Exposed, page 12
He shrugged. “She’s been on the right track.”
“I know. You’re afraid she’ll revert to her old ways.”
Spencer circled his shoulders and stretched his neck from right to left. I knew he was uncomfortable with the word “afraid.”
“I’m worried,” he said.
I nodded. “That’s valid.”
“She’s come so far.”
“I know, and so have you. I mean, so have I. But…” I felt my eyebrows pull together.
“I’m listening,” Spencer said.
I gnawed on my lower lip, figuring out how to say what I wanted to in the right way. “So it’s no secret that Maria, my mom’s house manager, taught me a lot about life. One of her sayings was, ‘Use quiet moments to get to know yourself. And in those moments, don’t be afraid to hold yourself accountable or to let yourself off the hook if that’s what you deserve. You do that, and you’ll grow like a giant,’” I said, using Maria’s voice. “I never knew what she meant by that until I got older and finally got some skin in the game.”
“I’m trying to follow you, babe, but I’m lost.”
I smiled delicately. At least he was calling me babe again. “I practiced that my whole life, which is why I always made the toughest and bravest decisions. When I went to that ranch to work for you, I was scared out of my mind, always questioning whether or not I should just run back home or run to my mom and do what I’d learned to do to be safe. I’m pretty sure Bryn is used to relying on her brothers to worry about her and drag her out of tough situations. But it seems as if this time, she’s learning to do that for herself. So I think you should stop worrying and let her.”
It had been a long time since I’d seen Spencer’s entire face crumble in the way it was at that moment. “But she has to know the guy’s character.”
“I agree. We should include any information that she needs to make an adult decision about her life, Spencer. But the operative part of my statement is the decision she needs to make about her life.”
He took a deep breath and grabbed his coffee cup. “Okay.” He sounded strained. “You’re right.”
It had never been hard for Spencer to admit when he was wrong and I was right. That was the five hundred thirty-fifth reason why I loved him so much.
“And she’s lucky to have you, baby, just as I am,” I said.
He winked at me, and I blew him a kiss. I went back to sharing everything I knew about Michael Dunn. He had twin daughters. They were four years old, and he’d been married for six years. He was forty-three years old. His wife was thirty-nine. And the election was his first stab at politics. I showed Spencer transcripts of his best appearances. I finished eating my omelet and checking my email as Spencer read through the six samples I’d pulled for him.
“I like this guy,” my husband kept repeating.
I grinned, satisfied that I had gotten it right. “I knew the two of you were a match made in heaven.”
He was beaming, sexy, manly as he looked up from the pages to take me in. “No one knows me better than you.”
I nodded. He was right. And no one knew me better than him.
When we landed in Palm Springs, the heat didn’t disappoint. We were only out in it for a short while. A car was waiting near the runway, and as soon as we disembarked our plane, we got into the back seat of the vehicle. The discretion was important since we didn’t want anyone to know we were in the city. I let Spencer know it was my first time in the desert, and he was shocked.
“I’m an East Coaster, and I’ve been here a number of times,” he said.
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “I put a lot of effort into staying out of the state my mother was responsible for. It was an extension of me running away from her.”
Spencer chuckled and put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m positive you’ll like this town. I’m going to have to show you around it one day.”
I smiled while thinking that one day felt like light years away. Spencer and I had been so busy. But even though we were inside the car, the atmosphere felt smooth. It felt as if we were swimming gently through a perfectly heated swimming pool.
I took in the palm trees, desert landscaping, and postmodern architecture. Craggy mountains surrounded the town and, at times, appeared close enough to touch. I felt as if we were not there on business. Spencer explained that the house shared a golf course with adjoining estates. He told me about the best hiking trails, the tramway, and the mountain towns on Highway 74, which reminded him of certain coastal towns in Maine.
“That’s one thing I didn’t know about you, babe,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“How well traveled you were.”
“Yeah, I spent a lot of years trying to get to know myself, so I traveled a lot. But as long as my father was alive, the getting-to-know-myself effort was futile, or at least that’s what I thought.”
I understood what he meant. “Well, I can’t wait for you to be my guide.”
We kissed and stared into each other’s eyes. Perhaps Spencer was thinking the same thing I was—once we were free from the campaign, we would travel around the world while it was still just him and me. Then we could return home to Manhattan when my pregnant body said it was ready. Our meeting with Mike Dunn was the start that would eventually take us to the freedom line.
Since we had a little time to kill, Spencer had the driver take me to a lookout up in the mountains that allowed me to gaze out over the valley. The view was breathtaking, but I couldn’t stay out long because of the heat. Plus, I had to take in the scene without my husband because there were people there, enjoying the view alongside me. We didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing Spencer, snapping a picture, and posting it on social media before our work there was done.
I thanked Spencer for taking me on the detour by engaging him in head-spinning smooching all the way to the house in Rancho Mirage. The home was more impressive than I had imagined. The rooms were large, and the air-conditioned air on the inside was just as addictive as the hot air on the outside. I found it very hard to focus on our impending meeting with Michael Dunn, but I had to since he was scheduled to arrive in less than an hour.
