Page 112 of The Rebel King

“Let the record show you are doing this against my expert advice.”

“The record has been noted.” I kiss her on the cheek. “I’m doing it.”

“It may be disastrous for your campaign.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “But it may help Nix. Which do you think means more to me?”

Lennix is already out on the campaign trail with the new gubernatorial candidate she’s helping. She and I have spoken very little since yesterday, but she knows what I plan to do today. She, like Kimba, isn’t sure it’s the right move, but it’smymove. My instincts tell me this is how we get past this, get back on message, and how I get to openly be with the woman I love.

And maybe still get to be president. There’s a lot at risk, but I’ve gambled more than once with all my chips in.

“I’m sorry if I came across all hard yesterday,” Kimba says.

“Hey, it’s a tense time. We all say things we wish we could take back.”

“Oh, I don’t wish I could take any of it back,” she says, shakingher head and chuckling. “I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. I’m just sorry it was kind of harsh.”

“Oh. Well, as apologies go, I accept.”

The door opens, and Alice, the producer, pops her head in. “We’re ready for you, Mr. Cade.”

I nod, give my reflection one last check, and follow her.

“We’re joined tonight onBeltwayby the man everyone’s talking about,” Bryce Collins says. “Please welcome Maxim Cade.”

When the polite applause dies down, I can almost feel the crowd’s curiosity poking and probing at me.

“First, I’d like to offer my condolences for the loss of your brother, Senator Owen Cade,” Bryce says soberly and, from what I can ascertain, sincerely. “Truly a fine man. I was honored to have met him.”

“Thank you,” I say, bracing myself for the flurry of questions I know will follow the sympathy.

“A few weeks ago, you announced your candidacy for president. How’s that going?”

“Uh, up until a few days ago, swimmingly.”

The audience laughs, and I offer a self-deprecating smile.

“Right,” Bryce says, smiling, too. “Recent reports indicate there may have been some sexual misconduct between you and your campaign manager, Lennix Hunter. Is there any truth to that claim?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Okay, you’re not under oath here,” Bryce says wryly. “So you can’t perjure yourself or anything, but there is quite a bit of surveillance footage of you coming and going from Ms. Hunter’s apartment. Would you care to address that?”

“You asked if there was truth to the accusation of sexual misconduct. I unequivocally deny that there was any misconduct.”

“So Lennix Hunter is not your mistress?”

“My mistress?” I release a disbelieving laugh. “Is this Victorian England? Is Ms. Hunter being kept in a townhouse in Mayfair? That’s a very backward way of discussing a consensual relationship between two adults. Maybe I’m her mister.”

There are a few chuckles from the audience, and some women clap. I may have even detected one “amen.”

“So you admit there is a romantic relationship between you and Lennix Hunter.”

“Yes, there is.”

A gasp travels through the crowd, and the silence that follows hints they’re waiting for me to elaborate.

“Could you tell us how it started?” Bryce asks, his eyes gleaming with excitement for the illicit details. “Was it on the campaign trail?”

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