“You’re going to find me some good dirt on my opponent. You’ve got forty-eight hours.”
“Who’s your opponent?” I ask with a sigh.
“A stuck-up little bitch named Madison Monroe.” He pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket to dab his sweaty forehead, his face burning red even though it’s probably not even fifty degrees in here.
“And what if I can’t find any dirt on her?” I question him.
“If she’s squeaky clean, then you’ve got forty-eight hours to figure out a way to strongly encourage her to drop out of the race.”
By “encourage” he obviously means he wants me to intimidate the woman or worse. “You really are scared of losing to some ‘little bitch’,” I remark with a smirk.
“She doesn’t have a chance in hell of beating me!” he exclaims, raising his voice loud enough that I’m sure even his officers heard. He glances over his shoulder at them and seems to regain his control on his temper. “But I prefer guarantees instead of leaving anything to chance.”
“You’re a real piece of shit,” I tell him honestly.
“And your brother is done if you don’t pull this off,” he warns before he starts to walk away. As he leaves, he calls out, “Conrad may have gotten the best of me once; but when he’s locked up, I’ll make sure he gets a daily dose of his own medicine.”
Shit. He’ll do it too — pay fuckers to beat on my brother every day while he’s behind bars. Hell, some would probably love to do it for free, of that I have no doubt.
I would do pretty much anything to keep Conrad out of prison and safe, but I don’t think I could ever willingly hurt a woman. Especially not for that fat fuck Bailey.
There has to be another way. I’m just not sure what that is yet.
Chapter Two
Madison Monroe
“Where are we on getting the permit for tomorrow?” I ask Lily, my campaign manager, as I walk up to her desk late in the afternoon. My campaign office is small, just a one-bathroom, two room space in a mostly deserted strip mall since it’s the off-season for the tourist city. The place wasn’t my first choice or even my second, but money is tight and it’s better than working out of my townhouse.
“Ah, sorry, Madison, but I’m still working on it. The city is being…difficult,” she says with a wince while pushing her straight, shoulder-length light brown hair behind both of her ears nervously.
“Why is the city being difficult? We sent in the application over a week ago, well within the three days required with the processing fee. They have to approve it.”
“Yes, but they still haven’t confirmed,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I need you to be more proactive here and less apologetic.”
“Right.” Getting to her feet, she drags her purse from one of the desk drawers and throws the straps over her shoulder. “I’ll go down there right now and refuse to let them leave for the night until I have the permit in my hand.”
“Great. Thank you,” I tell her before she rushes out the door.
Harlen and Vanessa both look up from their little desks with the same worried expression on their faces. Harlen, the tall, lean law student with already thinning bronze hair works part-time handling media concerns for the campaign while Vanessa, a middle-aged soccer mom of three, is my part-time money manager. She hasn’t had much work to do because it only takes five minutes a day to count the current state of the campaign funds. In her free time, she’s been helping me prepare mail fliers and other promotional materials.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them both.
“Not to be a downer, but only one media organization has confirmed they’ll be at the announcement tomorrow,” Harlen informs me.
“One?” I repeat in disbelief.
Cringing even lower in his seat, he adds, “And it’s a blog.”
“A blog? That’s the only media confirmed to attend my announcement that I’m running for mayor?”
“Sorry,” he says.
I close my eyes and rub my aching forehead, wondering for the hundredth time if I’m biting off more than I can chew. Maybe I should’ve started by running for city council, but I’ve never been very patient. When I see something I want, I just go for it and I get it through hard work and stubborn determination.
“Madison…” Vanessa starts, reminding me that there’s more bad news.
“How bad is the bank account?” I ask her, forcing my eyes to open and meet hers.
“If you don’t raise some funds soon, we’re not going to have enough for February’s rent.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “I’ll pay for it out of my pocket if I have to,” I assure her.
“It’s not that,” she starts.
“Yes?”
“If we don’t even have the campaign funds to keep the office open, then we don’t have any for television or print ads.”
“I know, and I’m going to try and organize some fundraisers just as soon as we get the official announcement out of the way.”
“Okay, sure,” she says, giving me the same supportive smile that I’m sure she gives her children when she thinks they’re being incredibly naïve.
Not that I would know firsthand. Growing up, my parents were both litigation lawyers who worked sixty or more hours a week. They were too busy to take time to smile at me or listen to whatever nonsense I had going on at my elite private school. Some kids in my situation may have acted out to get attention, but I knew better. If I had cost them precious time at the firms, then I’m certain they would’ve sent me away to boarding school. They made plenty of money but had no time for a life. Or at least they’ve never had time for me.
The most comfort anyone has ever given me in all my years came from a complete stranger. The night our house was robbed, when I was only seventeen, I was sitting in the police station alone, giving a statement to the detectives. One of them, Detective Andrews, made me a cup of coffee and put a blanket around my shoulders when I start shivering. It was incredibly decent of him, so much so that I nearly cried. But that was one other thing my parents wouldn’t have approved of me doing. Getting emotional doesn’t solve anything.
Still, having cold and absent parents didn’t stop me from following in their footsteps, getting my BA degree in political science before going to law school. Maybe I thought they would approve and finally acknowledge me as a peer once I graduated.
They didn’t.
What my law degree did do was make it clear that I was officially an adult and had no one to depend on but myself and the people I paid to help me. There were no friendships built while I studied. Those people were all my competition. They wanted me to fail so that they could succeed. My goal was to disappoint them and be better than they were in every class. That competitive edge is what got me hired right out of law school to be the assistant campaign manager for state senator Gloria Sanchez, who won her reelection several years ago. It’s also why I was one of the youngest assistant city managers in Charlotte for three years. Now, I’m almost thirty, and I think I’m ready to be in charge.