by Amy Faye
She took a step, and it was like trying to walk through a brick wall. Nobody moved. A hand reached through to grab her wrist, clothed in a dark suit and attached to a thick arm. She let him take her and pull her through as the crowd of reporters continued their feeding frenzy.
"Are you alright?"
Her hand moved automatically at the sound of his voice. His arm twisted and the slap stopped prematurely in midair.
"You put him up to this, didn't you?"
Tom pulled her through the halls quickly enough that she was having trouble keeping up. She forced her legs to keep moving in spite of it. There was no other choice, after all. She'd either follow, or she would be dragged, but he gave no indication that there was any choice in between.
He didn't answer right away, and she didn't repeat the question. A woman in a red skirt-suit saw her and the glint of recognition in her eyes hit her in the gut as she slapped the belly of the man beside her, who hefted a camera onto his shoulder and started moving before his face showed any understanding.
They went through a door and Tom closed it up behind. His voice growled low. "Are you okay? Did you say anything?"
"I know better than that, Delaney."
He looked genuinely concerned for a moment, and the way his eyes bored into her made her knees want to buckle under her. The thumping in her chest wasn't entirely from the adrenaline pumping through her after trying to escape. Even now, down the hall, she could hear the woman's cursing at the lost opportunity.
"You do know better, don't you?"
She pressed her back against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to still the beating of her heart just a little bit. Then he leaned in close to her, and instead of slowing down, it just sped up. Skipped a beat. And as he leaned in closer still, her knees shook, and she didn't stop him.
Not until her phone beeped in her pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Linda watched Adam's face as he read, and she was surprised to see the lack of response there. He should have been thinking… something. Anything.
But he wasn't. No emotions at all, as his eyes scanned the page. Then he started back at the top and went slower. His eyes moved less, focused more on the words.
And then he got to the bottom of the page and looked up, tossing the paper onto the table where it was promptly forgotten about, as if she had never given it to him.
"What's this?"
"You read it, you tell me."
"It's a joke, is what I read," he says, and pushes his chair back. "You know I'm not going to accept that."
Linda's eyes closed. "You're going to have to accept it, Mr. Quinn."
"Not if I have anything to say about it, I don't."
Linda's posture should have been more stand-offish. It would make her look more serious about this. But the truth was, she was tired, and she just didn't know what she could do any more.
So she'd done what needed to be done in the light of the new revelations about her possible dating status: she'd handed in her resignation.
"If I don't come in tomorrow, then you don't have much of a say in anything."
"No," he agreed reluctantly. "I suppose that I don't."
"Then we're in agreement."
"Not so far," he answered. Unhappily, she noted. Well, his happiness wasn't her business. She had to do what was smart for her, rather than what he wanted her to do. "Is this some sort of martyr thing? You think you have to resign, for the media image or something?"
She took a deep breath. "No, but if it was, are you saying I'd be wrong?"
"I'm saying that right or wrong doesn't matter. It's not about doing what the people want you to do. It's about deciding what needs doing, and then convincing people they want it."
Her eyes drift shut for a moment. What the hell was he talking about? Did he even know himself? Because she sure as hell didn't understand him. If the public reaction didn't matter, why was she even needed?
"I don't believe that, sir."
He frowned. "You don't have to believe it, if you don't want to. I can prove it if needed. No belief required."
"Why hire me, if you don't need to control the reaction?" Linda's voice cracked a little bit. A momentary lapse of self-control. She got it back a moment later and tightened her arms in front of her.
He looked at her impassively. "I didn't say I didn't need to control it. I said that their initial impression didn't matter, and they'd react the way that we made them react. I need to control them just as much as anyone."
"Then at least why don't you consult me? I've been left out of several major decisions lately—"
"Is this about the speech yesterday?"
"Not entirely," Linda answers. There's a tone in his voice that puts her immediately on the defensive. What right does he have to challenge her, in the first place?
"But that's part of it, right?"
"So what?"
"So nothing. I just want to know what the score is."
"Yes, that's part of it."
"I can fix it," he says. He says it like he means it, but does he even know what the problem is? Does he really know?
"I don't think you can, Adam. I don't think you're capable of it."
"Let me prove you wrong."
She lets out a long breath. "No. I'm moving on, Adam, before I'm the Capitol Hill slut, who just wants to sleep her way to the top."
He frowns. It stings to see him looking even the slightest bit upset, but there's no room for sympathy, when it's her career on the line. His eyes bore into her, and in spite of all the time that she's spent with him, she still feels it deep down, and a shiver shoots down her spine.
"I don't want you to go," he says. His voice is flat and there's no hint of begging, but even still, she feels a tug to give him what he wants. Her jaw tightens again.
"I'm sorry, Adam. I've made my decision."
The door on the way out is heavier than usual, but she forces it open, and the air rushing in as she does hits her hard and runs down her nose, down her throat, and right into a pit that's opened up in her stomach. She's got to figure out what to do next, because the damage is already done.