It was easy for time to slip by in that big, comfortable house. Spencer stepped away to make TFC Global calls as I dillydallied here and there, gazing out the window, putting my feet into an indoor swimming pool, and running my hand through a bubbling Jacuzzi. Finally, I decided to focus and go to the kitchen to see how lunch was progressing.
The chef’s name was Abagail Noland. She was a beautiful silver-haired woman in her early seventies and a retired Michelin-star chef who only cooked for the Rancho Mirage residence whenever any of the Blackstones visited the estate. I was excited to eat her food, and she had planned an impressive southwestern-themed lunch menu. She allowed me to taste all of her dishes. I was on my fourth, or maybe fifth, food item. I could feel my stomach gurgling, but I couldn’t stop myself from swallowing the sweet corn and black olives with persimmon puree. Then the doorbell rang.
“My God,” I said breathlessly as I grasped the edge of the counter. “I don’t know if it tastes like the best thing I ever put in my mouth because I’m pregnant or because it just is.”
Abagail maintained her confident smirk. “It definitely is the best thing you’ve ever eaten, sweetheart.”
I felt my eyes grow wide as her assurance made my mouth water even more. The Blackstones only hired the best chefs, and I had learned the cockier ones made the most delicious food.
Finally, I tore myself away from my tasting extravaganza and walked briskly toward the sound of Spencer and two other men’s voices. I was moving so fast that I had to stop for a moment to clutch my stomach and let the nausea pass. I had eaten too much rich food.
“I’m sure my wife will join us at the table. How about we go sit and get right to it?” Spencer asked.
“Sure thing,” Michael said.
Another wave of queasiness hit me, and I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths.
I could hear their footsteps approaching.
“There she is,” Spencer said, sounding happy to see me.
I pulled my smile to the extreme as I threw a hand over my mouth.
“Babe?” Spencer sounded concerned.
“I’m…” Then my gag reflex kicked in, and I threw up Abagail’s delicious food all over the floor.
Nineteen
JADA FORTE BLACKSTONE
As I’d predicted, the closets were already stocked with beautiful and expensive clothes. I had thought it strange the first time I’d noticed that at the Blackstones’ Scottsdale estate. I’d thought for sure I was wearing some of the brothers’ hussy girlfriends’ clothes. I came to learn that when the Blackstones meant fully furnished, they took into account dinner-wear, beach-wear, golf-wear, and basically wear for every occasion.
I sighed gravely, wanting to kick myself for not eating responsibly earlier. The dress I’d worn into town was perfect for our meeting. A more patriotic dress in the closet didn’t exist. I was forced to change into an A-line cotton sundress with bold pink and yellow flowers. The dress showed off my shoulders and only a hint of cleavage, which made it subtly sexy but respectable.
When I arrived at the table, Spencer, Michael—who was also wearing gray pants and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows—and another man I recognized as Roger Holt, Michael’s campaign manager, were engaged in conversation. All three men stood as soon as they noticed I’d entered the room.
I’d already made a bad first impression. My throw-up had narrowly missed Mr. Black’s shoes.
Spencer reintroduced me as his wife and partner, and I held out a strong arm, shaking Michael Black’s hand intently. “Sorry for earlier, Mr. Dunn. I’m pregnant.”
“No need to apologize,” he said. “And congratulations on your first child.”
I bowed graciously. “Thank you.” Next I shook the campaign advisor’s hand. “And I’m glad you could make it, Mr. Holt.” I needed him to know that I knew his name.
Roger Holt nodded. “Mrs. Blackstone, it’s an honor to meet you.”
We all sat, and instead of the world-class lunch, I was served a bone broth with homemade noodles.
“So, Jada,” Spencer said with a rapid nod. He never referred to me as babe while conducting business with others in the room. “Just to get you up to speed, Mike”—he emphasized the name to clue me in that they were on a first-name basis—“and Roger are interested in hearing more about how we would like to support Mike’s campaign and eventual victory.”
“And I asked, ‘Why me?’” Michael Dunn said.
Spencer pointed at me. “I told him that you’re the one who said he was a candidate I could stand behind. Then we started talking about his military service, why he joined, and what made him want to be an advocate for service members. But we also have a shared goal—relieving your mother of her Senate seat once and for all.”
Reason number five hundred thirty-six of why I loved my husband so much—he had a way of making sure everyone in the room knew that he valued my opinion and my presence, which I respected and appreciated.
“Thank you, Spencer,” I said, feeling my entire face beam but hoping I was still able to maintain a professional demeanor.
Roger dropped his elbow on the table and pinched his chin. “But let’s address the elephant in the room. Spence, you’re Mike’s opponent. Are you planning on dropping out of the race?”
“At some point, yes,” Spencer said.
Michael Dunn shook his head adamantly. “I don’t play that kind of politics, Mr. Blackstone.”
Roger raised a hand, signaling Michael to let him handle it. “Your wife is Patricia Forte’s daughter. How do I know you’re not trying to use my candidate to win an edge over the competition? I saw your interview on New Day.” Roger fastened his folded arms across his chest. “You didn’t sound like a man who was ready to drop out of the race.”
