Campaign For Seduction (2 page)

Like right now.

“Did you hear me this time, Senator?” Liza kept her shoulders squared and her voice cool.

Senator Warner’s eyes glinted with just a hint of the anger she knew he was trying to control. “I’ll have to see what I can do about giving the press more access, Liza.” That famous grin started at one corner of his mouth and his dimples deepened. “Maybe I can work out a deal with you folks—I’ll give you more time, and you can give me better coverage. How’d that be?”

This little joke, naturally, broke everyone up. If there was a single person in the cabin, from the most battle-scarred war correspondent to the greenest intern, who didn’t laugh, Liza couldn’t see who it was. She glanced around, disgusted, because they were all giggling like a bunch of teenage girls. Again.

Why didn’t they all just start wearing I Heart Senator Warner buttons along with their press badges and be done with it? Even the groupies for the Rolling Stones were more dignified than this.

“Your coverage has been pretty good, Senator,” someone called.

Warner shook his head, looking wry. “That’s a matter of perspective.” He flashed the whole smile this time as he edged toward the front of the plane. With a wave, he turned to slip through the doorway to the private area. “Y’all get some sleep now.”

Liza’s irritation grew. He was so shrewd that she just couldn’t win a point with him; he played the press like B. B. King played Lucille. There he went again with the winning folksy charm, the magical stuff that made people forget that: a) he was lawyer from a wealthy family who’d been born with a platinum spoon in his mouth; and b) he hadn’t answered her question.

Really, he should bottle it and make more millions.

Pursing her lips, she seethed and watched him go, but then something strange happened.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and their gazes locked for one beat…two beats…three…and a charge went through Liza the same as if she’d reached out and grabbed a lightning bolt. In his unreadable expression she saw hints of many unwelcome emotions. Whatever he felt when he looked at her so intently was
dark, turbulent and primitive, and he clearly didn’t like it—or her—at all.

Brilliant, Liza.

She’d just set the world speed record for pissing him off. Though she’d only been doing her job, she almost wanted to kick her own butt for blowing this journalistic opportunity, as she surely had.

Judging from that sharp-dagger glare he had just given her, he was planning to boot her off his plane at the next stop.

Chapter 2

J ohn wrenched his gaze away from Liza, walked into the campaign staffers’ cabin and worked on getting his heart rate back to normal. No dice. There was something about that one annoying woman that vacuumed out his brain, got rid of all his concerns about the campaign and his policies and left only her.

Her looks and what they meant, her smiles, her voice. And, worst of all, his desire for her, which grew by the day. Damn woman, taking his mind off his campaign. What the devil was wrong with him? He never lost focus.

“You’ve got a serious problem here, John,” said a voice.

John, who’d been yanking at his tie, which now felt like a noose, glanced around and experienced a moment’s surprise to see Adena Brown, his senior adviser, talking to him. The engineer of all his political success since he first ran for the Senate years ago and an attractive woman even though she’d never tied his guts in knots like Liza did, Adena watched him expectantly. So did several other members of his staff, all of whom hunched over their various computers and looked as bleary as he felt, their cups of coffee clutched tight in their hands.

They really should buy stock in Starbucks. It fueled his campaign.

Coffee aside, he tried not to look guilty or conspicuous. Was he that obvious? Had all the major networks just taped him making eyes at Liza Wilson? Good thought. He could see the caption already, along with the video over at the YouTube website: Senator Warner Sniffs After Liza Wilson. He could also see the headlines in the major papers the next day: Senator Warner Thinks with His Private Parts, Poll Numbers Plunge. Wouldn’t that be great going into Super Tuesday?

Keeping his expression bland, he decided to play dumb. “What problem?”

Adena, who was sunk deep into her seat with an elbow propped on the armrest, ran a hand through her long black hair. “I’m talking about press access—”

Whew.

“—and this perception that you’re hiding while Senator Fitzgerald answers questions any old time. We need to get out in front of that issue.”

“Why?”

John couldn’t keep the bark out of his voice, namely because his traveling press corps was a major pain in his ass that he tolerated because he had to. No one who was serious about public office could do otherwise, and he’d made his peace with that reality long ago.

