Flirting With Scandal Page 4

  How long had she worked at Price? Why did she leave last night?

  “That sound good?”

  I blinked. James stared back at me expectantly. “Will, does that plan work for you guys?”

  I nodded, no clue what I’d just agreed to.

  “Excellent.” He stood, escorting Jackie and me out of his office. “I’ll let you guys get to work now.” He flashed me a grin. “Enjoy her.”

  Jackie

  We stood out on the street outside the office as I attempted to process everything that had just occurred. I’d gone in there thinking I might get fired, and left with the opportunity of a lifetime. If I could do well on Will’s campaign, it would be my best shot at getting a spot at Price. The fact that they hadn’t let me go over the database filled me with the hope that I was a strong enough candidate that they were still willing to keep me on in spite of my shitty computer skills.

  I had to make this work, despite whatever awkwardness lingered between us. I had to keep things professional, no matter how difficult it seemed. Even though the light of day and total sobriety had done nothing to diminish my reaction to Will. We’d crossed a line at the Hay-Adams, and I had no clue how to fix it.

  I kept my two selves compartmentalized. There was Jackie who liked sex, and guys with names like Trap who played bass, and there was Jackie who ate, slept, and breathed politics. And now both of those versions of me were standing on a crowded D.C. street with a work assignment who somehow, impossibly, looked better today than he had last night.

  He wore a pale gray suit, snowy white dress shirt—and cuff links—and a slate gray tie. I’d never been turned on by cuff links before, maybe it was just his wrists, but yeah, I was feeling some things on the street today.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, ordering myself to focus, to slip professional Jackie on over the girl who was too busy fantasizing about freaking cuff links.

  Will—William—whatever, stood in front of me, confusion filling his eyes at my question. For the first time since we’d left the building, he stopped and looked at me, really looked at me.

  “I have no idea where we’re headed,” he admitted with a laugh. “All I could think was ‘fresh air.’”

  I flushed.

  “Do you want to get coffee?” I asked. “We can talk about the campaign.” And how the hell we’re going to make this work. “There’s a coffee shop just around the corner.”

  I wanted this chance to prove myself to Price more than anything, although with everything between us, part of me wanted Mr. Morgan to assign someone else to work on the Clayton campaign, someone who hadn’t nearly been fucked up against the wall by the client. But I was pretty sure that conversation would be met with a well-deserved, you’re fired.

  They might have excused the database error, but there was no way they were going to overlook me screwing up with a client.

  Will nodded. “Sure.”

  We walked in silence, the tension that had sprung up between us in the office heavy in the air. I struggled to think of small talk, but nothing came to mind. I’d been so much more comfortable last night, bolstered by the Jack and the lust in his eyes.

  Today he was the candidate. Last night I’d known the man.

  As the crowds got heavier, Will put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me out of the way of oncoming pedestrians, sheltering my body from the masses on the street. It was such a small thing, but I’d never had a guy be so protective of me. I shouldn’t have liked it, and yet the smallest part of me did.

  I followed him down the street, unable to resist admiring the way he moved. He had a natural grace about him. One I could easily see translating to the lacrosse field . . . or the bedroom. I pushed the thought out as quickly as it sprang into my mind.

  Focus.

  We stopped in front of a small coffee shop, modeled to look like a French bistro. Will opened the door for me, standing back so I could pass through first. I just stood there, staring at him, wondering where this guy had come from. Maybe it was a rich-boy thing. Or maybe it was because he was older. The boys I knew weren’t big on opening doors.

  I crossed the threshold, my arm brushing against his as I passed by. Okay, fine, maybe it was intentional. Blame the afternoon sun, or the door opening, or the way he looked in that gray suit, or the motherfucking cuff links. Either way I wanted to feel him against me. He stiffened at my touch, but he didn’t look away. He just stared down at me with those big green eyes, his expression solemn.

  He had the best poker face of anyone I’d ever seen. That would make my job easier, at least . . . and it would make my life infinitely harder.

  A waitress led us to a small table in the back, tucked away from the bustling crowds. It was the perfect spot to discuss campaign strategy, and at the same time, I didn’t want to be alone with him.

  I was an underling, farmed out because I was available and could help out on a grassroots level. I was good at what I did; I wouldn’t have gotten the internship at Price if I weren’t. But I still felt like I was just playing at politics, still learning the ropes. Price’s philosophy was to throw their interns out into the deep end. Those who sank wouldn’t make the cut. The rest of us had a fighting chance for a job offer. This was my sink-or-swim moment—I had to keep my eye on the prize, had to pretend I was cool, calm, and collected.

  That was way too many platitudes. I was officially losing it.

  I slid into my chair, crossing my legs at the ankle, trying my best to look professional and ignore the memory of me up against his wall, my nipples in his mouth . . .

  I flushed. Time to start over.