Spencer glanced at me, and I saw that he was taking the floor. “I know. But I am dropping out. However, I’m playing politics right now, but when I drop out, my game’s over. I want you to win. You can get up, leave, and expose what I just shared with you, but if you do that, you will lose.”
Michael and Roger looked at each other. Roger nodded, and Michael told us that early in the race, they had been gaining steam, targeting my mom’s most favorable districts, until a flash drive with a note addressed to him mysteriously appeared on his desk at campaign headquarters.
“It said, ‘Stay out of places that don’t belong to you,’ and listed all the districts I had campaigned in. The flash drive was a video of guys who served with me accusing me of war crimes I never committed. Later, I got a phone call from a guy that said, ‘It doesn’t have to be true,’ and then he hung up.”
At least I now knew why they jumped at the chance to meet with us. They were looking for help to remove a barrier, which was my mom’s campaign.
Spencer sat up straight, which was something he did to relieve the rage. Then he calmly leaned forward, setting his laser focus on the two men seated across from us. “I’ll handle the video, and I’m already handling Patricia Forte’s campaign manager, Ron Wesley.”
Roger eyed Spencer suspiciously then sat back in his seat, arms folded. “What favor do you want in exchange?”
Spencer snorted. “I already told you what we have in common. I hate politicians, and my wife can attest to that. The longer I stay in this race, the more I don’t want to be one. I want to throw my support behind you. I won’t pressure you to push any agenda for me. The only one I have is kicking Patricia Forte out of the Senate. I like what you stand for, and I like you—that’s it.”
I was ready to jump my husband’s bones. He was so sexy when he asserted himself. My head felt floaty as I watched him work. The good news was that it seemed neither Michael nor Roger noticed my reaction to Spencer.
“And you really are dropping out?” Michael asked.
Spencer turned to me. It was my turn to do my part. I inhaled and exhaled swiftly. “Um, yes. Again, at the right time, when we’re sure Spencer’s supporters will do exactly what he wants, then yes.”
Roger shook his head adamantly. “That sounds like a surefire way to fail.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Dunn, it isn’t,” I said.
“Call me Mike,” he said.
I smiled graciously. “Mike, our plan is more apt to work than fail, but we have to be swift, take our competitors by surprise, get the bump and not lose it.”
“And how do you plan on not losing it?” Roger asked. He looked as if he were chomping on my every word. That was a good sign.
“You’ve been a very good campaign manager, Mr. Holt, but we’re going to get you some assistance, someone who knows how to keep my mother honest.” I shook my head fervently. “It’s the only way you’re going to win. It’s not about if you have to get your hands dirty—it’s about how dirty you have to get them.”
“Call me Roger, Mrs. Blackstone,” he said.
“And I’m Jada.”
“Since we’re now all on a first-name basis, I want to hear more about this plan,” Roger said.
I nodded briskly. “Well, we only have three days, perhaps four, to get as much press as we can with Spencer and Mike together, pitching you as two people who are close friends and share mutual respect. We want people to know that a vote for one is a vote for the other.”
Roger was shaking his finger. “I like that. But Spencer has to go out for a reason.”
“Yes.” I nodded. Then I turned to Spencer. “He and I will make the announcement that we are heading the foundation together, which ties in with Spencer’s New Day America interview.”
“People will know that the foundation is my and my wife’s priority. We’ll start making sure that happens come Monday morning,” Spencer said.
“We’ll be regarded as a duo, the power-couple image people like to eat up,” I said probably more sarcastically than I would have liked.
Michael smirked. “You don’t buy into the idea of power couples?”
I controlled my desire to snort cynically and maintained a professional composure. My parents were considered a power couple until their divorce tour at the end of last year. “I say any two people who can make a relationship work with mutual respect are power couples. But, that’s just me.” I turned to Spencer. “So, in summation, the reason you’ll have to drop out will be to focus on our next big step, which means concentrating on our foundation efforts. You’ll be able to do more for those you care about through philanthropic endeavors, and you’ll leave the politics up to”—I pointed at Michael—“the guy who’s battle-tested and knows how to fight for what he believes in.”
Spencer’s eyes showed a subtle flash of lust. Oh yeah, we would be making love as soon as our meeting ended and our agenda was officially reset. Then he cleared his throat. “I like it very much.”
“I like how the two of you work together,” Michael said. “It’ll be an honor to have your support.”
“Then we’re all in it together?” I asked.
Roger held up his glass of water with lemon. Spencer never served alcohol during business meetings. “I’m in.”
Spencer and Michael held up their drinks as well.
“No delays,” Spencer said.
I joined the toast with my cup of ginger-and-lemon tea. “Let’s get to it.”
We decided to stay in the desert for the rest of the weekend and procure some shots of the Blacks and Blackstones enjoying each other’s company like old friends should. Earlier, I’d called my sister-in-law Holly, who was now a VP of news programming at BCN, and enlisted her help.
“Done,” she said. “Be friendly toward each other, and you won’t even see the camera clicking.”
Spencer and I came up with a schedule of activities, starting with dinner at a popular restaurant in Pioneertown called Pappy and Harriet’s. Spencer and I arrived early. I was worried about the low lighting, so I called Holly, and she said not to worry. Her photographers were the best.