Now she's just got to figure out how to undo it. Somehow.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The part of him that felt numb was the worst part of all. Somewhere inside him, some part wanted to be floored by Linda's departure. But he simply wasn't. He kept going, the same as he always did.
It didn't sting the way that he'd wanted. The way that it had before. Maybe it was the time. Maybe a few months wasn't enough for her to dig her claws into his heart and when she pulled them loose, inevitably, there wasn't enough meat there to be pulled out.
But there wasn't enough to hurt the way he wanted to hurt. He just felt… empty. Tired. Something in his chest asked whether it was time to pack it in. Maybe he was just desperate at this point, forcing himself to keep going towards a finish line that wasn't particularly close.
People had been telling him since he first suggested the idea, years and years ago, that there was no chance. There was no making the switch from the business world to the political world, and if you wanted to do it, you had to do it the right way. Work your way up the ladder, pay your dues, and ease your way into it.
Adam Quinn never had any special interest in becoming a Senator. He never wanted to be Mayor or Governor, and the truth was, he didn't want to become President, either. If someone else had come along, someone who would do the job justice, then he'd have stayed out. Happily stayed out.
But they hadn't come along. Things had just gotten worse, and they'd been getting worse since he'd shown up one day as a weird tech-kid in California. Never getting better.
Everyone on the street knew it. Nobody needed to tell them, even as the news was saying how everything was turning around, and this would finally be the time that things would get better instead of worse. Might as well have had the news anchors personally kick everyone in the shins, because it had done equally good for them.<
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Adam closed his eyes. There was no alternative to just running, and trying like hell to make sure that he won in the end.
Sure, he'd like to quit. Sure, he'd like to just go home. And there was nothing, fundamentally, wrong with that. Plenty of other people, good people, had walked away when there was a brick wall in front of them that they couldn't climb over. But something in his gut told him he wouldn't, and sure enough, he didn't.
There would be other opportunities. He just had to work harder, think smarter, and somehow, he'd be able to replace the work Linda had been doing.
That burned, as well. She was good at what she did, and he didn't want to take that away from her. She'd do as good a job as he could possibly do, she'd do it in half the time, and he'd be able to work on other things. He'd much rather have her than not.
But as much as he'd like to be able to say that he couldn't work without her, he wasn't about to lie. He could do it without her. He could do it without Tom. He couldn't do it without both of them, not likely. But he could do without one or the other without killing himself working.
She deserved to be a lynch-pin. Something he couldn't do without. If that person existed, Adam Quinn hadn't found them yet. He could do any of the work he needed done. The problem wasn't flexibility. It was time.
Even with twenty working hours in the day, he couldn't be everyone, all the time. He could only be so many people.
He settled into the couch. Tom lounged on another nearby. Both of them had large pads of paper set on their laps, though Adam had a laptop open beside him, and he had one eye and his left hand making sure that it was being used regularly. There was too much work to be done to avoid multitasking, especially before he'd found a decent replacement for Linda. If one could even be found.
The press wasn't totally negative, for once. They tried to attack him, of course. There was no way around that. But they looked weak. Ineffectual. He was winning again. Their attacks wouldn't stick, and that was all he needed. He didn't need to get away with murder. Just be able to avoid negative coverage as much as possible.
Linda's picture flashed on-screen. The part of his brain that registered problems started working on fixing it immediately, and another pang of guilt hit him square in the chest. He'd already moved on to solving the problem of how he'd deal with public breakup.
When it was just him, there was no problem. Now that he was Adam Quinn, Presidential Hopeful, he had to deal with other problems. But, with some disappointment, he couldn't help thinking that he would manage it without too much difficulty.
The little tug of sadness that had sunk its barbs into his chest—that, he'd manage with a little more difficulty. But in time, he wouldn't have to think about it at all.
Chapter Forty
Adam checks his phone. It isn't the first time that he's checked it since he sat down at the meeting—Tom was doing most of the talking, thankfully—and from the way that there's no notification about a message, it won't be the last time.
There's a little light by the ear-phone speaker, that flashes when there's something that he needs to know. It flashes light blue when there's a Twitter notification, for example. It flashes light blue quite a lot, and he ignores it most of the time.
It flashes red when the battery's getting low, for another example.
And when there's a text message, it flashes dark blue. It hasn't been flashing dark blue, but he's checking anyways. It's more than just unprofessional, it's a distraction. One that he can't afford for much longer, but when Linda's not answering his texts, well, what else is he going to do?
Keep checking his texts, exactly.
The head of the DNC is sitting across from the table. They want to change the debate schedule again. Of course they do, because they don't like some upstart outsider cutting in on their action. Nobody ever does. Adam's experienced this before, and at this point, it's tiresome.
He leans over to Tom and speaks softly. Tom holds up a finger to silence Jim from speaking until Adam finishes.
