Page 74 of Going All the Way (Knights of Passion)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stacia weaved herway around tables and diners, following the hostess to her table. The quiet elegance of the restaurant contrasted with her inner desire to find a small pizza place and gorge herself on her favorite comfort food, but she owed it to Michael to hear him out. He was her boss and controlled her future. The recent newspaper articles and attempted scandal may have died down fairly quickly, but the damage was done. How bad the damage would be to her career remained unknown.

She rounded the last table and froze before entering the small alcove where Michael was sitting. He stood, a warning look on his face. It was the other person sitting there that commanded her attention. Her father unfolded the napkin on his lap and thanked the waiter for the drink. The one highball allowed for a business dinner. He followed Michael’s gaze and scowled at her.

She forced her legs to move, forced her lungs to breathe, and tried to force down the flight response, the panic clamoring at her to flee back to the safety of her condo. She was a Kendall. Kendalls never showed fear. Only this time, the thought failed her. She was afraid. Terrified of what she would do next.

She closed the small gap to the table and held out her hand to her boss, proud that it wasn’t shaking. “Michael. I thought it was just us.”

He held out the chair for her and sat after she did. “Your father asked to be part of this conversation.”

And you didn’t have the balls to say no, she mentally finished the sentence for him. Not that she ever did either. Only with Jason as support. She buried the stab of pain at his name and took a sip of the water. “Hello, Father. I’m sorry to disrupt your busy schedule for me.”

He frowned at her snippy tone. “I’ve been dealing with cleaning up your mess all week. You could at least show a little gratitude.”

She bared her teeth in a brittle facsimile of a smile. “Of course. Thank you so much for your assistance.”

His frown deepened. “I don’t appreciate your tone. I saved your job and reputation.”

“Do you now believe me about your favorite son, Glazier? That he’s the reason his campaign failed, not me?” She didn’t know why the question was so important to her, but she held her breath, waiting for his response.

“I don’t think…” Michael started to speak, a note of panic in his voice, but Senator Kendall waved a hand, gaze intent on her.

“That’s neither here nor there. What does it matter?”

“It matters to me.” Her tone made him pause, his brow furrowing in true confusion.

“Suffice it to say, he’s not the man I thought he was. I’ve withdrawn my endorsement. I doubt he has a chance of being elected. Ever. Are you happy now?”

She nodded, a shallow dig of her head. The victory was hollow, empty, meaningless. “Thank you.” She smoothed the napkin on her lap and signaled the waiter. “I’ll have unsweetened ice tea, please, and the Cobb salad.”

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. “Now, let’s get down to business. Your time with the Knights is over. You fulfilled the contract better than they expected. They’re raving about you.”

Her father muttered something under his breath and Stacia leaned closer to him. “Did you say something?”

He shook his head, then appeared to think better of it. “You did a good job with him. Even I believed the choirboy act.”

“It wasn’t an act. You and the rest of the media treated him abominably. Yes, maybe he wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t the villain you painted him to be.”

“His character was never the point. He put himself in a position to be judged that way. You of all people know how important appearances are.”

“Maybe I don’t care about appearances.”

Her father stared at her, his drink frozen halfway to his mouth. “What did you say?”

Realization dawned in her, the knowledge unfurling like a flower deep inside, thawing her. She smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like months. “I don’t care about appearances and I’m tired of whitewashing people, lying to the public about how wonderful a person is. I’m tired of feeling dirty, of the lies, of deceit. Just once, I want a job I can be proud of. Well, another job.”

The two men exchanged a glance, then Michael cleared his throat. “Politics is probably not the best job for you then, which fits in with our plans.”

“Your plans?” She glanced between the two men, feeling a slow burn of anger at the two men deciding her life for her. Again. She folded her hands, struggling to control her temper. “What about me? My plans?”

“Do you have any plans?” her father asked, in an arch tone. “I think you’ve thrown away your chances at politics anyway. I can only help you so far until you apologize.”

“No plans,” she admitted. “And I don’t believe I have anything to apologize for.”

“Then what does it matter, to hear our plans?” her father asked.

“I don’t like someone deciding my life for me. You’ve done enough of that.”

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