Her Lover's Legacy

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Not far. The Lancaster Hotel,” she said, and pretended not to notice his immediate frown while she led him toward the elevators.

  “Fancy. Just what sort of party is this?”

  “Oh, you know.” She shrugged. “The usual.” She tapped her foot as she mentally urged the elevators to hurry. There was a very strong possibility of making the Guinness Book of World Records for the shortest date.

  Malcolm groaned as the elevator’s bell dinged. “It’s a political dinner, isn’t it?”

  “No,” she answered, not quite meeting his gaze. “It’s a political fund-raiser.”

  He scoffed. “And what, pray tell, is the difference?”

  “Less food and more music,” she said as if it was obvious, and stepped into the elevator.

  He followed her. “I don’t believe this. You tricked me.”

  “I did no such thing. You offered to take me out.”

  “Because you knew I would.”

  “What—I’m psychic now?” No way was she going to admit that she’d played on his guilt to get what she wanted. As far as she was concerned, he could never prove it.

  “Did Cayman put you up to this?” Malcolm’s voice thickened with rising irritation.

  The bell chimed and the doors slid open.

  Gloria quickly exited the small compartment in hopes to distance herself from his tight scrutiny.

  Malcolm dogged her heels. “The answer is no,” he said. “I’m not running for my father’s seat, so you and your partner in crime can just forget it.”

  She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard a thing he’d said.

  “I’m not interested in all that political back-scratching, backpedaling and plain old back-stabbing required to just get someone to change a light bulb in Washington. If I see a problem, I get my hands dirty and fix it. It’s less paperwork and no wasting of taxpayers’ dollars.”

  “Sounds like a campaign slogan to me,” she said flippantly. “Where’s your car?”

  “Are you listening to me?” He stopped in the center of the sidewalk and scowled at her. “I said I’m not running.”

  “That’s nice. Where’s the car?” she asked again.

  Malcolm frowned. The one thing he could always count on with Gloria was a good argument. And now that he was all set and raring to go, she had pulled the rug out from under him by not participating.

  What the hell?

  “This way,” he grumbled, and led her to his parked SUV a few feet down the sidewalk. His eyes remained trained on her while he fidgeted with his car keys and then opened the passenger door.

  “Thanks,” she said, and climbed inside.

  Malcolm slammed the passenger door and stormed his way to the driver’s side.

  During the drive to the Lancaster Hotel, Gloria met Malcolm’s growing sourness with an overwhelming stream of syrupy sweetness. One thing she noted, despite his constant grumbling, that at no time did Malcolm attempt to end the date. That at least gave her hope.

  “Ah, you two made it,” Cayman greeted them with a smile the moment they entered the hotel’s luxurious reception room.

  “We wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Gloria boasted above Malcolm’s disgruntled grunt. “Thanks for inviting us.”

  Cayman nodded but turned his attention toward Malcolm. “There are a lot of folks here tonight that want to meet you.”

  “Is that right?” Malcolm said in a lazy attempt to cover his sarcasm.

  It took everything Gloria had not to stomp on his foot with her four-inch stilettos and order him to snap out of it.

  “Now, now. Don’t shoot us down before you hear us out,” Cayman cut in expertly, and swung his arm around Malcolm’s shoulder in a half bear hug. “You did promise to think about this exceptional opportunity.”

  Was that what these people thought his father’s death was—an exceptional opportunity? Malcolm’s stomach turned. “You know, Senator, there really isn’t much to think about. I’m not interested in taking my father’s place.”

  Cayman laughed and shook his head. “Stubborn. Just like your father.”

  Malcolm caught Gloria’s slight nod.

  “No pressure,” Cayman said. “If you decide to turn us down, another candidate has come to our attention. Clint Hardy. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  Gloria perked with interest. “Clint Hardy?”

  Cayman’s smile bloomed wider as he tossed a wink in Gloria’s direction. “Should have known that you’d know who was on the political rise in this town.”

