The Politics of Love (A Romantic Comedy)

by Ines Saint

  "Supporting the arts shouldn't affect my approval ratings in a negative way," Jake pointed out with a grin.

  "It's not the event, it's your date. You took a well-known local socialite, one who's not known for her philanthropy, like Julia Hamilton, for instance, but for her spoiled antics," an exasperated Jess explained. "She's been awful to some local business owners."

  Jake started at that. Shame burned his conscience. He knew the woman was shallow but didn't know she was awful. Hadn't spent enough time with her to realize it. "I need to get to know my dates a little better. I'll give you that. But I date around because I have all these events I need to attend, but don't have time for a relationship. And I don't have time for a relationship because I'm devoted to the city. That's a good thing. The people around here know that." Jake gestured to the neighborhood just outside the window, where he had set up his foundation eight years before.

  Marcus walked up to him. "The people here know you well, but others haven't had the chance to get to know you, and when they hear you described in 'most-eligible-bachelor' terms, you really do come off as, well, way too Hollywood. It makes people believe Mike Summers's camp when they subtly spread the idea that Chicago Youth Works is just a tax haven for another power-hungry Republican on the rise, and then Clara Dade when she refers to you as a liberal Democrat lacking family values."

  Jake turned around and their eyes locked. "I'm an extremely budget conscious and socially progressive independent, and how can anybody listen to those two when neither of them has any concrete ideas on how to fix this city's problems, I don't know."

  Jess threw her hands up. "You're missing the point! Mike and Clara both include their kids and spouses in every single photo op. The fact that you're young, single and good-looking puts your personal life under extra scrutiny. It's not fair, but it is what it is. You have to be more careful. Family men and women only get that extra scrutiny when there's a scandal involved."

  "All right, I get it." Jake put his hands up. "What can I do to fix this?"

  "Finally," Jess exhaled and wasting no time said, "First, you can go on—"

  "Except go on She Said, She Said," Jake clarified. Jess had been nagging him about going on the popular women's gab fest disguised as an afternoon talk show for weeks.

  "Why not?" Jess half-asked, half-whined. "Every Illinois politician looking to drum up local support has gone on."

  "Because those women are sneaky," Jake circled his finger in the air. "They ask way too personal questions, and they try to get you to talk about your feelings."

  "Fine. Forget She Said, She Said," Marcus intervened. "There are a few other specific things we think you can do to turn this around. One, you should fly solo from now on. When people ask you why just say you're tired of dating just anyone and that you're too busy to look for that special someone because you're married to the city."

  Jake nodded slowly. He guessed he could do that. It wouldn't be a lie. He was tired of dating, he did plan on being married to the city, and if he had his way, he'd be too busy to find that 'special someone' for the rest of his life. "What else?"

  "Two," Jess jumped in. "We need to get photos out there of you playing football with the neighborhood kids like you do nearly every afternoon. The kids' faces can be blurred. And we can get quotes about how they feel about you."

  "No. Absolutely not. I don't want them to feel like they're being used."

  "They know you, Jake, and they'll understand—I'll bet anything they're all dying to talk about you and let the world know who you really are."

  Marcus made a good point, and Jake stifled a sigh. The kids would have a blast showing off. "I'll think about it. Number three?" He looked at Jess.

  "Right now you need advisors in three key areas. You should validate neighborhoods and communities you're struggling with most by hiring highly qualified people from within them instead of hiring people who are merely well-connected but not necessarily more qualified," Jess said.

  He could do that. Jake needed someone with extensive business expertise to help him find ways to attract and retain small businesses to certain neighborhoods, and people to advise him on enhancing sports and music programs in the public school system.

  He clapped his hands. "Let's get to work then, and see if we can turn these numbers around." Jess had scheduled an informal Q&A session with reporters, but that wasn't for another two hours, and he wanted to play a little football or basketball, blow off a little steam.

  "Jake, before you go, I'd like you to block out a half hour to meet a friend of mine, Kayla Diaz. She's a violinist with a master's degree in music education, she helped successfully expand a music program in Pittsburgh, she just moved back to Chicago, she's a third-generation Chicagoan from Belmont, with lots of family in Humboldt, Pilsen, and Bridgeport, and spread throughout the city," Jess's voice was full of enthusiasm.

  "Wait, I thought we were going to hire Julia Hamilton for that position. Her family is well-known, musically speaking, and that'll bring attention and support to the program," Jake reminded her.

  Jess breathed in and out a few times, and Jake knew she was trying not to blow up. "Look, I like Julia, she's kind, and when it comes to music, she's qualified. But what the hell does know about the public school system? She shouldn't be hired just because her family is well known, that's exactly the type of thing voters are tired of, and exactly what I just told you not to do! And exactly the opposite of what you yourself were saying, about listening to the people who have faced the challenges! My friend comes from a working-class background. Her mother is a teacher, and her father was a police officer, killed in the line of duty. They all worked hard and made sacrifices for her to become the highly qualified professional she is today."

  Jake raked a hand through his hair as he was again taken aback at how clueless he could be at times. But he was trying, and he was listening. "I had Julia in mind because she's the only professional musician I know and she's a good person, but you're right—she doesn't know anything about the public school system, and she doesn't know anything about financial struggles. Your friend sounds great. Can you have her meet with me soon?"

