As the party begins to die down, I’m sitting with my sister in law Francie and my nine-month-old nephew, Tommy Junior, who’s eying my breasts like they might hold dessert.
Suddenly a warm hand touches my shoulder, which sends an electric jolt to my core. “I need to go, princess.” The owner of the hand, Walker, nuzzles my neck and plants a kiss below my ear. “Can we have lunch this week?”
My mother overhears and answers for me. “She’d be delighted.”
Oh, I’d rather put a salad fork through his eye—or mine. To say I hate this man would be an understatement. There’s no way I’m going to share a meal with him. He’s already way too friendly.
I nod, but we both know he has no intention of meeting me for lunch. It’s all for my mother’s benefit.
“See you soon.” He winks at me and walks off.
My mother sits down. “That man has been crazy about you since you were in elementary school.”
Hmph. If she only knew. “Mamma, I know you think Walker and I belong together, but let’s be realistic.” I dig out my phone and Google him. “Look at the women he dates.” I show her picture after picture of socialites. “These women are waifs, with pedigrees and rich families. He needs that for his political aspirations, not his family’s housekeeper’s daughter and childhood friend.”
“Oh sweetheart, those women are all window dressing.” She pats my hand. “He loves you.”
“Not only does he not love me, but if we didn’t work together, he wouldn’t look at me twice. Mamma, I hate that man. He’s everything that’s wrong with our society.”
“Hate is just the opposite of love,” she says calmly. “And we all know opposites attract.”
Chapter 2
Walker
After pulling into the Olympic Club, I valet park my Porsche and stretch as I get out. It was a relatively short night, as I have an early-morning tee time with the man I’m hoping will grant me entrance into the next echelon of my destiny.
I wave to several other members I know as I walk to the clubhouse. This was a second home to me when I was growing up. My grandfather was a founding member and donated the land to the club. I try to play golf here most weekends during the summer. Now that it’s November, it can be a little wet and chilly; however, when the governor of California’s secretary calls and asks for a round of golf, who am I to say no?
Henry Darlington won’t come alone. He’ll bring his best friend and chief of staff, Linc Mitchell, and some other hanger-on of the moment. I’ll happily foot the bill if the rumors are real, and the governor is due to join the newly elected President of the United States’ cabinet in January. If so, he’s looking to appoint a fill-in for his job.
Everyone knows an incumbent is more likely to be reelected than a lesser-known, and I’ll have the three years left in his term to get to know voters. Being governor would also go a long way toward getting to my end goal at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
In the dressing room, I pull my golf bag out of my locker and try to psych myself up for today. The governor joins me.
I stand and extend my hand. “Governor Darlington.”
“Walker. So nice of you to join me. I’m hoping the sun breaks through a little later.”
“No guarantees since it’s November, but I think it’ll at least be dry.”
“A dry day is always good, and what a grand November it is.”
“Congratulations on your college roommate’s win,” I tell him. “Did you have any idea Bolden was presidential material back then? You did a lot to bring him over the finish line here in California.”
Darlington smiles. “He ran on a good platform. He was a great candidate—far superior to anyone else running.”
He was the better of the two candidates, I’d have to agree, particularly since I’m a member of his party, and if the governor is going to join his staff and appoint me to replace him, I’m more than thrilled.
We’re a large party of four golfers—today’s hanger on is someone from Linc’s staff—and six Secret Service agents. We tee off, and it becomes clear the governor doesn’t get out on the greens very often. I don’t keep score anyway. I learned to play on this course when I was eight years old and have played it a million times. I already know I’ll be plus four this round—not my best, but not my worst.
It’s the fifth hole before Darlington brings up why he’s asked for this meeting. “Walker, how long have you been the United States Attorney for the Northern District of California?”
“Three years, Governor.” I study the line for my putt and don’t look at him. I don’t want to appear too eager.
“And where do you see yourself next?” he asks.
I thought he was going to make me beg for the job. “Right where you’re sitting.”
He sinks a putt and tells his scorekeeper he shot one over par. I think it was two, but I’m not going to argue. He’s only keeping his score.
“Do you have an exploratory committee?”
I’m pretty sure he knows my answer. “I may have one unofficially,” I tell him. “The job is currently held by a friend, and I’d never want to look like I was pushing him out.”
He smiles. “What are they telling you?”
“My position on crime is strong. My office has strategically disemboweled multiple crime rings, and we put a stop to a nationwide child porn ring.”
“What are your negatives?”
“I’m single, never been married, and I don’t have any children.”
“Are you looking?”
I miss my putt. “For a wife?”
He nods.
His chief of staff, Linc, pulls a folder out of his bag and hands it to me. “You need to pick one.”
I open the folder, and inside are profiles on women: headshots, height, weight, sexual kinks, education backgrounds, passions. “Pick one? For what?”
Darlington claps me on the back. “Walker, you’re a fine man and a brilliant politician, but no one trusts a politician who isn’t a family man. You need to pick one of those ladies to marry. They’re all accomplished in their various fields, easy on the eyes, and loyal to the party. No one says she has to be your only interest, but we’ve included the women’s sexual preferences, and maybe you can enjoy that, too. I noticed one of the women is bisexual, and that could be some fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and my stomach turns.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “You mean you want me to propose and marry a woman I’ve never met?”
“Well, you can go out with them. Hell, you can go out with all of them. Give them a spin, if you know what I mean.” He laughs as if he’s told the funniest joke.
I’m beginning to understand.
“People will only take you seriously as a winner if you have someone beautiful on your arm,” Linc chimes in. “But you’ll have to get one of them pregnant pretty quick, whether you do it the regular way, or use medical help. You come from money, so a full-time nanny shouldn’t cramp your style. But you need a family.”