  I forced myself to look at him. “So I think the first thing we need to do is figure out what you want from me.” Shit. “I mean what I can do for you.” Ohmigod. “How I can take care of you.” Kill me the fuck now. “Your campaign, I mean. How I can help your campaign.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up.

  “You know what I mean,” I muttered miserably.

  “I do. So, Jacqueline?”

  Of all the places I thought he would start, I hadn’t figured he’d focus on my name.

  I made a face.

  “You don’t like it.”

  “Only my mother calls me Jacqueline . . . and the staff at Price. It was on my paperwork since it’s my legal name, and it sort of stuck. I didn’t want to correct anyone, so I just went with it.”

  And now I was vomiting words.

  “But you don’t like it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a name. I didn’t want to start off on a bad foot.”

  “Why ‘Jacqueline’?”

  “She thought it was pretty.” My answer was way too glib; I knew it and he knew it. But I’d given that answer a hundred times. It was my standard, canned response, and no one had ever questioned it.

  He did.

  “That’s not why.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  “Why’d she name you Jacqueline?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m curious. Humor me.”

  There was something in his voice, something that reminded me of how he’d taken over our kiss, how powerful he’d been, his body looming over mine. He seemed laid back and easygoing . . . until he didn’t.

  “She named me after Jacqueline Kennedy.”

  Surprise flashed across his face.

  “I know, I seem more like a Marilyn, not a Jackie.” My mother loved to make that joke. You’d think political mistresses would be a sore spot with her, but she had a remarkably poor sense of self-awareness.

  “Actually, you seem like the type of girl who should have her own name. You shouldn’t be named after anyone else.”

  I gaped at him.

  “Does your mother know you hate being called Jacqueline?”

  “Yes.” My tone became considerably more frigid. This was one topic that was definitely off-limits.

  “You don’t get along?”

  I sighed. “Let’s just say she’s not someone I would
have decorating my place.”

  He flushed, and I knew we both thought of last night. “Fair enough.”

  I couldn’t keep this up. At some point we were going to have to deal with what happened between us. I couldn’t work with him if this awkwardness remained, and this assignment was definitely an audition. I needed this to go well. I needed to get him elected. I sucked in a deep breath and put my big-girl panties on.

  “Look, we can dance around last night or we can both just deal with it head-on and move forward. It was one of those drunken, stupid things that probably shouldn’t have happened—more like definitely shouldn’t have happened given our current situation—but it did, and it’s just going to be awkward if we don’t address it. I’m sorry I flirted with you. It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

  He wasn’t reacting.

  “And I’m sorry I left so quickly. It just wasn’t working for me,” I lied, feeling like an ass, but pushing on. The only way we would be able to work together was if we were both really clear that there was going to be nothing between us.

  Will stared at me, his expression completely inscrutable. On one hand I envied him—I could use a bit more inscrutable in my repertoire. And it was definitely going to help with his campaign. On the other hand, he was only prolonging this, and my nerves were already frayed.

  “I can step down from your campaign if you want. Or you can fire me. Tell Mr. Morgan it wasn’t working or something.” To hell with my pride. “But honestly? I really, really need this internship to work. They hire like a handful of people, and if you’re going to work in political consulting, Price is the place you want to be. Did you see what they did with the last presidential election? They’re amazing. Seriously amazing.”

  More word vomit. Shit.

  One eyebrow rose, just a shade darker than his hair.

  “Are you finished?”

  Chapter Five

  Rumor has it that candidate Clayton has hired political powerhouse Price, Matthews, and Anderson to assist with his campaign. Is Clayton’s campaign in trouble, or is he just looking to solidify his bid?

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Will

  I wanted to kiss her.

  I couldn’t, of course. We were in public, and she was working for my campaign now, and honestly, everything about her screamed trouble. But even that didn’t make the want go away.

  The waitress came and took our drink orders—me: coffee, black; her: a Diet Coke—and then left us alone again.

  Well.

  I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to know why she left last night, wanted to touch her. But everything had just become more complicated. She was now kind of an employee, and in the day seemed light-years younger than she had last night.

  “Don’t quit. There’s no need for that. We can work together without any issues.”

  Relief flashed across her face. “Thank you. This internship is really important to me. I can’t afford to screw it up.”

  “No problem. How long have you been at Price?”

  “Just a few weeks. I started right before the fall semester began. I’m doing the internship full-time until December, and then I have another semester of classes before I graduate in May.”

  “And you like it?”

  Her lips twitched, her face relaxing slightly. “You say that like it’s impossible to believe.”

  I shrugged. “It just all seems a little bit . . .” I searched for the right word. “Cutthroat.”

  She laughed. “Oh, it is.”

  “And you like that?”

  “I like the challenge. I like the constant bustle of it all. It’s all a big game and yet, it’s not. The stakes are high, and what you’re doing really matters. You’re helping change people’s lives, to influence policy. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  Her eyes lit up with each word, her voice getting more and more excited. Passion oozed through her pores and I was captivated.

