Campaign For Seduction (7 page)

“Damn, Liza.” Takashi shook his head at her.

There was dead silence after that. Liza kept her chin high and held the senator’s furious gaze while she waited for her punishment, which was swift.

He unfolded his big body from the chair and stood up, a towering wall of bad attitude. “Barbara,” he said, addressing his senior adviser but never looking away from Liza, “we’re done here. We’re going to keep security the same, for now, and we’re
not going to comment publicly about it. We’ll talk about it again tomorrow, and you’ll let me know the second the FBI gives you word of a specific and credible threat. Roy—”

Roy snapped to attention.

“—I expect you and your company to keep me alive to campaign another day—”

“This is not a joke,” Liza muttered, disbelieving.

“and Ms. Wilson, I need to speak with you.” The senator’s nostrils flared. “Right. Now.”

“Game over,” Takashi whispered.

Like she couldn’t see that for herself.

Recovering quickly, Liza barked out an order, which always made her feel better. “Get the shot set up over there, Brad.” Gesturing to their camera man, who’d been hovering in the background this whole time, Liza pointed to a couple of chairs facing each other near a potted palm tree in the corner. “I’ll have my morning questions for the good senator in a minute.”

The senator held his arm wide to direct her down the hall and into a smaller conference room. Whatever. She squared her shoulders, marched inside and pivoted to face him with her arms folded across her chest.

He followed, slamming the door behind them.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I was pointing out a few obvious things that no one else in the room seemed to think were worth mentioning even though your life is at issue.”

He seemed as determined to control his anger and remain professional as she was; only his flashing eyes told her how furious he was.

“You are an invited guest here,” he reminded her. “And if you can’t remember that, I will get on the phone with your executive producer right now and get you out of here. I knew you had a reputation for being brash, but I thought you could control yourself.”

Arrogant jackass. It’d serve him right if some sniper nailed him right in the middle of his oversized head. “A thousand pardons, Senator.” She smiled pleasantly. “Please forgive me. Can I ask my questions now? I need to get ready to go live.”

Without waiting for any answer—maybe he wasn’t done with
her, but she didn’t give a damn—she wheeled around and stalked out, leaving him gaping behind her.

“Let’s go,” she snapped to Takashi when she got back to the main conference room.

“What the hell was that?” he asked her.

Liza glowered. One of the benefits of being the news division’s brightest star was that she could occasionally throw her weight around and get away with it. “Don’t lecture me, okay? I spoke up in the meeting, I shouldn’t have and now we’re moving on.”

Takashi didn’t look as if he was moving on, so she squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips.

Takashi blinked first.

Score one for Liza.

“What’re your plans?” Scowling, Takashi flipped through his clipboard. “You’re asking him about the secret service issue and the Francesca Waverly thing, right, and the—”

Liza, who’d pulled out a compact and begun dabbing powder on her face, froze and frowned. “I’m not asking him about that Waverly thing.”

Takashi glanced up. “Why not?”

The real answer was, Because I don’t want him to think I’m jealous and/or care about his personal life, but Liza wasn’t about to say that. Instead she shrugged, put the makeup down and inserted her earpiece. “It’s a little beneath us, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think,” Takashi said, looking at her as though she’d started clucking like a chicken.

“Why not let the tabloids hash it out?”

“Because his poll numbers have taken a hit and it’s a real issue, not to mention the fact that every other network is going to be covering it. What’s gotten into you, Liza?”

Good question—one she’d been asking herself. But the senator appeared at that moment and saved her from having to answer.

Within five minutes Liza and Senator Warner were seated facing each other under the lights, boom and umbrella, Brad was filming and Adena, Takashi and other staffers were watching.

Though she was still fuming—what kind of macho idiot refused to ask for the secret service protection that was his
due?—Liza put her game face on for the camera and dove into the questions.

“Senator, other news outlets and bloggers have repeatedly commented on your lack of secret service protection.”

An infinitesimal tightening of his jaw told her he didn’t appreciate her broaching a topic he’d said the campaign wouldn’t discuss. “Mmm.”

Liza kept her expression polite and curious as she framed her question so no one would ever know that she thought the senator was making foolish choices. “The FBI has reported a steady stream of Internet chatter against you and the kinds of racist threats that Senator Fitzgerald doesn’t receive. As a presidential candidate, you’re eligible for Secret Service protection. Why are you refusing to ask for it?”

Whoa. He looked as if he wanted to lunge for her throat.