  "I'll have her here as soon as possible," she agreed, her smile bright.

  Chapter 2

  Kayla enjoyed the ride on the L train that day, even though it was nearly an hour long and she had to switch lines at the Loop. Time flew as the train rumbled its way down to Chicago's South Side. She leaned her head against the window, her face inches away from apartment dwellers and shopkeepers in some parts, and old, architectural details in others. The train passed colorful enclaves she hadn't visited in years, and her mouth watered as she remembered favorite dishes at some of the local dives. It was good to be home.

  At 1:15 p.m., she got off a few blocks away from mayoral candidate Jake Kelly's campaign headquarters. Septembers in Chicago were usually mild, but it had rained the night before and the day was particularly humid. She smoothed down the front of her hunter green pencil skirt and aired her blouse before beginning the walk. Her strappy heels teetered on the uneven sidewalk, and she had to slow down or risk a blister. They had been the only dressy shoes she could find in a last-minute search through her still-packed boxes.

  It was Friday, and she'd only just got back last night but Jess had called to tell her that though the contract position as an advisor to Jake Kelly's campaign was still available, she had better get her butt down to his headquarters because they were also considering, of all people, Julia Hamilton, for the very same reasons that Julia had been chosen over Kayla last time they'd been up against each other. Julia had her strengths, but Kayla knew she was infinitely more qualified for this particular position than Julia. As she walked, she silently reviewed the material Jess had emailed her, excitement building at the chance to help kids have better access to music education.

  A car swished by, spraying the dirty remnants of last night's rain on Kayla's white blouse, and putting an end to her happy thoughts. She stopped, squeale
d, and hung her arms out in front of her. Then she slid the strap of her purse in front of her shirt, effectively hiding the splatter, and marched on.

  * * *

  It was 1:20 p.m. and Jake was back in his office. "Okay, Jess, do your thing."

  Jess reached up and deftly fixed his dark hair with her fingers. Jake had the habit of running his hands through his hair whenever he was deep in thought, and it happened often enough that his closely cropped, military-like haircut usually ended up spiking out in all directions. To the world, though, he was always impeccable. And he wanted to keep it that way, even though Jess argued that his messy hair humanized him.

  "Listen, Jake, I called my friend and—" Jess began, but Marcus walked through the door and at the same time said, "Jake, a few more things. Try to be more informal with the press, okay? Sit down with them—don't stand behind the podium all the time, you're not the mayor yet. And please try to throw in a joke or two."

  "He's right. Be more accessible. In fact, go in alone," Jess added.

  She then proceeded to mess his hair up again. Jake breathed in, held the air for a moment, and let it out, deciding he had to learn to put more trust in his team. Schooling his features to reveal nothing had served him well during his younger years when he hadn't wanted his father to know what he had been up to. But it had become a habit, and it didn't help him with the people he most wanted to trust him.

  By the time he entered the makeshift press room, Jess had managed to take his suit jacket off and roll up his sleeves. A quick look around revealed two reporters from the Tribune, two from the Sun-Times, and one reporter each from two local TV stations.

  He smiled and greeted each with a handshake. Instead of positioning himself behind the old podium up front, he pulled up an empty chair and sat down in front of them, grateful they were talking about the Cubs.

  No true Chicagoan could talk about the Cubs while looking remote and unmoved.

  Sports talk eventually wound down, and as he waited for the reporters to gather their notebooks and recorders, a gleam of light coming from the double doors caught his attention. And he froze.

  It was her. His pin-up girl. The one who'd been invading his thoughts, on and off, for the past two months. Hell, she'd even made her way into an unforgettable erotic dream, swaying and dancing for him.

  Now she was in his campaign headquarters, of all places, fixing a strap on one of her heels, her hair shining like a halo under the one ray of sunshine in the room.

  Hallelujah?

  He looked away and took a moment to recover, and felt things he had no interest in feeling, all over again. His first thought was that she was a reporter, but that didn't make sense. The dance instructor had said she was from out of town, and although Chicago was the third largest city in the U.S., a mayoral candidate's small press conference wasn't news-worthy enough to send in reporters from elsewhere.

  His next thought horrified him. Was she a psycho stalker who'd spent the last two months hunting him down? The moment she straightened and looked his away, the conceited thought flew out of his mind. She was every bit as shocked as he'd been, but, unlike him, she wasn't hiding it. Her head tilted, her finger shot out, and she gaped.

  It was the worst possible moment to be struck with yearnings he wasn't used to and didn't understand. Jake schooled his expression into one of complete indifference, looked away as if he hadn't recognized her, and was hit with the first difficult question of the day. "How do you propose to offset rising fuel and energy costs in our public transportation system?"

  Jake blinked. His eyes were on the journalist, but every other bit of him was focused on the energy coming from the young woman at the door. The ability to formulate intelligent thoughts had left him. The only way to get a grip was to find out what she was doing there and get rid of her. Maybe engaging with her would also reveal she wasn't particularly special. "Wait—I know the answer to that one," he half-joked, and everyone, to his surprise, laughed. "But let me find out what the young woman at the door needs before we start." He then turned and called out, "Can I help you?" in a pleasant but detached tone.

