“No problem,” he assured her. “We both know he’s not going to look that over until ten minutes before the meeting anyway.”
“Very true.” Louise took the sheets of paper from Miss Breedlove as he left the office and the door swung closed behind him.
Louise was one of the loyal staff who’d worked with Granddad before he retired and stayed on when Dad won the seat. Brady had actually been surprised by her decision, since her years working alongside his family made her privy to much of their less-than-lily-white laundry. But, in the end, she’d put aside her personal dislike of Douglas Marshall the man for the sake of Douglas Marshall the senator and the greater good.
Just like he’d done.
“Mr. Marshall! Mr. Marshall, wait, please!” He turned to see Miss Breedlove hurrying down the hallway at a near trot. Uh-oh. The elevator doors opened to an empty car, and the manners ingrained in him by Nana wouldn’t allow him to step in and let the door close in her face.
“Thank you,” she said as the doors closed and she tried to catch her breath. The quick run down the hall had added a touch of color to her cheeks and caused some of her hair to slip out of its containment to fall over her forehead. She was wearing little or no makeup, and her bright green eyes met his evenly. “Mr. Marshall,” she began, “I’m with the People’s Planet Initiative—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m the wrong person for you to talk to.”
“You’re Brady Marshall, right? Senator Marshall’s son.” “Yes, I am. But I’m not part of his office staff.” “I know. You’re his campaign manager.” Miss Breedlove had done her homework. Brady wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or slightly wary. “And as such, I have no control over his office calendar. I can’t help you get an appointment with him.” “But you could listen to me, at least.” Since his good manners had him trapped in an elevator with the woman, Brady simply didn’t know how to get around it. Not that Miss Breedlove was giving him a chance to.
“If Senator Marshall would embrace the mission of PPI, stand with us in our efforts, PPI’s members could become valuable additions to your efforts to win his reelection. Our members are active and engaged in their communities—communities all over Virginia—and have a strong Internet presence. You know how valuable grass-roots support is …”
Thankfully the doors opened on the first floor at that point, giving him the chance to dam the flood of words. “Louise has your information, and should your agenda prove—”
“We don’t really have an agenda,” she interrupted, and as he tried to move away, she trotted to keep up, talking the entire time. “We simply have a mission to make this planet a better place for all who inhabit it.”
“That’s admirable.” Be noncommittal. He pushed open the doors to the outside and blinked at the sunlight.
Miss Breedlove was right behind him. Still talking. “With Senator Marshall’s help—”
Ah, damn it. He’d walked right out in the direction of the protestors. With Miss Breedlove still talking a mile a minute in his ear about the “mission” of PPI, he watched as the protestors took note of her and then focused in on him. A second later, three broke away from the crowd and intercepted them on the steps.
Good Lord, he did not feel like dealing with this today.
“Mr. Marshall, if you’d just give me twenty minutes, I’m sure you’d agree that PPI’s goals—” Miss Breedlove began, only to be interrupted by one of her people this time.
“The planet cannot continue to be exploited by this and every other government—” a man in a green T-shirt roared.
“We cannot stand idly by—” another woman added.
Brady tried to rein in his temper and exasperation as he cut them all off. “I appreciate your passion. And I’m sure you know that Senator Marshall has long enjoyed the endorsements of several prominent environmental groups for his strong support of conservation and other ‘green’ initiatives. But as I’ve told Miss Breedlove, I’m not the person you need to be talking to.”
“I think you are,” she said quietly as she placed her hand on his arm. Those big green eyes were earnest and engaging, and something about it nearly sucked him in. “Your family—as a whole—wields great influence and could really make a difference.”
His family’s influence. Yeah. That jerked him out of the depths of her eyes. “I’m very sorry, y’all, but I’m late.”
The man in the green T-shirt stepped closer. “I’m sorry, too.”
Before he could process Green Shirt’s meaning, Brady felt something cold land on his wrist, followed immediately by the bite of metal into his skin. “What the—” He lifted his arm, only to lift Miss Breedlove’s arm as well.
They’d been handcuffed together.
Green Shirt leaped down the remaining few stairs—shouting something about a talking tree?—and was swallowed by the crowd.
“Kirby! Come back!” she shouted, pulling at the metal on her wrist and jerking his wrist painfully in the process. “Unlock these things!”
The crowd went wild at that point, chanting and singing, somehow energized by the sight of their spokesperson shackled to another human being.
This is ridiculous.
Thankfully security arrived at the moment. In their excitement, the protesters had come too close to the building and needed to be pushed back to the proper distance. One of the officers, whom Brady had known for years, laughed as he walked over and saw his predicament.
“Did you want to be handcuffed to this lady? Should I be escorting you elsewhere?”
“Very funny, Robert. Just unlock the cuffs.”
Robert leveled a stern look at Miss Breedlove. “You do understand that restraining someone against their will is a serious offence?”
Her eyes widened, and she tried again to slide her hand through the metal cuff. “I’m just as much the victim as he is. I didn’t cuff us together.”
“Can we sort out blame later?” Brady lifted their joined hands in Robert’s direction, only to lower them quickly when he noticed the gathering crowd with cameras at the ready. “Maybe inside?”
Robert nodded, and pointed them back toward the doors.
The farcical nature of the situation was only exacerbated by the way Miss Breedlove tried to put as much distance between them as the handcuffs would allow, including contorting her hand into the most uncomfortable-looking position to avoid touching his. It didn’t quite work.
Being handcuffed to this woman had at least accomplished one thing: she wasn’t talking anymore.
Aspyn chewed on the inside of her lip as she followed Brady Marshall and the police officer back into the Russell Building. Not that she had a choice, thanks to Kirby’s stupidity.
She might have to kill him for this.
Besides the obvious humiliation, Kirby’s stunt was guaranteed to sour any goodwill she’d managed to garner from Brady Marshall and destroy her chances of ever getting an appointment with his father.
There was a time for showboating and a time for quiet shows of strength—every activist who’d been around long enough knew that. Kirby was too new, too gung ho, to see that difference, and now she—and PPI—would be paying for it.
She kept her head high as the officer led them through the