But that didn’t mean he enjoyed dealing with journalists and his staff’s relentless focus on winning every news cycle. It felt like the press covered every waking moment of his life and probably knew what brand of toilet paper he used. What could he do about it? A big fat nothing. Privacy was, unfortunately, a thing of his distant past.

Cry me a river, Warner.

True, the press gave him good coverage more often than not, and for that he was profoundly grateful. But he already gave several, if not dozens, of interviews to the local press at all his campaign stops every day, not to mention his biweekly chats with the anchors on the network morning shows and whatever other interviews were needed as a result of breaking events.

Now he was supposed to hold the hands of his whining traveling press corps? How many hours was he supposed to squeeze out of his overscheduled day? When was he supposed to focus on shaping policy? Did anyone care about that?

“Just because one reporter wants more access?” John continued, leaning against the nearest seat as he stared down at Adena. “I’ve already given—”

“It’s not just one reporter,” Adena said darkly, and the heads of Jay Hunter, the campaign’s communications director, and Linda Canning, the press secretary, nodded their somber agreement. “A couple of the blogs picked up this access thing today, and if we don’t do something the networks will start a drumbeat about it. We don’t want that to become an issue going into Nevada and South Carolina.”

John cursed and checked his watch, irritated by the flare of this new fire to put out, as if he didn’t have enough fires already. 12:45 a.m. now. The night was ticking away and he had briefs to read and a major policy speech about health care to edit. Anything more than an hour or two of sleep seemed to be off the table, and that woman was partially to blame.

Thank you, Liza Wilson.

Thinking hard, adrenalin pumping, he ran through his options. He was, luckily, a stellar problem solver, which was one of the reasons he’d be a good commander in chief. With any luck he could put this issue to bed—again with the bed references, Warner; you really need to knock it off—and move on to the next crisis du jour.

What was the best choice here?

Well, he could ignore the press access issue. Bad idea. Things like this never went away by themselves. They were much more likely to fester and grow. On the other hand, he could deny it. Another bad idea. All the pundits over at, say, the MSNBC news channel and even the faux-news anchors at the Comedy Central channel would trot out statistics on how often both he and Senator Fitzgerald spoke to the press, and he’d look like either a liar or an idiot because he knew good and well that his opponent granted her corps more time.

Or…a new idea flickered, faded and then flickered again, brighter this time.

What if…what if he granted one media outlet “exclusive access” to the inner workings of the campaign for a while? It’d been done before, of course; President Clinton had had that whole War Room documentary back in 1993. John could do it, too: let a correspondent and cameraperson into his situation room—“Sitchroo,” as they affectionately referred to it here—and let them film some of the meetings where the decisions were made.

That could work, couldn’t it? They could do it for, say, a month or so, and then they’d go back to the status quo. By then, hopefully, the allegations that he avoided the press would have passed, the media would be onto some other hot topic and he’d come up smelling like a rose.

The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it.

All the actual strategic decisions concerning his campaign would still be made behind closed doors, of course. John was no dummy, and he wasn’t about to give away the battle plan to his opponent, who was already running him ragged and forcing him to earn every single vote. Only a fool would reveal the true inner workings of a campaign on national TV before the election.

But…he could grant enough additional access to make it look good.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he told Adena. “We’re going to let one media outlet behind the scenes for, say, a month or so. Grant them access to Sitchroo. That should stop the wagons from circling for a while.”

Adena narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know about that. Could be much more trouble than it’s worth.” She paused. “On the other hand, voters are dying for more information about you. You’d have to be personally available, though. People don’t want to see a lot of nonsense about your chief of staff deciding who to hire and fire.”

John hadn’t thought about that, but he supposed it was true. “Fine.”

“Who do we want for the job?” Adena asked.

“Liza Wilson.”

The name was up and out of John’s mouth before he could think twice about it, and once it was said, he didn’t want to take it back. Nor did he want to think about why he’d chosen Liza or, come to think of it, whether he’d dreamt up the idea
as a way to get to know Liza better. All he knew was that he liked the plan—liked it a lot, actually—and wanted to go through with it.

Adena, however, looked horrified. Her cheeks flooded with color, leaving pink behind and heading for purple. Scooting to her feet, she glanced around at their avid audience, all of whom were watching the conversation with wide eyes, took John by the arm and steered him into the next cabin, which was a small conference room with a couple of tables.

