Page 163 of Catfish

Emmy: Wade hates the PR team.

Emmy: Shocker.

Me: Yeah, shocker.

Emmy: He hates the public. He’s just become so closed off.

Me: Why?

Emmy: His father and family used him a bunch, and he just went into his shell and never came out.

Me: I’m a little surprised. He doesn’t seem like someone who gets defeated easily.

Emmy: You don't know any of this, but I think he expected his father to be who he thought he was—a dad. But Wade's father is a douche.

Me: That sucks.

Emmy: It does. I can’t get him out of it.

Emmy: Another call in five—go order a pizza and put it on Wade’s tab. Xoxo.

I glance at the door to my hotel room with a new perspective on my boss.

Underneath the mask is a man who got hurt by the people he trusted the most and never fully recovered from it.

He’s human.

Which makes him more likable. More electable. More relatable. I just wonder if he has it within him to break through his camouflage so he can let his vulnerability seep through.

Americans want a good man standing at the head of the country that has the heart that matches everyone else's.

I believe Wade to be that man.

He’s the first politician I’ve ever believed in. His ambitions are my dreams that I want to come true. As someone who is always optimistic about the truth, he destroyed my lack of faith in politics.

Tossing my cell onto my bed, I tuck my legs underneath me and try to focus on the TV. Pizza sounds great.

Free pizza sounds even better.

But Wade Lockwood sounds best.

? Play Hard — David Guetta feat Akon & Neyo ?

“Why are you at my door at eleven at night?” The words betray my brain and just blurt from my mouth as Reagan stands in the hallway of our hotel.

It was more like I had to say them out loud to confirm she was actually standing in front of me and not in some weird daydream I was having.

I’d more bourbons than I should have to get through tonight’s dinner that the organizers had planned for us after the debate, and of course, I went to save face—per Emmy’s demands.

But positioned in front of me is a casual Reagan in ripped-up light blue jeans and a white shirt with black stripes.

And a hat in her hands.

“Hello to you too, Governor,” she replies with an innocent grin. “There’s that charm you won everyone over with today.”

I mentally shake myself out of my muddled thoughts and open the door wider, regaining my manners. “I’m sorry, come in.”

She cautiously steps inside, looking around the room that looks just like hers. More than likely studying to see if I was into some weird-ass shit like a blow-up doll or if I shoot up heroin on the bedside table as a side hobby.

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