  Not only that, Gloria knew Clint from college. He was a star athlete when she was at Texas A&M University. Clint was as handsome as he was charming, and it didn’t hurt that his father, Andrew Hardy, once held the same congressional seat before Harmon Braddock.

  On paper, the Hardys’ political profile was just as impressive as the Braddocks’—which made Clint a serious contender.

  “Is he here tonight?” Gloria asked, immediately searching the crowd to spot him.

  Malcolm frowned at Gloria’s sudden keen interest.

  “Sure is,” Cayman said, directing her attention to the opposite end of the conference room.

  Stepping forward to get a better look, Gloria finally spotted Clint holding court with a group of nodding businessmen and women and looking every bit like a trained and polished politician. Gloria was worried.

  “Ah, I see Hardy has cast his spell on you, as well,” Cayman guessed, misreading Gloria’s expression. “He is a charming devil. I’ll give him that much. Would you like an introduction?”

  “That’s not necessary,” Gloria said. “We’ve met.”

  Malcolm’s frown turned into a scowl. “And when was this?”

  Gloria shrugged. “Too many years ago for it to be important,” she said. “I doubt he even remembers my name.”

  Just then Clint glanced up and caught Gloria’s eye.

  She watched as he mumbled his excuses to his surrounding audience and then headed their way.

  Surprised, Gloria blinked and straightened her posture.

  “Looks to me like he remembers you,” Malcolm growled.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Malcolm and noted his stony expression.

  “Gloria Kingsley,” Clint said when he invaded her personal circle. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  Gloria’s smile widened while her cheeks darkened in a flattered blush. “Mr. Hardy. I didn’t think that you’d remember me.”

  “It’s Clint—and of course I remember you.” His eyes assessed her from head to toe. “What red-blooded man could ever forget you?” Clint grabbed two flutes of champagne and politely handed her one. “Back in college, you had every boy drooling after you, but you would never pull your nose out of those books long enough to notice.”

  Gloria continued to blush prettily. “I’m sure that’s a gross exaggeration,” she said, stealing her first sip of champagne.

  “Not at all.” Clint shook his head and stepped back to appreciate her every curve. “Wow. You look stunning in that dress.”

  “What—this old thing?”

  Malcolm grunted and then cleared his throat, successfully drawing Clint’s attention to him.

  “Malcolm Braddock.” Clint extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I hear that you may be my competition.”

  Malcolm looked at Hardy’s hand as if he’d rather amputate it than shake it.

  As if sensing Malcolm’s animosity, Clint withdrew his hand and slid it into his pants pocket. “So much for friendly competition, eh?” he joked.

  “That depends on what we’re competing over,” Malcolm said, curling an arm around Gloria’s waist and locking her beside him.

  Hardy’s brows shot upward as understanding dawned in his eyes. “My apologies,” Clint said, taking a cautionary step backward. “I didn’t know you two were an item.”

  “Neither did I,” Cayman said with an equal note of surprise.

  “We’re not,” Gloria said, prying
herself free with an awkward smile. “We’re just friends.”

  Hardy perked with renewed interest. “Oh.”

  “Very good friends,” Malcolm clarified. His iron hook dragged her back to his side.

  Annoyed, Gloria glanced up at Malcolm before asking Cayman and Hardy, “Could you excuse us? We’ll be back in just a second.” She maintained a smile as she took Malcolm’s hand and pulled him away.

  Malcolm followed but cast a departing warning toward Hardy.

  “What in the hell was all that about?” she snapped the moment she found a private spot.

  “What?” Malcolm shrugged.

  “Oh, don’t play stupid with me. What was all that ‘very good friends’ crap you were feeding them?”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “That wasn’t how you made it seem,” she accused. “You practically told the man to back off because I was your girlfriend or something.”

  “Or something?” Malcolm echoed. “Look, Ms. Kingsley. Where I come from you don’t go out with one guy and then spend the evening flirting with another.”

  “What?”

  “We are on a date—or did you forget?”

