His

by Brenda Rothert

  One year later

  Quinn

  Andrew gives me a tight smile as the elevator begins its ascent. He’s squeezing my hand and tapping his polished black dress shoe on the elevator floor.

  “We don’t have to do this,” I remind him.

  “I’m good.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, so I know he’s wound tight. And he’s not good.

  His idea to go to the top of the Empire State Building surprised me. A couple weeks ago, he told me to put this on my schedule for tonight, and my heart had squeezed from the earnest look on his face.

  “The . . . Empire State Building?” I’d said, my brows arched. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t that Andrew never went onto the upper floors of tall buildings. He often had to for work meetings or to visit his mom’s place. But this was different. He’d chosen this place to face his fears. Being at the top of a building more than one thousand feet tall—and on the outside, no less—wasn’t something he’d done since before his father died.

  “Did I tell you I finished writing that paper?” I ask him, hoping to distract him.

  He looks down at me. “Yeah? I’d like to read it.”

  “Of course. Your friend was a great resource for it.”

  I’d interviewed one of Andrew’s former business partners from the Circle of Six. He was a counterterrorism expert who helped me understand the current political climate in the Middle East. And when he’d told me about losing his son on 9/11, I’d seen the same pain in his eyes I saw in Andrew’s when he spoke of his dad.

  When Andrew withdrew from the Circle of Six eight months ago, he’d turned a corner in his grieving process. Killing terrorists had never brought him the peace he sought. Now he honored his father’s memory in a new way.

  The David Wentworth Foundation funded a summer camp for children who’d lost a parent. We were overseeing construction of new cabins on a large piece of property upstate we’d bought for the camp. The massive main lodge would be done in time for the first group of campers this summer, and it included a suite for us.

  The elevator slows and then stops. Our elevator attendant nods and we step out, Andrew keeping his hold on my hand. He called in a favor to get us an after-hours private trip up here, so we’re all alone.

  It’s a brisk winter evening, and my breath clouds in front of my face as I take in the view and sigh.

  “It’s spectacular,” I say.

  Andrew looks out over his city silently. His eyes pool with emotion, and I bring his large hand up to my lips to kiss his knuckles.

  “Thinking about my dad,” he says softly.

  “He’d be proud of you right now.”

  A small smile plays on his lips as he looks down at me. “He would’ve loved you.” His smile broadens. “You know what feels good?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not thinking about his death. I’m thinking about a story he told me one night when I couldn’t sleep.” His eyes dance with happiness. “I was six or seven at the time, I think.”

  “What was it about?”

  He looks from side to side, taking in the view of the skyline again. “It was about this place.” He turns back to me and brushes a thumb over my lips. “This is where he proposed to my mom.”

  When he reaches into his pocket, my heart pounds wildly. As he gets down on one knee, I blink and feel hot tears on my cold cheeks.

  “Andrew,” I whisper.

  Tears shine in his eyes. “Quinn Bradley, I love you with all my heart. You made this controlling bastard into a lovesick puppy, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Will you marry me?”

  I swipe a thumb across my cheeks and nod wildly. “Yes, Andrew, a thousand times yes.”

  He stands and pulls me into his arms, swinging me around. I feel like my heart may burst from the joy of this moment.

  When he sets me back on the ground, he slides a simple square solitaire in a platinum band onto my finger.

  “My mother’s,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Gina Wentworth has become a mother to me in every way. Like Andrew, she’s pure gold beneath her hard façade.

  “I’m honored to wear it,” I say, wiping away another round of tears. “It’s perfect.”

  The elevator attendant is approaching with a glass of champagne in each hand. He passes them to us and then walks back over to the elevator to allow us privacy.

  “You thought I was nervous about being up here,” Andrew says to me, “but I was more nervous about proposing.”

  I lean in close, looking up at his dark-stubbled face. “How could you not know I would say yes?”

  “You never know ’til the deal’s done,” he says with a boyish shrug. “And I wanted it to be perfect.”

  “It was.”

  “To us,” he says, clinking his glass lightly against mine.

  “To us.” I sip the cold, bubbly champagne and admire the sparkling ring on my finger.

  “You know, I thought I was saving you from a life on the streets,” Andrew says, smiling wryly and shaking his head, “but it was you who saved me.”

  I shrug and smile at him. “I’m a modern-day Cinderella. I think we should take turns saving each other.”

  Andrew kisses me gently. “We do.”

  “And we will.”

  “Forever.”

  “You don’t mind if I wear my hunting knife underneath my wedding dress, do you?” I ask with a playful smile.

  He cocks an amused brow. “We may need to discuss that.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Dirty Work, Brenda’s first co-authored novel with Author Chelle Bliss. This steamy political romance releases July 26.

  DIRTY WORK

  Chapter 1

  Jude

  My eyes scan the crowd, taking in the masses as they cheer and hold signs supporting my run for Congress.

  Five years ago, when I was honorably discharged from the Marines, I never would’ve dreamed this would be my future.