“I don’t see the need for it at this point, Liza.” The senator shrugged, recapturing his bland expression. “I’m very well protected. My security team has been with me for years, and they continue to work with local authorities on all our campaign stops. I’m fortunate enough to have the resources to pay for it myself, so why burden the taxpayers with the $45,000 per day expense?”

“The taxpayers may be grateful, Senator, but your supporters are concerned. You’ve heard the protesters and seen the signs at some of the rallies. Some of this stuff is very nasty and very threatening. Why not take the secret service protection if it’s available?”

“Well, again, Liza, I have my security team—”

“A team that isn’t in the business of protecting a presidential candidate or managing the sorts of crowds you’ve been drawing, Senator.”

“Listen, Liza—” his pleasant smile never wavered although she saw the hard glint of anger deep in his dark eyes “—no one’s more interested in keeping me alive than I am. I’m very well protected, and my team is the best in the world. Down the road we may revisit the issue, but for now I’m satisfied.”

“Ask him about the Waverly issue,” Takashi hissed in her earpiece. “See if he’ll say anything else about his personal life.”

Liza pulled her earpiece out and left it dangling on her
shoulder, effectively hanging up on her producer. Takashi would throw a temper tantrum later, but she didn’t care. There was no way she could be detached and professional while asking the senator about his personal life on camera. Sorry.

She wrapped up the interview by asking him about the latest economic news, and then her time was up. The second they finished, they stood, dropped the fake smiles and stalked away from each other as fast as they could.

Just as the senator’s staff began to buzz among themselves again after being quiet while the camera was rolling, Takashi marched up, looking furious.

“What the hell was that?” He took off the headset through which he’d been speaking to Liza while she was on air. “Why didn’t you ask him about Waverly?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” said the senator, who’d silently reappeared at her shoulder. Liza winced and hoped she could get away without another confrontation, but no dice. “Can I borrow Liza for a minute, Takashi?”

“Keep her.” With a last, withering look, Takashi walked off.

Her heart sinking, Liza braced herself and faced the senator. If only Adena or someone would rush over and demand some of his time, but no, everyone was busy for the moment, scurrying around like busy little bees determined to produce a gallon of honey each before noon, and Liza was on her own.

“Why didn’t you ask me about that actress, Liza?”

Uh-oh. The predatory glint in his eye set Liza’s nerves on edge and didn’t match his benign voice. She tossed her head in what she hoped was an offhand gesture that discouraged further questions. “It would be tacky.”

His lip curled without amusement. “Tacky? Really? It wasn’t because you were jealous and didn’t trust yourself with the topic?”

Chapter 7

T he moment stretched until the silence became awkward and, finally, painful. It was hard to laugh gaily when what Liza really wanted to do was scratch his eyes out, but she tried.

“I don’t do jealousy, Senator. And I need to get back—”

“Because,” he said, plowing resolutely ahead, “I’m not seeing anyone.”

He wasn’t? Really? She worked to keep her expression blank and disinterested.

“How sad for you, Senator.”

He ignored this. “Are you? Seeing anyone?”

Luckily, she had a standard answer for this question. “I don’t do relationships.”

The predatory light in his eyes intensified. So did an unmistakable look of satisfaction.

“You’d do the right relationship.”

Just like that he made her hot and bothered again, with flushed skin and squirmy belly. More disgusted with herself than she was with him, she gave him a pitying look and a condescending pat on the arm.

“The right relationship? Do you believe in Santa, too, Senator?”

An irritated red flush crept over his face.

“If there’s nothing else…”

“There is one more thing, Liza.” A muscle ticked in his hard jaw. “Don’t they teach you something about being impartial in journalism school? Or am I mistaken?”

Was this about the whole secret service issue? Good. Maybe he could be blasé about his safety but she couldn’t, and she had a few more words to say on the topic.

She’d been to the rallies, she’d seen the hatemongers, she’d heard the jeers and the slogans. There were people in this country who wanted the senator dead because he was a black man who had the temerity to campaign for the presidency. She’d stood yards away from people who, for all she knew, were capable of taking a rifle, aiming it at the senator’s broad chest and pulling the trigger.

The thought of Senator Warner being hurt, killed…

Ignoring the dread trickling down her spine, she gave him a cool smile.

“So sorry, Senator. I just thought the public needed to know that the man they’re thinking of voting into the highest office in the land is too stubborn, arrogant and, frankly, stupid to take the most basic steps for his own protection.” She waved. “Have a nice day.”

As she swept off, she got a satisfying glimpse of his face turning to stone, but then Adena materialized at her side, teeth all but bared, her resemblance to a rabid pit bull a fearsome sight.