Behind closed doors now, Adena let him have it. It was amazing the way this one tiny woman could resemble a snarling wolverine when she wanted to.

“What the hell are you doing?”

John settled one hip against the edge of a table and felt his hackles rise. He was way too tired for this, and Adena’s questions always cut too close to the bone because she knew him so well.

“I’m addressing the issue you raised. The press wants more access. I’m giving them more access. What’s the problem?”

“Liza Wilson’s the problem. She won her last Emmy slicing Senator Gregory to shreds, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Senator Gregory had a serious drug habit.” John kept his voice low and calm. “He had a good slicing coming.”

Adena rolled her eyes, the picture of outraged reproach. “Let’s not play games here, John. It’s just you and me. And I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’ve been around the block long enough to know when a man’s thinking with his southern hemisphere.”

This was hardly a surprise. Adena’s sharp gaze didn’t miss much, and, bulldog that she was, she hadn’t gotten to be the top campaign strategist in the country by being blind or having poor instincts. John was lucky to have her on his team, and he knew it.

On the other hand, he was a grown man and, the last time he checked, it was his campaign. If he couldn’t control his interest in this one woman, he’d make a pretty sorry president, and he had no intentions of being a sorry president.

Still, he didn’t want to alienate Adena unless he had to. They’d been a winning professional combination for too many years to rock the boat now, and he knew that cinching the nomination without her on the team would be a Herculean task.

“I’ve got it under control, and there’s nothing to worry about anyway,” John said. “Thanks for your concern.”

Adena didn’t look remotely convinced. If anything, the worried grooves running across her forehead deepened. “I’ve got three words for you, John—Helen of Troy.”

John choked back a snort of laughter even though the image of Liza as a woman whose beauty could drive sensible men insane with lust and spark a war didn’t seem that far-fetched at the moment.

A lot was at stake here, and John was excruciatingly aware of that fact every moment of every day. He was behind in the polls and, by many accounts, a snowball had a better chance spending the summer in hell than he did winning the nomination.

Getting involved with a journalist covering his campaign fell firmly into the stupid category; he knew that. The tabloid and mainstream presses would both have a field day, and his credibility as a serious candidate would be forever ruined. He’d never been stupid and didn’t plan to start now. Even though lust for Liza was, admittedly, scrambling his circuits.

Luckily, he was all about focus and had no intentions of getting involved with Liza, no matter how tempting the idea might seem. Maybe spending time with the woman who slid under his skin so easily wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had, but neither would it ruin his campaign. He wouldn’t let it.

“Like I said,” he told Adena. “I’ve got it under control.”

“John, she’s brash and hardheaded. There’s no controlling her. She’s going to be a constant thorn in our sides, and meanwhile her viewership will go up because the public loves her. She’ll be getting ratings for making us look bad.”

Straightening, John patted Adena on the back to soften his words. “When it’s your name on the side of the plane, you can make the decisions—”

Adena glowered.

“—but until then, I want you to call Liza’s executive producers and get this thing arranged.”

Grumbling, Adena turned toward the staffer’s cabin. John let her get almost through the doorway before he lost the silent battle he’d been waging with himself.

He wanted to see Liza again tonight. He shouldn’t want to, but he did.

Anyway—what could it hurt? It was already late and he was only going to get a little sleep anyway. He might as well get a little less. And his nagging curiosity about Liza wouldn’t let him go unless he did something to satisfy it.

Satisfaction. What a lovely—and ultimately hopeless—idea.

Since sexual gratification was thin on the ground these days, he may as well indulge in a little intellectual stimulation. He wanted to have sex with Liza but, failing that, he could spend a few minutes finding out more about her. He’d take his pitiful pleasure wherever he could find it and, more than likely, within thirty seconds she’d irritate him enough to destroy his weird fixation on her anyway.

“Adena,” he said.

Poor Adena’s footsteps slowed and her shoulders drooped, as though she knew what was coming. Turning back around, she faced John like a dog expecting a kick.

John didn’t care. “Send Liza and her producer back,” he said, anticipation already heating his blood and clearing out the last of his exhaustion. “You can talk to the producer, and I want to tell Liza she’s going to be spending a lot more time with…us.”

The word us was a last-minute substitution. With me, John thought with fierce satisfaction. She’s going to be spending a lot more time with me.