I’m just being direct with you because the trolls certainly will be. But you can simply ignore those comments because they’ll eventually scroll away and disappear.”
“All right.”
“So,” I typed into my phone Notes app, “go live following the debate and then at least once a day following the debate?”
“Yes.”
“Breakfast and dinner with Nathan Reed,” I mumbled.
“What?” He chuckled nervously.
I shook my head, realizing I had been speaking to myself, though it was important that I speak directly to the man this idea affected most.
“You should do breakfast and dinner with Nathan Reed,” I said. “Each morning, maybe seven-ish, you can speak briefly about what’s on your mind, then eat breakfast while answering questions that come in. Then repeat it around seven-ish at night—dinner with the public.”
“I eat at six.”
“You’ll eat at seven, grandpa.”
“Ouch.” He slapped a hand over his chest and slumped in his chair dramatically, as though he had been shot.
A fairly dark joke for a presidential candidate, when you think about it. That made me happy.
Nathan’s sudden showing of humor and his physical reaction to my insult forced me to smile. However, I was confused about why he was suddenly so open and warm after our first meeting had been mildly disastrous. Brandon had said this was the side of Nathan I should expect, but after the first meeting, I no longer believed it. Of course, Brandon had also told me that I probably would never really get to know who Nathan Reed was. He had boundaries. That thought made my laugh taper off as I continued to type ideas into my notes.
“Also,” Nathan repositioned himself into a more professional position in his chair, “I want to apologize for being a terror when you first arrived yesterday, Timothy.”
“A terror?” I glanced up from my phone. “Pretty pathetic attempt at being a terror, if I do say so myself.”
“Regardless,” He answered as I typed into my phone, “I appreciate you saying what needed to be said, and I wanted to hear, though I didn’t receive it well. Even though I knew I wanted to hear it. I do need to be honest. I knew that. So, you brought a good idea to the table.”
“Thank you,” I said as I saved my notes and set my phone on the table face down. “But if you already knew that the truth was the best option, you didn’t really need me.”
“Correct.” He jabbed a finger at me. “I didn’t need a Crisis Manager. I need the truth, obviously. But what I really needed was a Social Media Advisor.”
“Surprised you don’t already have one. I thought all politicians were big on the interwebs after Obama set the standard?” I said. “It’s the twenty-first century, Nate.”
“Stop that.” He shook his head, but a slight grin adorned his face. “We have a social media guy. He’s in our New York campaign office. He sends out all of the messaging and keeps people informed of where I’ll be speaking and the like. But I need someone here on the road with me so that I can interact more directly with the public.”
“Okay. We can do that.”
“Glad to have you onboard.” He reached out, offering me his hand.
For a momen
t, I just stared at his hand as he reached down the table, unsure if I wanted to shake it—and not just because my palms were suddenly very sweaty, but also because this all felt so strange. From practical enemies to co-conspirators in his campaign plans until Super Tuesday? Enough time passed of me staring at Nathan’s hand suspended over the table between us that he started to look confused, so I discreetly rubbed my palm along the thigh of my pants and reached out to shake his. His confused expression turned into a pleased one.
“Great,” He said. “This is going to be a perfect partnership going into Super Tuesday.”
“Let’s see how that turns out.” I managed to reply.
“Don’t the two of you look like you made fast friends?”
I could have been mistaken, but it seemed as though Nathan cringed slightly when Marty Goldman’s voice came from the meeting room entryway. He immediately let my hand fall from his, and I deposited it into my lap as I looked over to find Marty standing in the entryway, a smirk on her face, and her meeting accouterments in her arms.
“Right on time as usual, Marty.” Nathan was glancing at his watch.
“I’m never late.” She sniffed and headed to the other end of the table.
“You may as well sit down here.” Nathan waved her back. “It’s just you, me, and Timothy this morning.”
Marty froze in her tracks and turned to present Nathan with a confused frown. Of course, I was confused, too, since I assumed this was going to be an “all hands on deck” type of situation where I’d meet even more of Nathan’s people. Throughout the previous afternoon and evening, I’d seen many people coming and going in the hallways—or heard, if not seen. On my way to Nathan’s suite before the current meeting in progress, I’d seen the same people milling about, wandering here and there, looking busy. To me, it seemed odd that a presidential candidate would have a meeting about something integral to his forward momentum and only invite his campaign manager and, well, Social Media Advisor.
“What about Joy, Elliot, and Marta?” Marty asked. “Aren’t they coming at least?”
“Just us,” Nathan answered, then went about going through his scribblings in the notebook before him.
“Marvelous.” Marty shot me a glare.
I did the best I could to avoid her stare as she walked back towards us, obviously upset at being demoted from the other head of the table. Realistically, I had no idea what the dynamic was between Nathan and Marty—candidate and Campaign Manager—but I could figure a few things out. Marty seemed to be the type of campaign manager, or person in general, who was great at convincing others that they desperately needed her. She was great at selling the idea that her way was always the best, so all things should be cleared through her. Never one to enjoy being blindsided or kept out of the loop. Marty was going to absolutely drop a few stones from her sphincter when Nathan told her about our late-night meeting at the vending machine and the talk that followed. A coronary was not out of the question once she learned of our plan.
“So,” Nathan began once Marty had taken a seat across from me, practically dumping her supplies on the table in front of her, “we’ve decided that—”
“Who, specifically, is we?” Marty hissed.
“The Crisis Manager you took it upon yourself to hire?” Nathan glanced at her. “We decided that the best policy is honesty. So, when the debate comes, and the moderators—or Ledbetter—attack, I’ll simply tell the truth.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” She snapped.
“It’s the most ethical thing to do.”
I sat with my hands folded and my eyes glued to Nathan. They could spar, I would observe.