“Does it not occur to you, Liza,” she snarled, “that maybe it’s not a good idea to announce to the world that the senator doesn’t have secret service protection?”

“Announce?” What? Was Adena for real? “I didn’t announce it. Everyone already knows.”

Adena didn’t back down one inch. “You claim you’re concerned, and then you harp on it in front of millions of people to boost your ratings—”

Liza opened her mouth to defend herself, but the senator’s quiet voice interrupted.

“That’s enough, Adena.”

“It’s not enough, John, and I—”

“I said,” he repeated with the kind of quiet but vibrating anger that stopped people—even zealots on a righteous mission like Adena—cold in their tracks, “that’s enough. If you have a problem with Liza, you’ll discuss it with me. Understand?”

Choked, her face now a vivid purple, Adena glared at the senator, then Liza. She looked as if she wanted to say something else—Lord help them all if she did—but she seemed to become aware of their audience of staffers, most of whom were now listening openly while pretending to go about their business.

Swallowing hard, struggling for control, Adena hitched her lips into a grimacing, one-sided smile and turned back to the senator. “Oh, I understand.” She wheeled toward the door. “Much more than you think.”

“Sorry.” The senator turned back to Liza, looking embarrassed. “Adena gets a little overprotective at times.”

Liza was so astonished to have the senator ride to her defense that she couldn’t manage a response, but it didn’t matter anyway because he clapped his hands once and spoke to the room at large.

“Let’s saddle up, people,” he said. “We’ve got a nomination to win.”

Next on the senator’s agenda: a pancake breakfast.

After Liza’s live appearance on the network’s morning show, during which she’d introduced the taped interview, commented on the senator’s schedule for the day and answered the anchor’s questions about life on the campaign trail, they’d all headed to a fundraiser at a tiny Cleveland diner whose booths were so overcrowded that Liza expected a visit from the fire marshal.

The senator wore one of those heavy white aprons, rolled up his shirtsleeves and went to work behind the grill, connecting with the hardworking voters who formed his base. Then he sat at one of the red vinyl booths, listening intently to the concerns of a steady stream of working-class people.

Liza and Takashi observed it all and Brad duly taped everything for the nightly news segment, and nothing remotely interesting happened until the end, when Liza was searching for her coat.

A wall of bodyguards blocked her from reaching the coatrack. Peering over the nearest burly shoulder to see what was going
on—it was almost time to get back on the press bus, and Lord knew they’d leave without her if she was late—she saw Senator Warner pull back from hugging a woman in her forties with sporty auburn hair and vivid blue eyes that were currently wet with unshed tears.

Fascinated, her impatience forgotten, Liza watched the senator’s Adam’s apple bob as he handed the woman a handkerchief from his back pocket and held her at arm’s length.

The woman dabbed her eyes and murmured to him, oblivious to their rapt audience. “—and we didn’t understand it. He never smoked a day. He was only thirty-eight.”

The senator shook his head, his expression somber. “Way too young. Like Camille. She never smoked, either.”

His wife.

Liza’s ears pricked because he never talked about his wife or her early death from lung cancer. The dull roar of the crowd over her shoulder was a huge annoyance, and she wished she could yell for everyone to shut up. Edging closer, she strained to hear.

“I never thought he would die,” the woman continued. “Right up until the end, I just thought that God wouldn’t let anything like that happen. Not to such a good man. Not when we had young children who needed him.”

“I understand,” the senator said. “You just don’t think—”

He broke off, obviously too moved to continue. Watching him, seeing his sadness, Liza felt her heart break a million times.

The woman clutched his forearms tighter and spoke with increased urgency. “You’ve got to increase funding for research. Health insurance for everyone is important, yeah, but so is research. I don’t want lung cancer to get one more person. Not one more.”

“I’m going to do everything I can,” he told her. “Everything I can.”

This was the point in these types of conversations where Liza normally had to fight the urge to gag. Political promises. Yeah, sure, whatever. The candidate was going to try to make the world a better place, with better place being subjective and open to interpretation. To the oilmen it meant drilling in the wildlife refuges, and to the environmentalists it meant protecting the wildlife refuges.

For any particular speech it all depended on the makeup of the
audience. Blah, blah, blah…sound and fury, signifying nothing, as worthless as leprechaun’s gold.

But watching the senator with this widow, knowing he’d lost his beautiful young wife to lung cancer, having read about his incredible philanthropic donations for research over the years and seeing the ferocity in his eyes right now, somehow Liza believed it all: The senator didn’t make empty promises; he would do everything possible to increase funding for cancer research, even if he had to personally walk from coast to coast, knocking on doors and asking for donations as he went; and his word—on this and everything else—was good.

