“Why not announce it at your father’s retirement press conference tomorrow? It would be a prime opportunity with maximum coverage,” Reid replied.
“I agree with Reid,” his father said. “Capitol Hill has been rumoring for months that you’ll take over my seat. Why not end all the speculation?” Charles was sure the press would be eager to meet his handsome, dark-haired son.
“How would it appear to the public if I announced my candidacy directly after your speech? It would show a complete lack of respect for what a wonderful congressman you’ve been. The public would see me as a capitalist.”
“There will never be a right time,” Charles Butler returned.
“That may be true, Dad, but now is definitely not it. I haven’t even hired a campaign manager or a media consultant.” He’d done some preliminary legwork by getting an office, but there was still more to be done.
Jonathan saw the shocked expression on Reid’s face. Reid must have assumed that because he served as his father’s campaign manager that he was the logical choice for Jonathan. Jonathan, however, had other ideas. He appreciated Reid’s input thus far, but he wanted someone he knew and trusted leading his campaign, and his best friend, Zach Powers, was just that man.
Jonathan intended to speak with Zach over lunch. Zach had just finished a successful campaign with Governor Green and Jonathan was sure Zach could do the same for him.
“I’m sorry, Reid.” Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “I meant to speak with you. I hope there are no hard feelings?” Jonathan extended his right hand.
“No, not at all.” Reid returned the handshake and faked a smile.
His father spoke up on Reid’s behalf. “Jonathan…”
“It’s okay, Charles,” Reid interrupted him. “If Jonathan wants to hire his own right hand, leave him be.”
“No, it’s not fair,” Charles Butler huffed. “You’re practically a member of this family. Jonathan, why would you even think of going with a stranger?”
“Dad, I’ve made my choice and I don’t intend on arguing about this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few items to attend to.” Jonathan grabbed his overcoat and leather briefcase sitting on the floor and headed out the door.
Once the door closed, Charles faced his best friend and closest adviser. “Don’t worry, Reid. I’ll talk to him.”
“Don’t bother,” Reid said. “If your son feels he can find a better man to lead his team then by all means let him.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Charles patted Reid’s back and walked back to his desk.
“No problem,” Reid said and grabbed the folder of notes he’d previously prepared on Jonathan’s campaign and walked to the door. “I’ll leave you to your speech.” Reid closed the door behind himself.
Livid, he stalked back to his office and shut the door. He slammed the file on his maple desk and plopped down in his swivel chair.
How dare that two-bit snot disrespect him in such a manner? After everything he had done for the Butler family, after all the hours he’d spent, the personal sacrifices he’d made and Jonathan dared hire another manager? Who did he think had helped Charles get elected? Reid was responsible for Charles Butler’s successful twenty-five-year run in Congress every bit as much as the man himself.
Reid knew the ins and outs of politics more than most. He’d had over thirty years in the business. He’d run all of Charles Butler’s campaigns and won every single one of them. Jonathan had no idea what it took to win an election. What he needed was to be taught a lesson—he couldn’t mess with a real man. Reid would show him that he would not be tossed away like the gum on the bottom of his preppy-boy shoe.
Oh yes, Reid mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Jonathan Butler was in for a rude awakening.
Ciara and Lance returned to the station with a few hours to spare to put the entire piece together for the five o’clock news.
They rushed down the hall, parting ways at the studio control complex and newsroom. The studio was bustling as the stage crew prepared for the evening’s newscast. WTCF-FOX Channel Twenty-Nine was one of the smaller television stations in Philadelphia and that was fine with Ciara. Opportunities were always more plentiful at a local station.
Ciara walked over to her desk and turned on her computer while listening to the police and fire department scanners for breaking stories. She was organizing her notes when her boss, WTCF’s television news director Shannon Wright, stopped by her desk.
Tall and frail with dull, lifeless red hair and brown eyes, Shannon wasn’t much to look at and could use a serious makeover, but when it came to the station, Shannon was the top dog and Ciara was stuck with her.
“So, how’d it go? Did you have any trouble?”
Ciara turned around and stared at Shannon. What did Shannon think—that she was a newbie? She was capable of putting a package together.
“Yes, Shannon, I have it all together,” Ciara replied, placing her notes back in the folder.
“Were you able to get an interview with a member of the family?”
“No, I’m sorry. They weren’t giving any interviews.”
An annoyed look crossed Shannon’s pale face. “Did you try, Ciara?”
“Of course I did, Shannon,” Ciara said exasperatedly. “No one else got interviews either. The grandparents arrived and spirited the children away before the press could ask any questions.”
Shannon nodded. “What’s your angle then?” Shannon sat beside Ciara’s desk.
“How abuse can happen in a small neighborhood and no one knows anything about it. Thought maybe I could explore further and do a piece about women’s shelters.”
Shannon smiled. “Sounds preachy, Miller.” She stood and folded her arms across her chest. “As reporters, we’re supposed to report the news, not make broad assumptions.”
“I know that, Shannon, I just thought we could make this story more human and not focus solely on the victims.”
“You’re too soft, Miller,” Shannon lectured. “You’ve got to toughen up or you won’t last long in this business.”
Shannon swiftly walked away, leaving Ciara feeling completely defeated. Why did she insist on riding her so hard? From day one she’d taken an instant disliking to Ciara and she couldn’t figure out why.
Ciara took a deep breath and calmed herself. It would not be to her advantage to get on Shannon’s bad side. Without her approval, a reporter’s packages might never see the light of day. Somehow she had to convince Shannon that she was a valuable part of the WTCF family. She had to believe that one day soon Shannon would realize what a gem she had.
After Shannon had left, Ciara walked down the hall to the studio control complex, hoping to review Lance’s footage for the day, when she received a call on her cell.
Opening her flip phone, Ciara answered, “Hello?”
“Baby girl, is that you?” Diamond Miller asked from the other end.
Ciara rolled her eyes heavenward. “Who else would be answering my phone?” she replied sharply.
“No need to get snippy, Ciara,” Diamond replied.
“Sorry,” Ciara apologized halfheartedly. “What can I do for you, Diamond?” She called her mother by her first name because Diamond refused to be thought of as the mother of a twenty-eight-year-old daughter.
“Well, uh…” Diamond paused as she flipped open her baguette purse and pulled out a box of slim cigarettes. “I was hoping you might be able to spare