  All the signs carried the same slogan: Trust in Titan. Knowing that the constituents in my home state of Illinois feel this way makes me proud. I spent ten years fighting in wars to defend our great nation and preserve her freedoms. When I was given the Medal of Honor after staving off the enemy to save my fellow brothers, I thought my life had been made.

  Where else could I go from there? It’s the highest military decoration. I didn’t think I’d ever run for office.

  I wave my hands to quiet the crowd assembled in the ballroom at the Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago. When their voices are only a whisper, I speak, “I’m here today to officially announce my run for Congress.”

  The crowd comes back to life, louder than before. I don’t stop them, letting them cheer and scream my name because . . . Well, I deserve this moment.

  “Titan. Titan,” the people cheer, and my chest swells with pride. Only in this great nation could a man with such a humble beginning rise to this level.

  “Thank you,” I say into the microphone, gripping the sides of the podium to steady my hands as the people begin to quiet. “I’ve never been involved in politics, and in today’s climate, I feel there’s a need for an outsider like me to enter the race. For too many years, the lifelong politicians have been making the decisions that affect people like you. They enjoy their fat bank accounts without a care about how their choices touch your lives. I’m here to put a stop to Washington as usual. I promise tonight, to each of you, that I will do everything in my power to make your lives better. Today, I’m officially announcing my candidacy for United States Senate.”

  Balloons rain down from the ceiling, filling the ballroom with more red, white, and blue. I step in front of the podium and wave to the crowd, before stooping down to shake a few hands. “Thank you for your support and service,” I tell the vet standing in the front row wearing a POW-MIA baseball cap.

  “Thank you for running,” he replies and covers our hands with his left. His wrinkled skin is riddled with ag
e spots. “I know you’ll do right by us veterans.”

  I swallow down my emotions from shaking a fellow soldier’s hand and knowing we lived through much of the same trauma. “I’ll make it my job.” The smile on my face is sincere when he nods and releases my hand.

  “Jude. Oh my God, Jude Titan.” She screams so loud my ears ring. “You’re even sexier in person.” Her large, round eyes roam over my body before finally resting on my face. “Day-um,” she says before whistling.

  “Do I know you?” I ask, trying to keep my face impartial as I search my memory bank for a one-night stand I had forgotten about in a drunken haze.

  She places her hand against my forearm. “You can,” she says with a smirk and runs her fingers across my tattoo.

  “Mr. Titan,” my campaign manager says from behind me. “You have an interview to get to, sir.”

  “Can I count on your vote?” I ask the woman when I begin to stand and break contact with her.

  Her stare creeps me out, but I keep a smile plastered on my face. “There’s no one else I have my sights set on.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I need Mr. Titan,” Carl says, pulling me backward to safety.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter and blow out a breath. “Thanks for the save.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be the last, Jude. Just be careful. You’re a candidate now, and things can easily get out of control or misconstrued.”

  I’m pushing up my sleeves and my nose wrinkles as his words hit me. “Misconstrued? I did nothing wrong. I didn’t flirt with her.”

  “What you did and what she says you did are two different things. It’s very easy to ruin a campaign before it’s ever even started.”

  “Carl, I realize it’s your job to get me elected, but don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. Should I have been rude to the woman?”

  He shakes his head and his jaw ticks. “No,” he says through gritted teeth, his shoulders rising as his nostrils flare. “But don’t put yourself in the situation in the first place, and we won’t have an issue.”

  I stop walking and cross my arms in front of my chest. “So I should just avoid all women?” My head tilts, and I can’t help but sneer.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters something under his breath about God. “No, Jude,” he says in a condescending tone. “Just don’t put yourself in another situation like that.”

  My finger taps against my lips, and I try to control my frustration. “I’ll make a mental note to avoid situations like that,” I say, using air quotes before I brush by him and head toward the small group of reporters gathered near the back of the stage.

  I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. If I can’t handle a woman in a crowd, I’m not sure how I made it out of war in one piece.

  “Ah, hello, Ms. Campbell,” Carl says, pushing past me before I have a chance to say a word.

  “Mr. Schultz. Thank you for allowing us here for what’s looking to be the start of a very interesting election season.” Her eyes dart to mine, and I hold her gaze, unfazed by her comment.

  “I’m looking forward to a tough fight,” I say to her and hold out my hand, disregarding Carl’s presence. “I’m Jude Titan.”

  “It’s wonderful to finally meet the man behind the name.” Her face flushes and she averts her eyes. “What would you say to your opponent, Miss Preston?”

  “Well.” I pause for a moment and choose my words very carefully. “I’d tell her that, even though I’m not part of a long-standing political family like she is, I know how to win a battle, and I plan to defeat her this November.”

  Carl steps forward and clears his throat. “He’s looking forward to showing Miss Preston that he’s a worthy adversary.”

  When my eyes cut to his, he looks everywhere but at me.

  “He may not be steeped in government, but he’s served his country with valor and honor and will do everything in his power to earn the respect of voters all over Illinois.”

  I lean forward and whisper in his ear, “What are you doing?”

  “Saving your ass,” he replies through gritted teeth.

  “Do you have time for a one-on-one interview?” Ms. Campbell asks, tipping back on her heels nervously.

