Read When Chemistry Wins (The Dark Horse Trilogy Book 1) Online
Authors: Cynthia Dane
Tags: #contemporary romance
When Chemistry Wins (The Dark Horse Trilogy Book 1)
When Chemistry Wins
THE DARK HORSE TRILOGY
#1
BARACHOU PRESS
When Chemistry Wins
THE DARK HORSE TRILOGY, #1
Copyright: Cynthia Dane
Published: 24th November 2014
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Editor:
Lindsay York
Cover Design:
Yoly @ Cormar Covers
Chapter 1
Twenty years of fundraising dinners, and they never became easier to bear.
Kerri sat a few feet away from her father, illustrious Governor Raymond Mitchell, the man heralded as the savior of the state. Or so his yes-people and biggest fans said at every fundraiser. Tonight Governor Mitchell sat within the mansion dining hall, welcoming this potential donor and that slobbering constituent. Kerri’s father had a talent for charming every man and woman who crossed his path. The hard part was convincing the people of the state he never met to reelect him.
But he had done it before and would probably do it again. Kerri figured, anyway. Her father always won his bids as far back as she could remember, when she was a child toddling underfoot and winning hearts like her father. Some things really were genetic.
“How lovely you look tonight!” exclaimed an older woman wearing a glittering red dress. She placed a white-gloved hand on Kerri’s shoulder and smiled at her with porcelain teeth. “You look just like your mother did at your age. Bless you both. You’ll be a fine young lady if you aren’t already.” The lady gave another pat before getting in line to speak with Raymond.
“You should say thank you.” Brenda, Kerri’s mother and holder of the title Gubernatorial First Wife, said with a sniff of her nose. “Although I really don’t think you look like me. You don’t have my nose. Or hair. Or anything. Pass me the butter.”
Brenda could talk. She was the one who snipped this and snipped that.
And I don’t just mean her hair.
By the grace of the cosmetic surgery God she had yet to have a botched procedure, but Brenda Mitchell didn’t look like the older version of the woman in her college photos. The long nose was missing, for one. When people said Kerri was lucky to get her father’s nose, Brenda feigned ignorance about why Kerri couldn’t have
her
nose.
Kerri passed the butter dish and went back to staring at the spectacle of political reverie before her. Men dressed in tuxedos; women dressed in prom wear for the elderly. Or maybe they were upscale bridesmaid dresses. When Kerri was a child, she loved the glamour of cocktail dresses, evening gowns, beaded shawls, high-heels, expensive perfume, diamond jewelry, and coifed hair. The way these women talked, as if they were delicate Southern belles who had
happened
to stumble into Yankee territory, was exquisite. But as Kerri aged, she realized that most of the women were faker than Brenda’s face.
The men weren’t much better. They would promise one thing, like a donation of ten-thousand dollars for Raymond’s campaign, and then never follow through. Raymond pruned them, never to be seen at these dinners again.
Unlike Vanessa Vanderbilt, who never gave a dime but still showed up every year to chat up Brenda, her old roommate – and one of the few people to remember that nose.
“Kerri!” she cried, sitting in the chair on the other side of the governor’s daughter. Brenda leaned forward and smiled the product of many teeth whitening strips at her old friend. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Your mother told me you would be touring Europe this summer.”
Kerri glanced at her mother. “As you can see, I am most certainly not in Europe.” That was her mother’s invention. The same woman who offered to throw money at her to go to the socially approved countries of Western Europe. “I decided to hang out at home for the summer.”
“Oh, through the big campaign season?”
“I don’t know about that long…” Kerri could barely stomach campaign season as it was. All the promises, the schmoozing, the stress, the yelling, the… she couldn’t even think about it. Not that hanging out in the governor’s mansion was much better. It was in the middle of nowhere, or at least related to the state capital, which was miles down the main highway. Since she graduated college in May, Kerri had been trapped between deciding her future and not wanting to do anything. Her hope was to return home and retake her bearings. But without any friends around and the campaign season in full swing, she felt like she was suffocating in sheer
boredom.
The only reason she wasn’t hopping the next plane to Europe was because….
…She wasn’t entirely sure why she wasn’t.
Vanessa Vanderbilt gave kisses to both Kerri and Brenda before taking her leave.
“Don’t be so rude.” Brenda was about as threatening as a poodle falling asleep on a soft bed. “It doesn’t make you endearing.”
Ah, yes, endearing. The word Brenda shoved down her daughter’s throat for the past twenty-two years. Endearing meant a good girl who didn’t curse or wear outrageous makeup. It also meant a girl who dated clean-cut boys like Henry Harrington or Wilson Randall, the first her assigned high school boyfriend and the second her “wilder” boyfriend in college. He was only wilder because he owned a motorcycle, much to Brenda’s horror.
Endearing was boring. Controlling. Kerri didn’t speak much because she didn’t get along with the people her parents courted, but that didn’t mean she was a good girl.
I think.
She didn’t get much chance to be bad.
More people came by, each one more insufferable than the last. They asked Kerri what she planned to do in the future. She was going to go into politics like her father, right? She couldn’t think of anything worse. Twenty years of dealing with it as an upfront witness? Kerri wondered how anyone could stand it at that point.