  She studied him but didn't answer. He took in her dark green skirt and the purse strap resembling a sash across the front of her shirt and thought of another quip, something to draw her attention and get her to answer. "Are you looking for your Girl Scout leader or are you here to sell cookies?"

  * * *

  Kayla had opened the door and stepped inside just as the back strap of her heel slid down. She quickly fixed it and got up, prepared to smile and ask the people gathered around for Jess Nowak.

  But the pair of eyes she met gave her such a jolt, she remained frozen on the spot, her mouth open, the words she was about to speak gone. It was him; her sexy stranger. But his eyes were empty of even the tiniest glimmer of recognition. She shut her mouth, too stunned to remember what she was going to say. Someone directed a decent question about the public transportation system her stranger's way, she saw the notebooks, and it hit her. Jess had mentioned that she'd be meeting with Jake Kelly after a press conference. Her sexy stranger was Jake Kelly.

  "Can I help you?" he asked in a pleasant tone. He was looking straight at her now, and it was clear he had no memory of her. It stung. But no doubt it was for the best. She gathered her wits and was about to ask for Jess when he joked, "Are you looking for your Girl Scout leader or are you here to sell cookies?"

  Everyone chuckled. The stinging sensation in her chest morphed into fiery indignation. Not because he'd forgotten her, and not because he was making fun of her clothes—although any idiot should know not to mess with a woman's outfit. It was that life had thrown her one curveball too many lately and she needed a break. She shot everyone a warm smile, and said, "Neither. But it looks like I walked in at the perfect moment. As someone who uses public transportation as their only means of getting around, I would love to hear your answer to the question of how you plan on offsetting fuel costs."

  He nodded impersonally. "Right now, we're leaning toward lowering the frequent user discount. There would still be a discount, but it will have to go down to keep up with rising fuel and energy costs. We're still looking at other options, but it's paramount that Chicago Transit Authority covers their deficit, or it will ultimately result in cuts to other programs or end up coming out of taxpayers' pockets," he explained, just when Jess and another man walked into the room.

  The fire in her chest spread, and she struggled to contain it. She needed the money, and she had really hoped that Jake Kelly was someone she could work for. But this idea of his would affect almost everyone she knew. And the way he was phrasing it, "lowering the discount," was insulting. "In other words, you want to raise the cost of public transportation for frequent users." His eyebrows went up, and the look he gave her was so haughty, she snapped. "If you do that, Mr. Kelly, I'll hang a huge cardboard sign around my neck reading 'Jake Kelly wants to raise the cost of public transportation for all of you' every single time I take the L or the bus, which is every day. Why don't you raise taxes on the luxury car you surely drive, or on the premium gas you use to fill your tank? Why hit up those of us who can't afford a car and are just trying to get to work to make a living? Honestly, if I'd known this is what you were about, I would never have agreed to see you," she finished, and boy did she feel good. This was something she could speak up about. All of her bottled up frustrations from the last week eased out of her system.

  But one look at Jess made her realize she'd also hurt her friend. Her stomach dropped. Jess was trying to help her, and this is how she was thanking her.

  * * *

  Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned. A moment ago, when she'd shot him that stunning smile, he'd thought her insanely pretty. But now, he thought her pretty insane. Hang a cardboard sign around her neck? Never would've agreed to see him? What the hell was she talking about? They'd never agreed to see each other again. He hadn't even asked for her name.

&n
bsp; Many voices erupted at once. Now everyone wanted to know if he was intending to make things harder for working class people. It was a disaster. He began explaining, in detail, how the agency's deficits were already hurting them, and that he was also looking into other possibilities. When he finally had a chance to look for her, she was gone.

  An exhausting half-hour later, Jake walked away, eager to sit down and gather his thoughts in silence. Overall, the press conference had gone well, with Filip coming in toward the end, warming the reporters with tales of Jake's youth. Jess had been proven right; his personality seemed to matter as much as his ideas.

  He opened the door to his office and was about to usher Marcus and Filip in when he saw her again. Standing next to Jess. In his office.

  "What, are we cozying up to hecklers now?" Marcus asked when he saw her.

  "She isn't a heckler," Jess paused to clear her throat. "She's my best friend, Kayla Diaz. She arrived early and accidentally walked into the press conference."

  Jake didn't speak, he just stood there and watched as Kayla and Filip exchanged a warm hug.

  "The woman who just hijacked the press conference is your friend? The musician you thought would be a great addition to the campaign?" an aggravated Marcus demanded.

  "She didn't mean to hijack the press conference, okay? After an hour-long train ride and a long walk in muggy weather during which she was splashed with mud, she walks in to hear the man she hopes to work for making fun of her outfit and then offer a solution to public transportation that will affect her in a negative way," a heated Jess tried to explain.

  Marcus threw up his hands. "You're defending her outburst?" He shook his head. "Do you remember what happened to that mayoral candidate from Harrisburg who was heckled at a small press conference? The video went viral, he became a laughing stock, and he lost by double digits. We can't have that."