  “He’s booked today, but if you call me—” Carl pulls a business card from his jacket and hands it to her “—I’ll make sure to schedule an interview as soon as possible.”

  “Mr. Titan,” another reporter interrupts, sticking his recorder in my face.

  Carl cuts him off, pushing the man’s arm down. “No more questions today. Please see the media spokeswoman, Ms. Jenkins, for any information or to schedule an interview in the future. It’s going to be a long season, ladies and gentleman. Mr. Titan has just announced his candidacy and needs to spend time tonight with his supporters who came to cheer him on.”

  I want to argue with him, but he’s right. Tonight isn’t about the press. It’s about the people. People like me who rarely have a voice.

  For far too long, I’ve been subjected to the deals many politicians made. The military is notoriously shortchanged and overworked because of special interest groups and in the name of the almighty dollar.

  Americans are led to believe wars are fought for just reasons. Why else would they support them? Politicians tell lies to make the public accept the fact that thousands of lives will be lost in the name of saving the world from tyranny or terrorism.

  But deep down, at the core of their decision to go to war, there’s another reason—an ulterior motive that seems to be missed by the masses.

  Money.

  Wars cost billions of dollars. The money is funneled from the US government to the weapons companies around the country.

  War is big business.

  Fortunes are made on the backs of US servicemen and women. They’ve given their lives for each dollar bill that lines the pockets of Washington’s elite.

  It stops with me.

  I’ll break the cycle and make people my first priority. Reagan Preston’s about to find out Marines always fight to win, no matter the cost.

  Chapter 2

  Reagan

  My hands are covering my face, and I crack two fingers open to make a ‘V’ I can see the TV screen through.

  “Shit,” I say with a groan. “He has a presence, doesn’t he?”

  “He definitely does,” my friend and campaign manager, Alexis, says.

  I close my fingers and go back to the blissful blackness of not seeing my new opponent, Jude Titan. “Why does he have to be so damned attractive? And . . . heroic? Attractive or heroic, I think I could handle, but both?”

  “Mmm, I’ll handle that man anytime,” Alexis mutters.

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry.” She turns to me and takes my wrists, easing my hands down. “Look, we’ll find his weak spot. I mean, the guy’s never run for any office. Your political experience started in the womb.”

  I roll my eyes. “Lex, being from a family with a history in politics is good and bad. It’s mostly bad against Jude Titan. He’s a war hero, returning home to shake up the establishment. No baggage. Just a chiseled jawline and a huge smile and a Medal of Honor around his neck.”

  Lex gets a dreamy look on her face, and I shove her. “Stop picturing him wearing nothing but the medal.”

  “I wasn’t,” she says, her fair cheeks darkening.

  “You were.”

  “I may have been,” she admits.

  “I am so fucked.” I lean back against the thinly upholstered bench at the fold-down kitchen table of my campaign bus.

  “Game face,” Lex reminds me. “You were fine the first time we watched this announcement.”

  “It’s different when the entire staff is in here. With you, I can be myself.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She glances at her wristwatch. “Hey, you want me to reschedule your stuff for the rest of the day and we can wallow? I’ll allow you six hours to wallow before we put our big-girl panties back on.”

&
nbsp; I smile. “Thanks, but no. I need to do those interviews and that speech to put on a good face about running against Titan.” I shake my head. “Ugh, even his name reeks of power and capability. I’ve really got my work cut out for me.”

  “I’ll be right beside you. And your father will be, too.”

  “You’re right,” I say with a deep breath. “We can do this.”

  “You unseated Paul Hawthorne after he’d served five terms in the state house,” Lex reminds me. “Your approval rating is strong. And since when do you back down from a fight?”

  She’s getting animated now—her short red corkscrew curls are bouncing as she talks. I love this girl. She’s been by my side since we met as college sophomores a little more than ten years ago.

  “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “So Jude Titan’s running. Maybe he’ll lose in the primary.”

  Lex snorts and laughs. She covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. Maybe he will.” She clears her throat and tries to stop smiling but just ends up laughing again.

  I shake my head and walk back to the tiny bathroom. Life on a campaign bus is very unglam. The battle between the male and female staffers over the toilet seat is real, and it’s aggravated by someone’s lousy aim. Putting a pee-stained toilet seat down is just gross.

  I fix my hair and put on fresh lip gloss. Before I’m done, I hear the rest of the staff piling back on to the bus. We stopped at a deli for a late lunch, and now it’s time to drive to Charleston for a campaign rally.

  The ride to Charleston is quiet. Jude Titan’s announcement has everyone in a thoughtful mood. This election was in the bag. The Democratic primary is uncontested, so my only opponent for the Senate seat my father is vacating was going to be Republican Sonny Solomon, the quirky mayor of a small, southern Illinois town.

  Jude is likely to plow over Sonny in the Republican primary, and that victory will give him momentum. I have a strong track record, but still . . . a handsome war hero is a tough opponent.

  I give my stump speech in at a rally in a high school gymnasium in Charleston, and the crowd roars to life when I mention Jude Titan at the end.