Page 86 of Where There's Smoke

If I were Casey’s campaign manager, I’d have been ripping out my hair right then.Open mouth, insert foot, idiot.Even if it did give my candidate an edge, the comment still made me cringe.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head toward his opponent, but fortunately when he spoke, he kept his tone level. “I wouldn’t call domestic violence a defective windshield wiper. While there are certainly problems that must be addressed as soon as possible, and they will be, I can’t imagine looking a battered spouse or a beaten child in the eye and telling them they have to wait for long-overdue safety measures to—”

Roaring applause drowned him out.

When the crowd quieted once again, Casey said, “I’m certainly not in favor of keeping abuse victims in dangerous situations. Good heavens, no. But the fact remains, the state government’s plate is extremely full. We need to resolve these pressing issues before we can add any more straws to this camel’s back.”

“Then perhaps the state needs to get its priorities straight,” Jesse shot back. “Because if we can’t make it a priority to keep the people of California safe in their own homes, then something is very, very wrong in Sacramento.”

Casey shifted his weight, and I couldn’t help chuckling to myself. Nothing like seeing the new kid on the block get under the experienced professional’s skin. Especially when that new kid on the block wasmycandidate. And my lover.

The debate went on, with Jesse and Casey sparring over every issue currently facing California. I could see why Casey had so much support in spite of being a corporate bitch and general idiot. The man had charisma. He was charming. Admittedly he was good-looking, but—and I may have been biased—he looked like a shriveled toad compared to his opponent. Still, charisma carried him where shitty policies should have weakened him. An eloquent answer and well-timed smile brought applause even when it hadbeen mere minutes since his last foot-in-mouth moment. Either he really charmed the shit out of people, or the voters had the memory of a goldfish. I liked to give the public a little more credit than that, so I assumed it was that charisma.

Which was exactly why he’d met his match. Jesse had charisma in spades and lacked the used-car-salesman vibe. For all his ivory-tower-and-silver-spoon upbringing, Jesse was firmly grounded and genuinely gave a shit about the people, not just the corporations.

Still, no one was handing Jesse this election. Besides inexperience—something he’d brilliantly turned into a positive point—Jesse had one glaring disadvantage where Casey was concerned. Illegal immigration was a touchy issue, and with employment becoming a luxury for anyone, Californians were anything but keen on throwing down the welcome mat. When it came to this issue, Jesse was at best indecisive, at worst too lax.

Naturally Casey capitalized on that. “Illegal immigrants can find another way into the United States, because they won’t be crossing in through California.”

The crowd applauded. A few people whistled, and fists pumped in the air.

Jesse swallowed. So did I. Neither of us expected him to mop the floor with Casey on every issue—truth be told, I’d been just as afraid as Jesse that Casey would somehow best him—but any one weakness could be turned into the biggest issue of the election. Candidates had watched entire campaigns crumble beneath the weight of a badly executed answer or comment.

In the grand scheme of the debate and election, though, Jesse came out looking like the superior candidate. In my eyes, anyway. The public could go either way, especially if the media spun some of the sound bites around to make Casey look good or Jesse look bad. Raw and unedited, Jesse’s performance ran circles around Casey’s. I made a mental note to remind my staff to get an unedited video and transcript of the debate and make sure those went online ASAP.

Afterward, while Jesse shook hands with important and self-important supporters, I exhaled and shook the nervous tension out of my shoulders. I should have known Jesse had this, but debates always made both of us nervous. They were just way too easy to fuck up.

Someone clapped my shoulder, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.

“Hunter, I knew you could do it,” Roger said, oblivious to how much he’d startled me. “The polls are looking good, and I suspect they’ll look even better after this.”

I gave a tight smile. “Well, we’ll see. Just depends on how much creative editing the network does.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Ever the pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’d scare people if I suddenly turned optimistic,” I said with a dry laugh.

“You certainly would.”

And maybe I would have. People didn’t expect such things out of me, after all. But as I looked up at the screen and caught another glimpse of Jesse, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel that optimistic tug in my chest.

But I wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the election.

Chapter 18

Jesse

I’d been so woundup over that stupid debate, there was no better feeling than waking up and realizing it was fuckingover. No one, not even Anthony, could have understood just how much of a relief it was.

Of course that debate wouldn’t be the last, nor would it be the most nerve-racking part of this campaign, but it was one obstacle that I didn’t have to worry about anymore.

Lying in bed, staring up at the hotel ceiling with my fingers laced together behind my head, I indulged in one luxury I’d missed since this whole thing started: laziness. Simone was already up and gone, probably making use of the hotel’s gym facility, and I had nowhere to be for at least a couple of hours. No one demanding anything of me until I had to make myself presentable for…whatever the hell we were doing today. An interview, I guessed. Those always seemed to be on the agenda after any televised appearance.

Whatever. For now I wasn’t doing a damned thing. I didn’t even bother getting up for my morning swim. I fell asleep. Woke up. Fell asleep again. Glanced at the clock and didn’t even care.

Eventually, though, about the time the need for coffee had descended on me in the form of aching temples, my morning of sloth had to come to an end. I threw off the covers and sat up. For a moment, I just rubbed my head, mentally plotting the fastest and easiest route to the nearest caffeine supply. Cup of black coffee here in the room to tide me over, then downstairs, outside, across the street, and the worship of the espresso gods could begin.

A knock at the door drew a groan out of me. Great. I’d lazed around so long people were coming to find me before I could go get caffeinated.

---