Page 10 of Overstaying His Welcome

It was always a performance, even when it was just us. It baffled me how the man had to be on at all times.

With my role, I understood needing to craft a perfect image. The political race I was in the midst of had shown me that every little detail of my life was fodder for the papers and the internet columnists. They all wanted a piece of the Sheppard name, whether it was good or bad. They needed it to print their sensational stories.

But in the privacy of my own home or behind locked doors where I knew things were safe, I wasn't the man I was in front of the cameras.

I couldn't be him.

He was a design crafted to make the people believe what they wanted so they’d vote for me.

The other me, the real me, was a down-to-earth guy who loved to laugh boisterously and had a good time being your average human on a weekend, watching TV and feasting on takeout.

I had never seen my parents eat takeout.

“I spoke to Marten today. He’s going to be stepping down to make way for the new advisor I'm bringing in.”

A plate was set in front of me, but I ignored it.

“You spoke with Marten about quitting? He's my assistant.”

He raised his hand as if to shoo me away. The server who was laying his plate down yelped and nearly dropped the tray before realizing the motion wasn't for him.

“Marten was good for his purpose, but he’s no longer necessary. We need a cohesive brand for this election to work, son. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.”

I shook my head.

Of course, he knew what he was talking about. He had been a senator for ages. The only reason he stepped down was because of his heart attack.

A heart attack that I sometimes felt guilty for wishing had taken him.

My life would be much more peaceful without his meddling.

“Who are we bringing in if Marten is out? He understands everything I need. He's been the best support.”

Mom coughed into her hand, then drank another sip of her wine before sitting it down. She broke and finally spoke up. “Marten is not who we want pictured beside you.”

I leaned back in my seat, my hunger gone.

“He's not? What's wrong with him? Is it because he's not a rich white man with an Ivy League degree?”

My parents shared a look telling me that, yes, it absolutely was that. Though they wouldn’t say that aloud with staff around.

I cursed softly under my breath. While I could overstep, I could go above Dad's head and keep Marten, it would be hard to deal with the backlash. He would just find something else to take away from me.

And I was really fucking tired of him interfering.

He hadn't messed with my personal life in a while. And I feared that's where he would hit next.

“Can't Marten become a personal assistant and this other person simply be my political advisor? Why does it have to be either/or?”

My mother hummed, which was as close as she would get to saying she was hearing my words. Now that she had said her part, my dad had lots to say.

“Why do you want to keep him? What is so special? He could be replaced a million times over. This new hire is going to be a wonderful advisor for you. I have it on good authority that he’s perfectly trained from well-bred stock.”

I held up my hand. “Wait a minute. Did you just say well-bred stock? He's not a horse, Father.”

I knew I struck a chord by calling him father. Not because he didn't like it, but because he knew I meant business when I used that term.

He straightened his tie, then took another bite of his soup. How the man could stand to eat with the discussion we were having was anyone's guess.

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