A Political Affair
Read A Political Affair Online
Authors: Mary Whitney
First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2012
Copyright © Mary Whitney, 2012
The right of Mary Whitney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the
Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop
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Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-127-6
E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-128-3
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.
Cover image by: © Jungleoutthere
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Cover design by: Megan Dooley
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About the Author
Even before she graduated from law school, Mary Whitney knew she wasn’t cut out to be a real lawyer. Drawn to politics, she’s spent her career as an organizer, lobbyist, and nonprofit executive. Nothing piques her interest more than a good political scandal or romance, and when she stumbled upon writing, she put the two together. A born Midwesterner, naturalized Texan, and transient resident of Washington, D.C., Mary now lives in Northern California with her two daughters and real lawyer husband.
Acknowledgments
To paraphrase Yogi Berra, I just want to thank everyone who made this page necessary. That says it all, but it seems incomplete. I owe thanks to too many wonderful women whose humor and smarts inspired and corrected me. In particular, I want to thank Anne Forlines, Annalyse Knight, ECM Connolly, Elizabeth de Vos, Irene Chartofilis, K. Sorrell, Naitasia Hensey, Jada D’Lee, Roberta Curry, and S.L. Scott.
I’m also forever grateful to Fictionista Workshop for whipping me into shape and breathing life into this story and to everyone at The Writer’s Coffee Shop for making it a reality. Finally, I thank my dear husband for encouraging my wacky little writing hobby—my love for you goes to eleven.
Dedication
To My Beloved Mother, Lieselotte
May Light Perpetual Shine upon Her
Chapter 1
“Fifty-two. Forty-eight. Fifty-two. Forty-eight. Fifty-two. Forty-eight.”
Senator Stephen McEvoy chanted the numbers to the rhythm of his morning run through Rock Creek Park. His mantra worried him, so he tried to find comfort in the birds’ inspirational chirps, but the speeding cars drowned out their optimism. Stephen had to agree with his campaign manager. The numbers weren’t good.
When Patty told him their latest poll results, she’d warned, “Fifty-two/forty-eight is too close for comfort for a sitting senator up for reelection.”
“I know.” The two words were loaded with remorse.
Patty wasn’t just his campaign manager—she was also his sister, and she sighed at their predicament. “This wouldn’t happen to Dad.”
“I know.”
There wasn’t anything else to say. He knew she wasn’t blaming him any more than she blamed herself. Politics was a McEvoy family duty, and they were all in it together, though the mantle weighed heaviest on Stephen. It was always assumed he’d take over his father’s senate seat, but no one expected it so soon, least of all him.
Throughout the morning, the poll numbers kept him preoccupied. Even during the daily meeting with his circle of senior advisors, he tuned out. As his chief of staff, Greg Miller, reviewed the day’s legislation on the Senate floor, Stephen dwelled on how the world judged him. He swiveled his father’s creaky old chair to look out the window.
The view was impressive. The Supreme Court building stood floors below him, but it still towered over the tourists taking their proud photos. He often wondered about the people who made up the term “the general public.” Polls reflected their opinions about him, yet they knew so little. If they really knew him, would they feel differently?
“Did you hear, boss?” Greg asked in earnest.
“Yes,” Stephen answered as though he’d been listening intently. He turned in his seat toward Greg. “It sounds like there are a lot of amendments to that bill.”
“Yeah, you’ll love this. Monroe is going after LIHEAP again. Can you believe it?” Greg smirked and looked around the room as if to encourage everyone to bring Stephen out of his funk. “Pierce is offering an amendment against it. We’re signing on, right?”
“Absolutely.” Stephen nodded, crossing his arms. “Great idea. Let’s cut off the heat to poor people right before winter. Tell Pierce’s staff I’ll do anything he wants for the amendment.”
“Good. I’ll let them know.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Megan said and cleared her throat. “We have a new Jennifer issue to deal with.”
Hearing one of his female companions’ names, Stephen turned to Megan and raised his eyebrows. As his middle sister and de facto press secretary, it was her job to promote and protect him, and she had no problem intruding into her brother’s private life.
She ignored his reaction. “I’ve heard from a contact in L.A. that she’s up for a new role. There’s nudity involved and some sex.”
Before he could respond, Patty jumped in. “Listen, I’ll be the first to admit your relationship with her has given you some nice press for the campaign. But—”
“But the senator’s sometime girlfriend can’t show her breasts to the world?” He chuckled.