  “C’mon, Malcolm. It’s not a date-date.”

  “Oh, really?” He crossed his arms. “Are you finally admitting that you tricked me here so Cayman can try to turn me into his latest puppet?”

  Gloria’s mouth moved, but no words came out. He had successfully backed her into a corner and she had to figure out some way to maneuver out of it. “I didn’t say that,” she finally whispered. “But can you calm down the whole ‘Me, Tarzan. You, Jane’ routine you have going? It’s embarrassing. We’re on a date. I’m not your possession.”

  Before Malcolm could agree, Cayman found his way over to the couple. “Is everything all right over here?” he asked.

  Gloria and Malcolm turned on their fake political smiles.

  “Yes, everything is fine,” Gloria answered.

  “Never better.” Malcolm’s arm snaked around Gloria’s waist. He ignored how she stiffened in his embrace. Let her be uncomfortable. It would give her a good taste of what he was going through at this farce of a date.

  Cayman nodded as if he bought the lie. “Good. Good.” He led Malcolm and Gloria over to his group of constituents who wanted to meet Malcolm. For most of the evening, Malcolm felt as if he was on a long job interview. Inquiring minds wanted to know his position on things from health care, immigration and home security.

  He couldn’t tell whether they were trying to convince him to run for congress or president. Incidentally, no matter what his stance was on any given issue, Clint Hardy held an opposite position. In no time at all, what had started out as friendly conversation had turned into a political debate. More often than not, Malcolm’s responses solicited applause while Hardy sounded more like a robot, spitting out answers that he’d obviously been trained to recite. His speeches lacked sincerity, and he tried to rely on his sparkling veneer of a smile than concern himself with the facts of any given issue.

  When Hardy finally ran out of memorized quotes, he jokingly teased that they should save their vigor for the political trail. Malcolm then had the uncomfortable duty of informing the crowd that he hadn’t decided to run for office.

  A ripple of disappointed moans followed his announcement.

  “Well, Ms. Kingsley,” Hardy said, taking her hand. “If I do take office, I hope you’ll be staying on board to whip me into shape. I’ll need a good executive assistant and I hear you’re one of the best.” He leaned forward and kissed her hand.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Gloria said.

  Hardy winked and then gave a curt nod toward Malcolm before strolling off.

  “Tell me there’s no way you’d actually work for that clown,” Malcolm sneered.

  “I learned a long time ago to never say never. Maybe you should take that advice, as well.”

  Malcolm’s scowl returned in full force, but Gloria pretended not to notice.

  “C’mon, Malcolm. You’re a natural. You just went toe to toe with Hardy without so much as breaking a sweat. The crowd loved you.”

  Malcolm remained indifferent. “It’s easy to debate someone who doesn’t even know the facts.”

  Gloria shook her head. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

  A corner of Malcolm’s lips curled. “It’s been mentioned a time or two.”

  Throughout the night Malcolm smiled into more faces and shook hands with nearly everyone in attendance and everyone repeated the same phrase, “You should run for office.”

  When it all became too much, Malcolm decided to step out onto the hotel’s veranda to get some much-needed air. The minute he stepped outside, he drew in a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. It took a few breaths to eliminate some of the tension coiled in his body. It was a starless night, he noted. A faint breeze barely stirred the air.

  Why was he still there? If he truly wanted, he could have left hours ago. He thought about it for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t turned off by the idea of running for his father’s seat—especially now knowing an idiot like Hardy stood a good chance of winning the vacancy. Such a catastrophe would set Houston back twenty years.

  Malcolm shook his head, mentally replaying the entire evening.

  “It’s a hard decision, isn’t it?”

  Malcolm turned to see Cayman gracing the doorway. “Do you have a homing device planted on me or something?”

  Cayman laughed. “No. Nothing that serious. I just came out for a little fresh air. Looks like you beat me to it.” He stepped out onto the veranda and offered Malcolm a cigar. “Smoke?”

  “No. I never touch the stuff.”