"Just give them what they want."
Tom straightens and gives a soft nod. He'll make this last a long time, no doubt. But there's one thing that Jim hasn't been thinking too hard about.
He's doing all this to throw Adam off. If he's getting tons of press, you schedule a "surprise" debate. If he's starved for it, then you cancel a few. Let the flame go out.
It's smart strategy. There's no winning move, of course. Adam's used to these sort of tactics and they're not going to do a whole lot to hurt him. But they're doing their best, at least.
Adam Quinn's entire reason for running is the same as the reason it won't hurt him, though. Politicians have had an easy time for too long. A free ride can make anyone soft.
They're so used to their teleprompters, so used to their pre-screened questions in interviews, they're not used to having to be a shark.
Being a self-made man in America means that the old money thinks you're an upstart asshole who needs to be pushed back down. On the other hand, being as rich as he was, it was easy to point at him as every example of capitalist decadence for anyone with an ax to grind.
What's more, he played into that image, so it wasn't as if he had room to complain about it. No, he relished it. If he could stick with the people trying to attack him on both sides, the rich who hated him and the people who hate the rich who think he's one of them, he could survive anywhere.
A debate stage with minimal preparation? Hardly a problem.
But all of that assumed that his mind was on it. That he was focused, that he had his edge honed sharp. And, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, certainly not to himself, he wasn't sharp.
He just had to get straightened out. It wouldn't be that hard. Just get in touch with her. Once she answered his text—then he'd be fine. As soon as he could get her out of his head, then he'd be able to deal with anything that came at him.
Chapter Forty-One
Linda Owens had to admit. There was a certain something to be said for attaching yourself to a man who was like a magnet for media. The minute that she'd started putting her name out there as being open for business, the response had been massive. Absolutely massive.
It was a surprise. She'd been afraid there wouldn't be any at all, but instead she had, for the first time in her life, a serious array of choices that she could pick between. A handful immediately stood out, of course. Serious candidates, who had good chances of winning even without her help.
There were plenty of great options on the table. In this case, literally, as she'd spent the last two days worrying over what to choose, even as the number of choices continued to increase until she felt as if she was going to be overwhelmed.
She needed to figure out a way to decide, and the way she'd decided to go with was to write out the pluses and minuses of each choice, and then look at them all side-by-side. Photos of each candidate, clipped from various magazines, were paper-clipped to the corner of each paper.
Her phone buzzed again. Another offer? She'd started just turning them down. Whatever she was going to choose, there was no chance that she was going to keep adding people to the list of choices. Not when she was already struggling to juggle the number of options that she had.
It wasn't another email, though. It was a text message, and she still had his contact information in her phone. She probably wouldn't ever quite delete it—even if she wasn't working for Adam Quinn any more, he was a powerful networking tool, and eventually he would no doubt look back on her fondly.
Now, though, might not have been the ideal time to hear from him. He would still be sore from her leaving in such a hurry. She wanted his campaign to be in shambles, for him to beg her to come back, but she knew him better than that. Every position, even hers, was redundant. There were redundancies for the redundancies, in some cases.
He wasn't a man who relied on chance, not if he could help it. With his personality and his charisma and the magnetic way that he drew people to him, he could always help it.
So she didn't have any illusions, but it would have felt nice to know that he felt that she was indisposable. It just wasn't realistic.
She clicked the power button and the screen turned off before she could read his message. There wasn't time for personal feelings, not in the pre-election rush.
She missed him, sure. She missed a lot of people. He had a uniquely powerful presence, one that would always dominate the room that he was in. One that left an impression.
She had several impressions. The one that missed being part of a meteoric campaign. The one that missed being part of an almost guerrilla movement. Working with Adam and Tom had been a whirlwind, to say the least, and that whirlwind wouldn't be something that she'd be likely to repeat, not with any of the candidates arrayed out on the table.
That same whirlwind was why she'd left, she reminded herself. It was exciting and even exhilarating, but it wasn't good for her. It was just fun, and there were more important things than fun, or fulfilling, or anything like that.
Sometimes, you have to be smart rather than just enjoying yourself, and this was one of those times, like it or not.
She took a deep breath and shifted the phone from right beside her hip to the other side of the couch, where it was less likely to distract her. She would need all the help she could get.
It would be dishonest to move into the Presidential race with another candidate—though she'd gotten offers. She wasn't going to consider anyone else, because she wasn't going to be used as a weapon against Adam, no matter how effective she might be at it.
Which meant that no matter what, it wasn't going to be a move up. The Senate was probably the only opportunity she'd have. Wherever they moved her to, it wasn't going to be flying around nonstop, and it wasn't going to be based out of DC.
She took a breath and started going left-to-right. Grant, the sitting Senator from Texas. He was strong on the issues, and he was popular with the constituency. The safest option, really. He was a shoe-in if he didn't campaign a bit. There weren't even any real whispers around the Hill of any impropriety.