“Not during an election cycle,” answered Patty. “You’ve got to tell her to delay the movie until after the election next year. Then she can branch out from her Disney flicks. If she doesn’t agree, I suggest breaking up with her now.”
“Okay, done.” It wasn’t a difficult request. Jennifer Hamilton may have been America’s sweetheart, but outside of bed, he found talking to her painful. She was no great loss. “I’ll handle it soon.”
“Thanks, boss,” Greg said in relief. “It’s just that . . . you know . . . no one expects you to be like Langford, but you need to stick with women who are respectable.”
Stephen pursed his lips when Greg mentioned his Republican opponent, Colorado State Treasurer Dan Langford. He was a family man and an archconservative who often said, “Unlike the McEvoy family, I don’t have a skeleton in my closet.” “Or a cogent thought in your head,” Patty always muttered in response. While Stephen was young and brilliant, with a storied family name, Langford was older, dim, but with a hard-fought rise to wealth and power. The election would be a study in contrasts.
Stephen didn’t like thinking about it, and his mind wandered back to its bad mood. “Got it. Next subject.”
Greg checked his watch and announced, “Time for the interns. And, actually, I should tell you about one of them.”
Stephen’s phone rang, and after he checked the caller, he held up a finger to stop Greg. “Sorry. I need to take this call.”
“Okay, but . . .”
“If it’s about an intern, how big of a deal can it be?” With a shrug, Stephen answered his own question by taking the call and continuing to talk as he walked with them to the small conference room.
The month of September brought a fresh batch of interns for the school year, and Megan had cleared his calendar to do a meet and greet with the newbies. She hoped it would make up for the rest of the year when he ignored them.
Just as they entered the packed room, Stephen ended his call. He greeted the staff and interns with his trademark polished smile and personable demeanor. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you’re doing well. This is usually such a muggy time in D.C., but it’s a wonderful day outside. You should be playing hooky.”
The seated group dutifully smiled and said hello.
“I trust the staff have already made their introductions.” Stephen took his seat at the head of the table. “So I’d like to hear from our new interns. Let’s see. What do I want to learn about you?” He tapped the table for a moment. “Hmmm. Why don’t we start with your name? Then I’d like to hear your school, your major. Now, what else? How about your favorite place in Colorado and what town you’re from? Does everyone have that?”
All the interns furiously took notes, and one by one they answered his questions. Stephen nodded and smiled as each performed for him, though he was so bored he counted every tile on the ceiling. When he was on his 239th tile, he realized he was almost free of the tedious meeting. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
“And I believe we only have one more today.”
The table was so crammed with people that he couldn’t see who was about to speak. He spotted only a pair of feminine hands resting on a notebook as a clear, female voice answered him.
“Hi. My name is Anne Norwood. I’m a senior at Boulder, but I’m at Georgetown for the year working on my senior thesis. I’m an American history major and—”
“And what’s this thesis about?” Stephen asked, leaning forward. “I’ll warn you I was an American history major, too.” He tilted his head and saw some dark blond hair, but he still couldn’t get a good view of her.
The other interns followed his stare because he hadn’t asked any of them a direct question.
Her voice rose again from the back. “It’s an analysis of Thomas Jefferson’s romantic relationship with a slave, and whether it had any impact on his record on slavery.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with no expression on his face. “I can’t see you. Please stand up.”
When she rose, he nodded in acknowledgment. He immediately thought her pretty with a nice figure, though he didn’t let on he was checking her out. Instead, he jumped to his question. “So did the relationship alter his position on slavery?”
“Not much,” she said in a flat tone.
“And what do you think of this founding father?”
“Not much.” She delivered the line plainly again, but her mouth twitched, well aware she’d made a joke.
Everyone in the room laughed, including Stephen.
“Good. I think he’s overrated, too.”
More laughter ensued as the room enjoyed hearing a Democratic politician buck two hundred years of adoration of the party’s idol. While everyone chuckled, Stephen and Anne’s eyes locked for a moment. They both smiled, and their eyes held the same mixture of surprise and respect for each other’s response.
I like her
, he thought, and wanting to hear her say more, he broke their stare. “And what are your answers to my last questions?”
“I’m from Summit County, and I love the meadows of the Gore Range.”