“Yes.”
And obviously he didn’t see that as a problem. “I don’t know—”
“It will also shut down that circus outside and refocus their attention.”
That would be nice. “How?”
“You are their cause célèbre. Once you have the ear of Senator Marshall, they can’t use you as a martyr or poster child anymore. Therefore, much of this will lose its steam. One press conference—”
“Whoa, a press conference?”
He nodded. “First thing in the morning to announce your new position.”
Aspyn couldn’t find words. Her mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. She gave herself a hard shake. “You’re not giving me much time to think about it.”
“It’s the first rule of campaigns, Aspyn. Move quickly.”
She stood and walked over to the sink for a drink of water. “I don’t know, Brady. I’m not really comfortable with the idea.” For many reasons.
The futon creaked, meaning Brady was on his feet now, too, but she didn’t expect to feel his hand on her arm. It sizzled like a brand against her skin, and the sizzle spread outward over her body like a ripple across a pond.
And that gave her another reason—a very good one—to be uncomfortable with the possibility of working for him. She could very easily develop inappropriate ideas about Brady Marshall. She already had, she reminded herself; she just hadn’t had much time to ruminate on those ideas due to the current melee of her life. But they were there, poking at the edges of her mind, springing out in full color at inopportune moments and being explored in-depth in some pretty explicit dreams involving those handcuffs.
“Why not do it?”
For a split second, she thought Brady had read her mind and meant do it. Then sanity returned. When she turned, Brady was way too close for comfort, and she found herself staring directly at that broad chest. With the counter at her back, there was no room for retreat, and she sidestepped around him for much-needed distance.
Why did this apartment have to be so small?
“Well …” She searched for a good reason, one Brady might buy. The sight of him in his suit standing beside her salt lamps and crystals gave her one. “I’m rather antiestablishment, if you can’t tell. Working for the establishment just might cause a cognitive dissonance that would make my head explode.” And give my parents a heart attack.
This time, Brady’s amusement irritated her. “Ah, well, think of it as an infiltration, then. Think about all the inside information you’ll learn that can be used against the establishment sometime in the future.”
Now she was getting suspicious as well. “You seem rather keen on me taking this job. Why?”
“I wouldn’t have offered it to you if I wasn’t.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s in it for you?”
“Me, personally?” He shrugged. “As the manager of this campaign, I want to win this election. This will help. You can help. Everyone wins, in fact—me, you, Senator Marshall and the good people of Virginia.”
Guilt about her suspicions nibbled at her. Other than the fact politics was full of professional liars, she had no real reason to distrust Brady personally. He could have made a big deal of Friday’s escapade, let her be arrested, but he didn’t. Instead he’d offered—and it seemed delivered—the chance to make her case to the senator’s office. Now he was giving her the chance to make a small difference and get this mess cleared up.
But to work for the brick wall she’d been slamming against her entire life …?
It was only a temporary position. The election was just a little over five weeks away. It wasn’t like she was selling her soul to the devil. If it didn’t work out, she hadn’t really lost anything. It wasn’t like the political establishment could ignore her more than they already were. And if it did work out like Brady said … Well, something good might be gained.
And her parents? That was going to be an awkward conversation. But they were in Haiti for the foreseeable future. All of this could be over with long before they got back and ever had to know about it. Why couldn’t she work for change from the inside for a while? If she was successful, she’d tell them all about it. If not …
“Well?” Brady prompted.
Which brought her right back to the very personal problem she had with this opportunity. Could she work with Brady and not drool over him every day? Could she avoid a silly office crush egged on by her overactive imagination? Of course, there was the distinct possibility that as low man on the campaign totem pole, she’d have little interaction with Brady at all. And while the thought made her want to stamp her foot in frustration, realistically, that might be for the best.
Seems like I’ve talked myself into it. “All right. I’ll take the job.”
Aspyn still looked at him with equal parts suspicion and amusement, which didn’t fully surprise him. What did surprise him was the brief moment when she’d let that mask slip and sized him up like a yummy treat she’d like to devour but knew she’d regret the calories later. It was the echo of that same sentiment in him, though, that had him wanting to retract the offer and look for a plan B approach out of this PR mess.
“Okay, then. Press conference tomorrow morning at ten.” He eyeballed the battered and body-hugging jeans and nubby cardigan she wore and considered discussing a dress code. Then he looked around her apartment and decided it wasn’t worth his breath. The campaign had their official granola earth-mother on staff and she would probably look the part. “I’ll send a car for you at nine.”
One eyebrow went up. “You’ll send a car? Where is this press conference going to be?”
“Campaign HQ, of course.”
The other eyebrow joined the first. “That’s less than a mile from here.”
“And?”
“And I can walk or ride my bike.” Aspyn crossed her arms over her chest. “The first issue I’d like to bring to your attention is the waste of resources that things like ‘sending a car’ are—both to the planet and the campaign.”
He bit back the sigh as Aspyn started in on an obviously often-delivered speech.
He really was going to regret this.
CHAPTER THREE
MARGO was in the process of opening the store when Aspyn came down Thursday morning, ready to tackle her first day of work—even if she still wasn’t one hundred percent clear on what she’d actually be doing.
“Good morning!” Margo sang out. “Don’t you look adorable?”
Aspyn tugged at the borrowed black skirt. “You think?”
“Definitely. And not just adorable, either. Competent. Capable. Professional. You’re going to knock ’em dead.” Margo was a proponent of dressing for the part. As the owner of a New Age bookstore, she leaned toward caftans and head scarves, even when the result was more “carnival fortune-teller,” because that’s what people expected. She’d been the driving force behind Aspyn’s wardrobe today, practically manning a phone tree to find all the appropriate pieces. “Here.” Margo passed her a travel mug with the bookstore’s logo on it. “A ginseng and kava tisane to get you going today.”
Margo mothered her unreservedly, and Aspyn was thankful for it today. She needed