“The most ethical thing to do is not have a fraudulent marriage, Nathan.” Marty was in top form. “But we’re past that. Now all you can do is manage your scandal. We need a plan to let this just blow over like it’s no big deal.”
“Well,” Nathan glanced at me, “it is no big deal. So, there’s no harm in telling the truth. I’ve spoken with Justine—”
“You did what?” Marty was hissing again. “I specifically told you not to do that.”
“I wanted the okay from her to tell the truth.”
“Bet she loved that.” Marty laughed bitterly.
“Actually,” Nathan seemed irritated suddenly, specifically with Marty, “she was absolutely fine with it. In speaking with her, I learned some interesting information.”
“Oh? And what was that?”
“Cady Blankenship?” Nathan was suddenly very cool and still. “You know—the reporter from the Des Moines Article? She called Justine because she was tipped off that Justine might have some information about my past.”
Marty wasn’t speaking.
I thought I knew where this was going.
“Who do you think might have told Cady Blankenship that, Marty?” Nathan asked, but he didn’t wait for a response. “Due to the name that was given to Justine, she felt it would be okay to speak with Cady on the record about anything she asked. Of course, it wasn’t okay, and Justine was just sick about it—which was why she didn’t call me. She assumed I would be pissed. I let her know that I didn’t hold her responsible for that. I told her I’d blame the person who gave Cady Blankenship her name.”
“Well,” Marty managed, “who was that?”
Nathan just stared at her.
“You know you’re fired, right?” Nathan asked. “That’s why there’s no one else here. I didn’t want to humiliate you like you tried to do to me. Though, I’m not so sure you deserve that.”
“Are you fucking joking right now?” Marty growled. “After all I’ve done for you?”
“Don’t insult me.” Nathan stopped her. “I have no idea why you tried to sabotage my campaign, Marty, but you did. Maybe Ledbetter has been in touch about some opportunities in his offices or even his cabinet, should he so win? Whatever the case may be, you are definitely not welcome on this campaign anymore. I’ll be sure to let it be known why, too. Just so others know what a mistake it might be to hire you.”
Holy shit. Why didn’t Nathan warn me?
“I see why you didn’t want me to tell the truth or talk to Justine,” Nathan said. “I’d figure out what happened. I really thought you were a friend, Marty. A foul-mouthed, hateful friend, but a friend nonetheless.”
Marty leaped up from her seat, and her finger was in my face.
“Do you think Timothy fucking Long is your friend, Nathan?” Marty demanded. “I hired him. He doesn’t give a shit about you. Just the money.”
“I do enjoy money,” I admitted.
Nathan ignored me.
“Hear that?” Marty fumed. “What happens if Ledbetter offers him more?”
“I said I enjoy money.” I replied. “I didn’t say I could be bought.”
Nathan grinned slightly at that, though his eyes stayed on Marty.
“It’s time to go, Marty,” He said. “Go tell Ledbetter I send my regards.”
“You can’t do this.” Marty’s face was ghostly.
“I can. I will. I actually have.” Nathan rose from his chair. I remained seated. “I’ve informed Secret Service of this development, so they’re listening for anything unusual. They also know that once you leave this room, you have a half-hour to collect your things and be gone from this floor. Your security will be stripped, any keys, campaign cards, electronics—it will all be taken before you step into that elevator.”
“What in the actual fuck.” She whispered, mostly to herself.
“Tell Ledbetter that I’m fine with the truth coming out if you want.” Nathan shrugged. “Because whether he comes at me in the debate or not, we have a plan for releasing the full story anyway. Right, Timothy?”
I sat up. “Uh, yeah. We do.”
Marty glared at Nathan, then her ire was turned to me. Obviously, she had assumed that in hiring some silly YouTuber, I’d help sink Nathan’s ship quicker. She never knew that my advice would be to tell the truth and talk to his former wife. Obviously, s
he had only heard about or watched my meltdown, not the apology and correction of my mistake. If she had, she would have known that hiring me was not in alignment with her plans. Then again, I really was just a dinky little YouTuber, so there was no guarantee that my plan would work. It was just the most ethical solution.
“You little shit.” Marty hissed at me. “You must be dazzling in the sack for him to suddenly turn on me like this.”
“Marty!” Nathan growled. “Don’t talk to my staff like that.”
“Your staff?” Marty laughed bitterly. “Yeah. Okay. Obviously, you two were talking politics while the rest of us were working. I’m certain of how he convinced you to do such a fucking foolish thing like turn on me, Nathan Reed.”
“It’s time for you to go,” Nathan stated firmly.
“And you speak like a Disney villain, ya’ whackjob,” I added.
At first, I was certain that Marty would launch herself over the table at me. Not that I didn’t think I could beat Marty Goldman in a fair fight—but it just wouldn’t be right to hit a woman who had just been spectacularly fired. Even if she threw the first punch.
“You little piece of—” Marty started to hiss at me again.
“Leave now while you can do it without a Secret Service agent on either side of you, Marty.” Nathan stopped her. “I’ll make sure there is someone with a camera to catch them dragging you out of the hotel.”
“I’ll take the pictures and post them on the Tuniverse’s social media. I give zero fucks.” I shrugged.
Marty started to open her mouth, then closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Finally, she stood up straight, screwed her face up evilly, and flipped us both off. I wanted to laugh, but Nathan’s expression let me know that he wasn’t nearly as amused. When she went to reach for her things, Nathan stopped her once again.
“That phone and laptop belong to the campaign.” Nathan lowered himself to his seat. “Leave them.”
“Going to give them to your next Campaign Manager?” She snapped.
“None of your concern.” Nathan looked at his watch. “You have thirty minutes starting now. If you haven’t left the building by then—with only your things—I’ll have you removed. Good luck, Marty. You’ll need it.”