Liza didn’t want to respect him more, didn’t want to believe, but she did.

So did the woman. Reassured, she smiled and wiped her eyes again. “I know you’ll do what you can. That’s why I came. To meet you and say thanks.”

Adena, who was lingering at the senator’s elbow, as usual, discreetly cleared her throat and tapped her watch. “John.”

The senator nodded and refocused on the woman. “Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” The widow waved a hand as though it was nothing to brave sleet to show up at an ungodly prework hour, fight hundreds of people to meet a presidential candidate and eat cold pancakes. “I’m getting remarried, by the way. I never thought I would, but I am. In the spring.”

The senator gave her a grin so ecstatic that Liza wondered for a minute if he was going to ask if he could give away the bride. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

“You should find someone, too,” the woman said. “You’re still a young man.”

“Well.” The senator, looking bashful now, hung his head and his ears glowed bright. “I can’t exactly register for some online dating service, can I?”

“Don’t laugh,” the woman said, although she did just that as she smacked his forearm. “There’s someone special out there for you. You just need to find her.”

“I think I need to focus on one thing at a time,” he told the woman. “But I will keep your advice in mind.”

They said their goodbyes and the woman was besieged by reporters trying to get her name and interview her about her moment with the senator. Liza could see the headlines now: Widow Shares Tears with Warner, Gives Dating Advice. Then the senator allowed his handlers to steer him toward the door.

Liza backed up to give the entourage space because it was either that or risk being flattened by the nearest giant, but the senator glanced at her and raised his voice to be heard over the general roar.

“How’d you like my pancakes, Liza?” he called.

What? He knew she was right there in this roomful of people?

If only he’d stop catching her off guard. If only he’d stop affecting her so much and worming his way under her skin. It irritated the hell out of her.

Pursing her lips, determined not to simper or possibly faint like a rabid fan at a rap concert, Liza remembered her duties.

She was a journalist doing her job. Period. There was no room for anything else.

“Your pancakes were too pale, Senator. Brown them more the next time.”

Throwing back his head, he laughed and lingered when the flunkeys would have shuttled him through the vestibule and into the gleaming black SUV idling at the curb.

“There you go being prickly again, Liza. Or is it just me?”

What was it about the way he said her name? It threw her off every time. A husky note was there, a slight deepening of his voice and something indefinable that made her name a little more special when he said it.

And she was absolutely losing her ever-loving mind if she imagined undying lust in every syllable the poor man uttered to her.

Liza shot him a cool smile, the one she gave the paparazzi whenever they surprised her on the street, and hoped she looked bored rather than bewildered by her sudden longing for things she shouldn’t want.

“Prickly?” She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been taking it easy on you, Senator.”

He laughed again and that beautiful, good-natured sound echoed right through her. Turning quickly away, she wished she could clap her hands over her ears and block it out.

This was one of the best parts of the job, no question.

Elementary school visits, where he got to wear khakis and a shirt rather than those stupid suits and ties. Mrs. Barnes’s first-grade classroom. Colorful pictures of Thomas Jefferson and Lewis and Clark on the walls, along with the alphabet in cursive and an enormous world map. A papier mâché model of the solar system, including a huge orange-and-yellow sun, hanging from clear strings overhead. The smell of chalk, crayons and questionable lunch items wafting from the cafeteria. What could be better?

John sat cross-legged on the floor with a cute little future diva with a thousand beaded braids plunked in his lap. She’d commandeered this place of honor early on and showed no signs of ever getting up. All around him in a semicircle were adorable bright faces with gap-toothed smiles and the occasional milk mustache. On the floor beside him sat Dr. Seuss’s One Fish, Two Fish, which the little monsters had thoroughly enjoyed listening to him mangle.

A few members of his staff and the press, including Liza, to whom he’d tried to give a wide berth in the last several days, lined the perimeter of the classroom and watched and filmed the proceedings. Mrs. Barnes hovered, making sure her little charges didn’t say or do anything too outrageous or embarrassing. The poor woman was so flustered and nervous by this circus descending on her classroom that John could almost laugh. He wanted to take her aside and tell her not to worry, that he loved children in all their unpredictability, but he was afraid it would send her into cardiac arrest.

“One more question,” John said, pointing to a blond boy on the end. “You’ve had a hand up for a while. What’s your name?”

The boy lowered his hand and sat up straighter, grinning so hard he was in danger of splitting his cheeks. “John.”