Page 85 of Where There's Smoke

“How about you?” I asked. “You holding up?”

“What?” She gave a quiet laugh and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I raised my eyebrow.

“I’m fine, Anthony.” Simone tried to back up her comment with a smile, and my heart sank a little deeper. She was an Oscar-winning actress but still couldn’t make that smile look real. Her slender eyebrows climbed slowly, her eyes reflecting the unmistakable you’re-onto-me panic, and she shifted her gaze toward her bodyguard. Then, looking at me again, she cleared her throat. “Well. Anyway. I just wanted to see how Jesse is doing.” Before I could reply, she glanced at Dean and gestured toward the building. “Shall we?”

He nodded.

She looked at me and smiled. “I guess we’ll see you after the debate?”

Tapping my cigarette over the pavement, I forced a smile. “Of course.”

With one last fake smile, Simone turned to go. Dean walked just behind her and to her left, and as they stepped through the door, he put his hand on the small of her back.

I paused, cigarette partway to my mouth, and stared at the door as it swung shut. Over and over, I replayed the image in my mind. He was her bodyguard and it wasn’t like he’d grabbed her ass, but I couldn’t decide if that had been a platonic touch, maybe a protective gesture, or something else.

Shaking my head, I looked at the ground and took another drag. Every campaign had its drama, but this was turning into one convoluted circus of affairs, even if Jesse and Simone had each other’s blessings to fuck me or Dean or whoever else was on the roster. It was obviously stressing both of them out. Jesse was a guilty mess, and Simone had to be nearing a breaking point.

For that matter, they were under too much media scrutiny to take chances. They had to be careful.

And I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have been risking my career or Jesse’s campaign. My hips and lower back shouldn’t have ached from fucking him, and that dull tingle of satisfaction shouldn’t have lingered below my belt. If I had a brain in my goddamned head, I’d wait until this debate was over, then tell Jesse we had to stop this.

Just like I’d quit smoking before Election Day.

I dropped my exhausted cigarette and crushed it on the pavement, the subtle twisting motion igniting a vague twinge in my hip. I debated pulling out one more smoke just for good measure, but as other staffers meandered toward the door, I decided against staying out here longer than I absolutely had to. No sense risking any snafus with security or any other delays on my way back in.

The debate would be starting soon, so I went across the street to the venue and joined Ranya backstage. The room was quiet and mostly deserted, fortunately. I always preferred to watch things like this on the monitors ratherthan being out in the audience. Better sound, less crowded, fewer cameras that might accidentally point my direction at an inopportune moment.

Such as, say, when the mediator introduced Jesse.

Jesse stepped onto the stage, and the tinny applausealmostdrowned out my heartbeat as I watched him approach his podium. He was perfectly together, not a crease in his clothes or a hair out of place, but in my mind, he was still disheveled and breathless. Everyone in California saw the professional and confident Democratic candidate, not the man who’d almost cried while he begged for release less than an hour ago. He stood in front of them, ready to give them every reason to let him lead them, and not a soul knew that while they’d parked their cars outside and found their way into this auditorium, Jesse had been on his knees and at my mercy.

Ranya nudged me gently. “Breathe, Hunter.”

I exhaled, and it was only when she gave a soft laugh that I realized she’d probably expected a smart-ass retort. I glanced at her, and she smiled but didn’t say anything, so we both turned our attention back to the screen.

The debate kicked off, and after some back-and-forth between the two candidates, the mediator folded his hands on the podium and turned to Jesse. “Mr. Cameron, your platform rests heavily on new legislation that would offer more protection and legal recourse for victims of domestic abuse.”

Jesse nodded once. “Yes, that’s correct. The safeguards in place right now for abused family members are appalling.” At the mediator’s request, Jesse outlined in detail his plans to give law enforcement more clout to enforce restraining orders, give victims more safe havens, and give offenders longer sentences. The crowd—even some of Casey’s supporters, judging by the sound—approved.

As the people quieted, the mediator turned toward John. “Mr. Casey, your take on this?”

Casey shifted his weight. “Well, I certainly believe our people should be protected. What good is a government if it allows harm to come to the very people it’s elected to serve?” Applause rose, as did the corners of his mouth. When the crowd had quieted, he went on. “And I’m not discounting the need for protection and legal recourse. That said, we can’t ignore the fact that California is facing some of its worst economic, social, and environmental issues in decades. Decades, folks. This state’s problems must be prioritized, and I hasten to add they also need an experienced touch.” The faintest suggestion of Casey’s trademark sneer worked its way into his expression. “This isn’t amateur hour.”

The comment didn’t visibly faze Jesse at all. Controlled as I was, I’d have had to fight the urge to smack the son of a bitch across the face, but Jesse made it look easy to stand there and calmly wait for his turn for a rebuttal.

When that turn came, Jesse rested his hand on the right side of the podium as he so often did, cocking his hips just enough to add a relaxed-but-confident air to his posture. “I agree with Casey. California’s in worse shape than it’sbeen in my lifetime.” Perfectly timed, perfectly calculated pause. “Which tells me it’s time for some new faces to come in and try to fix that which has been neither prevented nor resolved by the experienced professionals.”

I grinned as the applause rose. Jesse kept the backhanded comments to a minimum as a rule, but damn if he didn’t know just when and how to deliver them. And if Casey’s scowl was any indication, the barb had found its mark.

The mediator gestured at Casey as the crowd quieted. “Mr. Casey?”

Casey cleared his throat. “Well, I can see Mr. Cameron’s point that those in office now haven’t done a satisfactory job, but if your mechanic screws up your car, you don’t take it to your dry cleaner and hope for better results.”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said with avaguelysmug head tilt and the ghost of a grin. “Some of the best mechanics I know work out of their own garages in between other day jobs.”

“Be that as it may, the state is in shambles,” Casey said. “I suggest we focus time and resources on resolving current problems rather than introducing new costly, time-consuming legislation. Let’s fix the brakes before we address the windshield wipers.”

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