The Power and the Glory. Kimberly Lang
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“Of course. Please.” She stepped back and held the door open. As Brady moved past her, that scent that she remembered so well tickled her nose and she inhaled deeply.
He seemed relaxed and unconcerned, unlike the man she’d seen on TV the last couple of days. At the moment, he didn’t seem angry about the media firestorm raging around him, but why else would he be here? “I was a little confused to find a business at your address. I guess it’s convenient to live above where you work.”
“It is. And it’s cheap,” she added with a small laugh. “I’m sorry about the mess.” She skirted around him to grab an armful of clothes and books off the futon and tossed them into the closet. “I’ve been rather homebound.”
“Since I just fought my way through that crowd, I fully understand why you’re hiding up here.”
“I would think your arrival here would only stir them up more.”
“Oh, it did.” He didn’t elaborate, but his face showed his exasperation with the situation.
Yeesh. Did that mean she was about to get an earful?
“Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink? Juice? Water? Herbal tea?” Stop babbling. She just couldn’t get her head around the fact Brady was here. The only people more confused about his presence would be the reporters outside.
He looked completely out of place, sitting on her rickety futon in his impeccably tailored suit and conservative red power tie surrounded by colorful batik cushions. Slivers of sunshine peeking through the slats of the blinds refracted through the glass beads of her curtain and sent tiny rainbows dancing over his skin.
Brady declined her offers with a small shake of his head. He seemed completely relaxed, leaning back and balancing one ankle on his knee. “It’s a bit of a circus out there.”
His mild, conversational tone didn’t help her relax any as she perched on the opposite arm of the futon, as far away physically as she could be without sitting on the counter of her kitchenette. “Definitely. I mean, I’m glad people are trying to find their voices, and that the media is showing that search and desire, but I wish …”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “They’d do it somewhere else?”
“Exactly.” She sighed. “Is that terrible of me?”
“Not at all. You didn’t ask for the spotlight.”
“And I don’t want to be there. There are so many issues that deserve at least half the media attention I’m getting just because Kirby was an idiot. It’s amazing what passes for news.”
He chuckled, and the sound caught her off guard. “I told the senator you were a true believer.”
He had spoken to his father about her? Not just some random staffer, but the senator himself? Wow. But the humor in his voice put her on guard a little. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“No, not at all …” Brady trailed off, and she realized his attention had been caught by the photo on the side table.
“Those are my parents,” she supplied when he picked up the frame and stared at it, surprise on his face.
“Are they actually handcuffed to the White House fence?”
“Yes, they are. If you look over my dad’s shoulder, you can see the top of my head. He had me in a backpack.”
An eyebrow went up. “Baby’s First Protest?”
“My third, actually.”
Brady replaced the photo, shaking his head at it as he did. “So it runs in the family.”
“Oh, no. They handcuffed themselves to the fence intentionally.”
He shook his head. “I meant the activism.”
“That? Oh, yes. My parents have always been activists—antiwar, environmental issues, Civil Rights—all kinds of good causes. I don’t remember which protest that particular one was, but that time they made the papers with that photo.”
“You’re telling me they handcuffed themselves to the White House fence more than once?”
Brady’s shock was amusing, but she stifled the laugh. “Yeah. They really are what you’d call ‘true believers.’ They’ve made a difference.”
“What do they have to say about all of this?” He jerked his head toward the crowd outside.
“They were pleased to hear about it, but they don’t know how big and out of hand it’s gotten now.” At his look, she added, “Communication is sporadic at the moment. They’re in Haiti doing relief work.”
“They sound like good people.”
Pride filled her. “They are. The best, actually. I wish I had their dedication.”
“You don’t?”
No, to their everlasting shame. “My parents have devoted their lives to something much bigger than themselves. They want to make a difference, and that involves sacrifices. Surely you understand that better than most.”
A crease formed across Brady’s forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Your family is in politics. They’ve dedicated themselves to public service, to the greater good.” Brady seemed to find that amusing. “Even with all I know, I’m still an optimist at heart. That’s why I do what I do. I hope that’s also what draws people to politics—that need to try to make a difference.”
Brady paused at her words. “In theory, yes. In practice … Well, it varies.”
“Then that’s all the more reason for the people to find their voices and make themselves heard. I hope that’s what all this—” she waved her hands toward the window “—leads to. More communication—open dialogue and real listening—between the people and their elected officials.”
“And that segues nicely into why I’m here.”
Oh, yeah. She’d forgotten there had to be a purpose for his visit—a purpose she probably wasn’t going to like. Once again, she’d been sucked into conversation with Brady and forgotten to focus. That was a shame really—having to focus on a topic—because she found she really liked talking to him. She knew he found her to be odd and slightly amusing, but Brady was easy to talk to. Looking at him wasn’t bad, either, a little voice inside her piped up, but she quickly shushed it and braced herself. “Okay, I’m listening.”
The corner of Brady’s mouth quirked up. “Good. Because that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“Listen to you?”
“No. The public at large.”
She must have missed an important point somewhere. “I’m sorry, I’m not following you.”
“I’m here to offer you a job.”
Aspyn nearly fell off her perch in shock. Surely Brady was kidding. She studied his face and realized he was serious. Wow. “But I already have a job. More than one, in fact.”
“I hope you’ll consider taking a leave of absence from all of them and come to work for me.” He cleared his throat. “For the campaign, that is.”
Had Margo slipped some salvia into her coffee this morning? If this wasn’t a hallucination, then … Whoa. “I … um … I mean.” She stopped and cleared her throat. She still had a chance to salvage this situation—if she could manage to keep her wits and professionalism around her. “That’s very kind—and intriguing—but I don’t know anything about campaigns.”
“You don’t need to. That’s my job.” She started to interrupt, but he held up a hand. “And you seem very bright. I have no doubt you’ll catch on quickly.”
Why