“You know what you should do, Miss Mitchell?” a well-meaning woman said only five minutes later. “Now is a good time to find a nice boy to settle down with. There’s nothing better in life than having the decisions taken out of your hands. These days, we saddle women with too much stress. We were meant to settle down and have someone else do the thinking for us.” Smiling as if she solved the greatest mystery of the universe, the woman reiterated that Kerri needed a husband more than anything else, and babies to go with that husband. After that she wouldn’t have to think about anything beyond cloth or disposable diapers again.
As soon as that woman left, Kerri stood up from the table, against her mother’s wishes. “I can’t deal with this right now,” she told Brenda. “I need to get some air.”
“Don’t wander away too far,” her mother said, acting as if college graduate Kerri were a girl going to check something in a toy store. “Your father will want you for photos later.”
Oh, boy. Kerri couldn’t wait.
She abandoned the table in favor of the fray in the ballroom. Men in suits… women in fancy dresses… wait staff offering champagne, cheese, crackers, and hors d'oeuvres… the more her father schmoozed, the more money he would get for his campaign. It had always been a courting of the financial minds ever since Kerri could remember.
Champagne glasses floated by her, and she stopped the server to grab one. Bubbly in hand, Kerri leaned against a column in the area between ballroom and expansive gardens overlooking the great green land of her home state. Surely there would be many photo-ops there in the coming months.
“I came back home for this?” Not many people could say that home was the Governor’s Mansion, she supposed.
Nor could many people say that they saw the most gorgeous guy of the evening.
There, mingling in the crowd, was the only man who looked young enough to be a son instead of a donor. Or maybe he was one of those rich young billionaires. Kerri drank more of her champagne and laughed at that thought – she knew a lot of those types growing up.
But this man did not look like the usual college student pontificating about his trust fund and his start-up company. Those were a dime a dozen from Kerri’s alma mater. Instead, this man with his smart suit, groomed facial hair, elegant posture, and eyes that pierced the air even from half a room away had a stature that proclaimed he knew what he was about. Kerri could not hear what he said to an elderly man and wife, but they appeared to be in a lively debate or conversation. The man threw his head back and laughed, a friendly aura escalating in his countenance.
Kerri finished her drink and put the empty glass on a passing tray. When she looked up again, the handsome stranger was gone, and the elderly couple spoke with someone else.
What a pity. Kerri had almost found someone worth striking up a conversation with, even if to just get a closer look at that pretty face.
***
It never ceased to amaze Hunter how out of touch the people into politics were. And he would know, as the son of Terrence Hall, the opposition leader in this farce of a governor’s race.
Luckily for him, nobody recognized him at Raymond Mitchell’s most recent fundraiser. One of the perks of being the “shadowy” son of the state’s biggest oppositional contender. But it meant people also thought he was there to talk politics that he didn’t necessarily believe in.
In truth, he had been sent there by his father’s campaign manager to scope out the guests. Mostly to see who was turning coat, as if Hunter should care.
“If you’re not familiar with Governor Mitchell’s educational policies he’s hoping to implement after his reelection,” said an elderly gentleman alongside his equally fashionable wife, “then you really should, I say,
educate
yourself on the matter.” The man chuckled at his own wit. “They’re quite smart. He’s going to save the state coffers a lot of money if he sticks by his plan. And knowing Governor Mitchell, he will! Have you seen how much money he’s saved our state these past four years?”
Hunter’s nod was neither pleasant nor sarcastic. He knew better with these types.
Don’t be a pawn, and don’t be an agitator.
“I’m sure the governor must be capable with such an approval rating.” 65% wasn’t much to sneeze at. Then again, his father Terrence had the highest approval rating in his party in thirty years. This election was shaping up to be a bloodbath, and he was the only one who saw it.
“Don’t forget it, son.” The man tipped his champagne down his throat while his wife smiled like a pleasant bird.
It didn’t take much longer for one of the governor’s fundraising minions to politely ask for a donation. Well, he didn’t ask outright. He asked if Hunter would “like to make a contribution to the future of the state.” That sort of line didn’t mean Hunter should join the National Guard, become a mentor, or recycle more. It meant he should hand over his checkbook and write the maximum donation allowed by state and federal law.
“I’m afraid I’m tapped out at the moment,” Hunter said, keeping his hands far away from his pockets. “But put me on the mailing list so I can be reminded by the end of the month.”
He gave a burner email to get the man away from him. Twenty years involved in politics through his father’s whims, and Hunter knew how to shake these types. He had been brushing off his father’s men since he was old enough to have opinions, let alone vote.
The same vote would
not
be going to his father that upcoming November.
Hunter didn’t broadcast that he was not voting for either main party candidate that year. Instead he was fascinated by the Independent third-party candidate Joshua Payne, a beltway outsider with a moderate approach to what the state really needed. Raymond’s educational policy was a joke; Terrence’s ideas on funding road improvements made him want to bash his head in. As much as he loved his father, his love stopped there. Terrence would make a no better governor than Raymond had.