Page 110 of The Rebel King

“Is it true?” one of them yells. “Is Lacy telling the truth?”

“Lacy?” Lennix asks, her mouth hanging open. “Oh, God.”

“Who is Lacy?” I ask Lennix, but a reporter answers.

“Lacy Reardon alleges that you and your campaign manager are having an affair, Mr. Cade. Is it true?”

CHAPTER 48

LENNIX

“This is bad, right?” I ask.

Back at campaign headquarters in New York, Kimba and I stare at the iPad on the conference-room table. It’s a charming photo of me standing beside a bare-chested Maxim, looking like we just rolled out of bed instead of stepped off a hybrid campaign bus.

“Don’t f*ck the candidate!”the headline of the article proclaims. The piece goes on to say Lacy Reardon, former campaign employee fired by Lennix Hunter for sexual misconduct, accuses Ms. Hunter of hypocrisy since she is indeed conducting a long-term affair with her client, presidential hopeful Maxim Cade.

“That one’s trending on Twitter,” Kimba offers, her voice quite calm for the anger I suspect boils under the surface. “Don’t fuck the candidate.”

“Kimba.”

“There’s a GIF, too. You rolling your eyes with one hand on your hip. I’m actually secondhand embarrassed for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And a meme. Almost forgot about the meme and the surveillance camera footage was ag-reattouch.”

Note to self: Never make an enemy of a tech genius who could mine the internet for footage of your lover coming in and out of your apartment.

And in. And out. And in. And out.

Theseveralgrainy surveillance photos of Maxim climbing into his SUV with security trailing him for sure made me seem like some little trollop he kept in a house and visited on a regular basis. Glenn confirmed my suspicions that he’d had something up his sleeve when he texted Kimba and me right after the story broke.

Glenn: Hey, ladies. Just wanted to let you know. That old buddy who had a spot for me on another campaign? It was Lacy. I’m writing speeches for Governor Dentley now. Glad we’re all still FRIENDS. ;-)

Apparently Lacy and Glenn became pal-ish on that project they worked on together before, and he went straight to her bearing tales about Maxim and me. His text message was just enough to taunt us but not enough to prove he’s Lacy’s source. Certainly not enough to sue his ass for breaking the NDA. For all intents and purposes, Lacy talked. Glenn didn’t.

“Oh, this might be the best headline yet.” Kimba turns the iPad so I can see. “Making it with the Kingmaker. I think that’s my fave.”

“I know. I messed up.”

“Messed up?” Kimba looks at me, disappointment and anger accumulating in her dark eyes. “Two of the candidates we had booked for midterm elections called this morning to say they’ve found consultants with ‘less drama’ and won’t be needing our services.”

I close my eyes and drop my head into my hands.

“Drama, Lennix. Do you know how long these people have been waiting for us to screw up? Two brown girls who think their shit doesn’t stink getting taken down a peg or two. Sothat’show they made it so far, so fast. That’s what they’re saying. Yougavethem that.”

“Kimba, come on,” Maxim says from the conference-room door. “I think we both feel bad enough as it is.”

“Oh,youfeel bad?” Kimba laughs harshly. “That’s not how itworks, Maxim. These headlines aren’t about you doing anything wrong or being suspect or not being great at what you do. Matter of fact, there are a lot of men patting you on the back for tapping that ass.”

“Do you think I’m going to let you talk about her like that?” he asks, his eyes turning to slits.

“I don’t have to talk about her.” Kimba stands and points to the iPad. “Everyone else is. Iloveher. I’ve worked with her the last ten years building something we believe in. Now it and she are being laughed at, are being denigrated because ofyou. So don’t come in here thinking you’re gonna setmestraight. I setyoustraight.”

She walks to the door and stops in front of him. “Also, Ms. Hunter is no longer available for your campaign. She’s being reassigned, but should you still want to retain the services of Hunter, Allen and Associates, meet me back here at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning so we can figure out how to salvage what’s left of your campaign. Excuse me.”

She pushes past him, through the door and out of the conference room. Her high heels echo down the hall to the reception area, followed by a definite slam of the front door.

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