  Cayman nodded and chewed off the tip. “I could never get your father to touch these things, either.” After he’d lit up, he stared up at the sky. “You know, I’ve had the great pleasure of watching you grow up over the years,” Cayman began. “Your father and I go way back.”

  Malcolm nodded, not really up for another speech about how great his old man was.

  “I can’t tell you the number of times your father worried about his kids, worried whether he was setting a good example or leaving a legacy that you guys could be proud of. I always assured him that he was worrying for nothing.” He glanced over at Malcolm. “Maybe I was wrong?”

  Malcolm ground his teeth together.

  “In the end, every man hopes and prays that he’s done enough to make the next generation proud. And we fear that our mistakes could erase the good we’ve done. I hope that hasn’t happened with you.”

  “No offense, Senator, but you don’t know me at all.”

  Cayman’s smile curved around his cigar. “That could be a subject of great debate.”

  Malcolm’s brows inched higher at the older man’s overflowing confidence.

  “For example, you think that following your father’s footsteps into politics would mean that you’ve sold out. You don’t like people looking at you and only seeing your father. You’re your own man, right? You have your own way of seeing things—doing things.”

  Despite keeping his face neutral, Malcolm wondered when he’d become so transparent.

  Cayman chuckled. “You’re not the only one who’s had to fight his way out of his father’s shadow. I’m in my seventies and there are still people around who bring up ‘Old Steamboat’ Cayman, my father.”

  Malcolm relaxed his shoulders a bit and even smiled at the look of winsome nostalgia written across Cayman’s face. “Was your father into politics?”

  “Sort of. He was a sheriff. Tough on the outside—an old teddy bear on the inside. Still, he was a very popular fellow, and everywhere I went I was Old Steamboat’s li’l boy. Still am.” Cayman removed the cigar from his mouth and released a long stream of smoke into the air. “It was my father who had envisioned this life for me long before I had. I struggled and fought against it. I wanted to be the next Chuck Berry.”

  Malcolm laughed, unable
to picture Cayman being a rock ’n’ roller.

  “Look, I’m not saying that parents are always right—but a lot of times they see something in us that we don’t see in ourselves. Your father was a good man…but so are you. This route, this political route…You can do great things, probably more than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Malcolm turned away and cast his gaze back up to the starless sky.

  “Think about it,” Cayman said, and then disappeared from the veranda.

  Once alone, Malcolm thought about the senator’s words, and for the first time really considered whether he should run for his father’s congressional seat.

  Still undecided, he left the veranda in search for his “date.” It was time to go. His gaze swept the conference room. Fake smiles and laughter were aplenty—the true face of politics as usual. Was this really what he wanted to be a part of?

  Unable to locate Gloria, he quickly cased the room, asking attendants whether they had seen Gloria around. At last, the governor’s wife pointed her out smiling and laughing up at Clint Hardy like a love-struck teenager.

  He didn’t remember plowing through the crowd, but when he reached Gloria’s side, his hand clamped not too gently on her elbow.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Gloria’s smile instantly melted off her face as her gaze fell to his possessive grip.

  “If you like, I can take her home,” Clint said. “We were having a nice conversation.”

  Malcolm’s gaze sliced toward Hardy and effectively eliminated his fake smile, as well.

  “No. That won’t be necessary,” Gloria said sweetly. “I am getting a little tired.”

  Malcolm nodded as if she’d given the right answer.

  Gloria barely had time to say a proper goodbye before Malcolm dragged her toward the exit. Even while they waited for the valet to bring Malcolm’s vehicle, Gloria read enough in Malcolm’s face to know that he was an atomic bomb ready to detonate. She kept her mouth closed, biding her time until they were alone.

  Only then would she declare war.

  Chapter 13

  “You have some nerve!” Gloria thundered the moment Malcolm shifted the SUV into Drive and peeled out of the hotel’s parking lot. “You behaved like a complete Neanderthal in front of people who could make or break your political career.”