  “Okay, I’m convinced. If you bring that kind of enthusiasm and intensity to the campaign we’ll be in excellent shape.” I leaned back in my chair. “What do you need from me?”

  Jackie reached down to her bag, pulling out a notebook and pen. “For now, just the basics. I need to have a good idea of who you are both as a person and as a candidate.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Tell me a bit about your childhood, your family, where you grew up, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, you already know I grew up in Greenwich.” She grinned. “I have three sisters—all younger. My dad runs a venture capital firm. My mom does a lot of charity work.” I hesitated. “And decorates town houses in her spare time.”

  Another smile, this one more blinding than the last. It felt amazing knowing I was responsible for that, even if it was at my own expense.

  “I went to Exeter and then Harvard. I studied government. After that, I worked with my dad at his venture capital firm. It was fine, but ultimately not my thing. I started getting involved with a few charities, enjoyed it, and started thinking about running for office. I moved to Virginia two years ago. My father’s firm has an office here. What else? I’m a Libra. I hate baseball, love Italian food, would rather be cold than hot, and find all of the attention that comes with running for office a bit overwhelming.”

  She laughed again, and I thought, that needs to keep happening.

  “Why Virginia? It sounds like you have a lot of ties in the Northeast—you grew up there, went to school there. Why didn’t you move to Connecticut to run for a state senate seat there?”

  There was no way to say it without sounding like an asshole. “My mother was a Harrington before she married my father.”

  Jackie’s eyes narrowed for a beat. “Wait a minute. Like John Harrington?”

  I nodded. “He’s my grandfather.”

  Her mouth opened and then closed again. “Your grandfather was vice president of the United States.”

  “Yep.”

  Her expression was a mixture of shock and awe.

  My grandfather was eighty-one now, but he was still loved in the state of Virginia. He’d been a senator here before he became vice president, and had returned to the state once he finished serving. He divided his time between his town house in Georgetown and his racing farm in Upperville.

  She was silent for a moment as if attempting to process this new information about me. She jotted something down in her notebook.

  “How involved is he with your campaign?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “He comes out to some events. He’s busy with his horses, and his health isn’t great, but he still has ties here. He and his friends were the ones who approached me with the idea to run for the thirtieth district. I was already living in Alexandria, so it seemed like a good fit. I spent a month every summer for most of my childhood at his farm. In a way Virginia feels like home, too.” I took a sip of my coffee. “So that’s me in a nutshell. Give me something about you so I don’t feel totally self-involved just talking about myself.”

  “You’re supposed to sound self-involved. You’re running for political office, remember?” she teased.

  “Ouch. I thought you loved politics.”

  “I do love politics. I didn’t say I loved politicians.”

  “I don’t get the difference.”

  She grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I bet you’ve seen a lot in this town.”

  She laughed. “You’re one to talk. Your grandfather was vice president of the United States. I have a hard time believing you weren’t raised on this stuff from birth.”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t. I was a kid. Apparently I went to the White House once, but I was way too young to remember it. Afterward, as I got older, my grandfather had already retired from politics and I spent my time on the farm with them. My grandmother hated D.C. She said she’d served her time and was happy with her horses.”

  Jackie smiled. “So I was right about you.”

  “What do you mean
?”

  “You don’t have that perpetually jaded look about you that the rest of us have. You’re right, I have seen a lot here—the good and the bad. That’s how I can tell you’re one of the good guys.”

  I was ridiculously pleased to hear her say that.

  “My opponent is fighting dirty, so I’m not really sure how helpful being ‘one of the good guys’ is going to be.”

  “Well, that is true. His campaign has all of the forward momentum. We need to spin it, give you a chance to get your message across. We’ll look at increasing your mailings, come up with some more aggressive talking points. Find a way to get your message across while also highlighting your opponent’s pitfalls.”

  I nodded. “Our mailers have not been good lately. That was one of the reasons we hired Price in the first place. I was told you’re the best.”

  “We are.” Jackie grinned. “Okay. Let’s go over the issues.”

  For the next hour we talked policy. I learned that she was smart—really, really smart. James had been right—she had an instinct about her I lacked.

  “You’re really good at this.”

  She looked up from her notepad. A rush of pleasure covered her face before it disappeared.

  “Seriously, though, if Price doesn’t hire you after your internship is up, they’re crazy.”

  She flushed. “Thanks.”

  “You know, you still owe me something about you.”

  She laughed. “I told you, it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Well, maybe it should. Tell me something about you. Something no one knows.”

  Jackie

  I was so turned on it wasn’t even funny. We’d been sitting here for an hour now—talking policy which was basically my foreplay—and with each minute that passed, I became more and more interested in reaching across the table and picking up where we’d left off last night.

  This guy was going to kill it with female voters. He was funny, and smart, and just self-deprecating enough to be a fresh change from the usual BS we saw. Not to mention he was easy on the eyes. Even more than that, when he talked to you he seemed like he was really listening, like he really cared. It made him irresistible.