Lauder Tolson sat on the edge of his desk, tossing a stress ball into the air and listening to his best friend and campaign manager, Chuck Carlisle. The man went on and on about the fact that he needed to appear more family oriented if he wanted to win the senate seat, especially in the great state of North Carolina.
Six months until the election and Lauder still couldn’t believe he’d actually decided to run for congress. A bold move, Tolson. A bold move.
Chuck—or Chuckie, as Lauder liked to call him—snapped his fingers, drawing Lauder’s attention back to the conversation.
“You with me? You listening?” Chuck said. “This is serious, L.”
Lauder tossed the ball to Chuck. “Think fast.”
Chuck knocked the blue puff across the room. “I need you to focus.”
Lauder rubbed a hand over his close-shaven head. “Calm down.”
“These aren’t calm times.” Chuck paced. “I know that snake in the grass Edmondson has something up his dingy white sleeve. I can feel it.”
Jeff Edmondson had been a thorn in Chuck’s side since the man had decided to throw his hat into the race some months back. If being a family man was what would win the race, Lauder should drop out now, because Edmondson had him beat in that arena. The man had been married for countless years to his high-school sweetheart and had enough well-mannered children to start their own baseball team. But what the man lacked, in Lauder’s opinion, was passion. Edmondson wanted the win because Senator preceding his name would add to his prestige. Lauder wanted to win because he truly wanted to make a difference in his home state and in a foster care system that had failed so many, including him.
Chuck stopped so abruptly he nearly stumbled over his own feet. “We have to polish up your image, and fast. You need a significant other. Now.” Chuck massaged his clean-shaven jaw.
Lauder knew that cunning look on Chuck’s face. The man was up to something. Something Lauder was sure he wouldn’t like. Lauder’s brow furrowed and lips parted, but Chuck cut him off before he could speak by tossing a hand up.
“Before you get all I don’t do long term, it doesn’t have to be a real relationship. It just has to appear that it is. In the political game, it’s all about perceptions,” Chuck said.
Nope, he didn’t like it one bit. Lauder folded his arms across his chest. “Let me get this straight. You want the man running on a platform of truth and accountability to lie about having a lover. And on top of that, you expect me to convince someone to be my fake girlfriend.”
“Wife.”
Lauder pushed to a full stand. “Wife! Hell, no!”
Chuck massaged the back of his neck. “Okay. Girlfriend will work. Unless you are just totally against a fake wife. That would play so much—”
Lauder shot Chuck a death stare.
“Girlfriend will work.” Chuck started to pace again. And stopped again. “But none of the women in your little black book. Those women would do more harm than good.”
“I’ll have you know I only deal with the cream of the crop.”
Chuck released a condescending laugh. “Yeah. I’ll handle it. I know your type. I’ll make sure I choose the opposite.”
For kicks, because no way would he ever entertain such a ridiculous idea, Lauder said, “Shouldn’t I have a say in whether or not I want to parade around town with some stranger on my arm for the next several months?”
“Wayment. You’re telling me you’re okay with a stranger in your bed but not on your arm.”
It always tickled Lauder when uptown and proper Chuckie allowed his hoodness to slip out. But since they were having a serious conversation, he bit back his amusement. Plus, he had him there. He’d never favored attachments. He was a product of his past. And that past had taught him not to get used to anything or anyone.
“First off, I’m a thirty-six-year-old grown-ass man. Whom I allow in my bed is still my damn business. No one else’s.”
“Lauder...” Chuck paused as if to get his thoughts together. “You’re running for a state senate seat. Your business is everyone’s damn business. Welcome to politics.”
Lauder dropped into his chair and massaged his now throbbing temple. What in the hell had he been thinking running for congress? He was a businessman. He wasn’t a politician. Why in the hell hadn’t he kicked Chuck out of his office when he’d first approached him with the idea?
“You’ll make a hell of a senator,” he’d said. “You can change the world.”
Lauder scoffed, remembering his friend’s words. Change the world. All he wanted to do was change North Carolina. Tackle homelessness, poverty, foster care. Definitely foster care. A severely damaged system, in his opinion. That alone still made this journey so worthwhile.
“When did this crusade to polish my image become an agenda? My wifeless, kidless image hasn’t been a problem before,” Lauder said.
“Before Edmondson started parading his trophy wife and his perfect little renditions of himself all around town in their color-coordinated outfits, smiling and waving like they’re on a parade float.” Chuck grimaced, then started again, “This is the south, L. The perfect family allusion works on multiple levels. You do want to win, right?”
“Yeah, but you want me to lie to get what I want.”
“You say it like it’s a new concept. Politicians have been lying since the beginning of time.”
“But I’m—”
“Not a politician,” Chuck said, continuing Lauder’s thought.
“Exactly. And that’s not how I want to build my campaign. Not on lies.”
Chuck rested his hands on his hips, lowered his head and sighed. “What do you want to do, L? You want to drop out of the race? Concede to Edmondson before there’s even been an election? Bow down to the same cocky bastard who said you didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against him?”
Hearing Edmondson’s words hurled at him caused his jaw to clench now, just as it had when the self-entitled jerk had first spewed them to a room full of reporters.
Chuck leaned against Lauder’s desk and eyed him. “Tell me what you want to do, L? I’ll support whatever decision you make.”
Lauder stood with urgency. “I want to get a drink.” A second later, he ambled to the door.
“You don’t drink,” Chuck said.
“I’m about to start. That’s what politicians do, right?”
Several minutes later, Lauder stood in line inside the Drip Drop Coffee Shop, eyeing the board as if today would be the day he strayed from his usual order—iced cinnamon caramel macchiato. A creature of habit.
He slid his gaze from the board and skimmed his surroundings, snatching his eyes back to a table situated in a dimly lit section of the restaurant. Couldn’t be. His eyes narrowed on