Page 59 of The Rebel King

“That’s right,” Millie says with a fist pump.

Owen rolls his eyes, but his mouth curls at the corners, and I easily read the pride and affection he has for his brother.

“Yet you and he don’t always see eye to eye on issues, do you?” Connor asks.

Maxim shrugs. “Growing up, O thought Batman was the coolest DC comic character, and I called Superman because…obviously. You mean stuff like that?”

The audience laughs, and Connor offers a good-natured grin but isn’t giving up.

“I mean on things like climate change and gun control,” Connor says. “He has a much more progressive stance on guns, and you have what some would call a radical position on climate change.”

“Wow, aren’t you supposed to softball it, asking about that special someone in my life or if I have any tattoos?”

“Do you have any tattoos?” Connor laughs.

“I do. One.”

“I bet the ladies out there want to know where it is.”

“Don’t leave the guys out.”

“What’s the tattoo? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, that’s actually better than your first question.”

Amusement ripples through the audience again, and Maxim looks out at them, winking like they’re in on the joke or sharing a secret.

“One tattoo,” he says. “The wordendurance, after my favorite expeditioner’s ship.”

“You have a favorite expeditioner?”

“Not as cool as you thought, huh?”

Connor waits for the audience laughter to die down, glances at the little card in his hand, and dives back in. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook with my first question, butisthere a special woman in your life?”

I tense in my seat, gripping my little mug within an inch of its porcelain life.

Maxim pulls his bottom lip between his teeth for a second and then grins. “When there is, you’ll be the first to know, Connor.”

My breath whooshes out, louder than I thought apparently because Glenn looks away from the screen to my face. “You okay?”

“Me?” I frown, likewhy are you even asking me this.“Of course. This hot chocolate’s just…hot.”

Thus the name hot chocolate.

“Well, now that we’ve addressed that,” Connor goes on, “back to my original question.”

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Maxim slides down in his chair an inch or so and folds well-defined arms across his chest, spreading his legs the slightest bit. It’s a move of subtle masculine power, flaunting his ease and comfort. He’s unthreatened.

“How do you reconcile the differences of opinion you have with your brother?”

“I think the better question is why do you want me to?” Maxim fires back, still smiling. “I’m like any other American voter. I look at the choices I’m given and decide whom I trust to make the world better. There will inevitably be some issues I wish my candidate wanted to do more about and some policies where we don’t exactly agree, but I believe he’s the best man for the job. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t vote for him, and that’s the truth. It would make family dinners awkward, but hey…”

“Speaking of family,” Connor goes on. “Your father did an interview recently, too.”

I sense tension in Maxim—the slightest narrowing around the corners of his eyes and tightening of his mouth. The casual observer wouldn’t notice, but I’m anything but casual when it comes to this man. Never have been. Owen probably recognizes it too, his smile fading as he waits for what’s next.

“He was asked who he saw as the most influential business mind of the last decade,” Connor says. “Do you know who he said?”

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