The Power and the Glory Read online

  That brought a smile to Brady’s face, but not for the reason she thought at first. He hooked a finger into her belt loop and pulled her toward him until their legs touched. “You are amazingly sexy when you toss around words like ‘favorables’ and ‘internal polls.’”

  Heat curled through her belly. She finished the job of loosening his tie and slid it out of his collar. She tried for a seductive purr. “Then just wait until you hear my analysis of demographic breakdowns across economic lines.”

  He gripped her hips and pulled her into full contact with the hard lines of his body. “That’s so hot,” he growled and kissed her until her knees went weak.

  Her mood was improving rapidly.

  Brady grinned when he released her. He tucked one hand in the back pocket of her jeans to hold her against him and reached for his beer with the other. “How was your day?”

  “Eh.” She shrugged and toyed with his shirt buttons.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She sighed. “I’m just grumbling. You hungry?”

  “Not hungry enough to change the subject.” He forced her chin up so she met his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Did she even want to get into it? Brady’s expectant stare implied she didn’t have much of a choice. “My parents finally got back to Port-au-Prince and Internet access. They emailed me today.”

  “I would think that was a good thing.”

  “It is. The water reclamation system they’ve been working on is finally functional and they’ve been reassigned to one of the free clinics in the city. They’re going to go on a supply delivery over the next few days, but sometime next week they’ll be back in the land of Internet access. They’ll be in contact a lot more.” She forced herself to smile as she said it.

  “And yet you still haven’t told me how that’s connected to your grumbling.”

  “Well, they were a little surprised to hear about my new job.”

  He chuckled. “I can understand that.”

  “No. You can’t,” she snapped. Brady looked at her, expecting more explanation and she regretted losing even that small grip on her temper. She took a deep breath. “My parents have a deep distrust of the U.S. government. They think corporate interests have corrupted the entire system and Congress is … Well, it’s …” There was no nice way to say this.

  Brady picked up on her hesitation. “Spit it out. I doubt there’s anything you could say that I haven’t heard. I’m not easily offended.”

  “Fine. In a nutshell, Congress is evil, politicians are beyond redemption and the whole damn system went off the rails a long time ago.” Her parents’ voices rang in her ears as she spoke. “The will and interest of the people is being ignored at best and intentionally thwarted at worst. They’re focused on humanitarian efforts now, but my parents have forty-plus years of railing against the government and its policies under their belts. And now …” She blew out her breath in defeat.

  Brady nodded. “Their daughter has crossed to the Dark Side.”

  “Not in so many words, but, yeah, that’s the general gist.”

  “Back up and tell me exactly what they said.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves like he intended to physically work the problem. It was rather sweet.

  Aspyn swirled the wine in her glass. Something about the movement calmed her thoughts a little. “Their communication access is sketchy. I last talked to them right about the time the whole Listen To Us circus was in full swing, and they were so proud. There I was, the face of something they’d been angry about for years.”

  “And you didn’t tell them when you joined the campaign.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see the sense in doing it immediately. I thought I’d wait and see how it worked out. But my parents are well-known in certain circles, and people in those circles rushed to contact my parents with the news of their progeny’s betrayal. Electronic communication might be iffy, but the grapevine seems to be in full working order.”

  “Do they see it as a betrayal?”

  “Well, right now they’re slightly confused. They want confirmation and explanations of what they’re hearing.”

  “So they’re not actually calling you some kind of traitor to the cause.”

  “No, there’s no condemnation. Yet, at least. They’re my parents and they love me regardless, but it’s not that simple.” That sick feeling Brady’s presence had helped hold at bay rolled through her stomach again. “They have every right to be horrified. I’m helping to promote an institution they see as systemically corrupt and morally wrong. I’m supposed to be fighting for change, not helping dig the trenches even deeper.”

  Brady’s eyebrows went up in shock. “Is that how you see what you’re doing?”

  “I still believe our government is … not always acting with the best interest of the people foremost in mind,” she hedged. This was Brady’s family—and him, by association—she was disparaging. He may have heard it all before, but she didn’t want to pile on. “But I also now understand a little better how it all works and how important it is to work within the system for change instead of just demanding that it change.”

  “That sounds perfectly rational. And smart.” Brady moved to stand in front of her and rubbed his hands over her arms in support. “You haven’t turned your back on your beliefs, Aspyn. You’re still working toward your goal—the same goal they instilled in you—only via a different route than assumed.”

  She’d told herself that, and it had even sounded good, too, until Mom’s email showed up, full of questions and worries of what she’d gotten involved in. “You know how I told you my parents were ‘true believers’? That’s an understatement. They’re so far out there, they make the fringe look moderate.”

  “But you are not your parents. You’re allowed to have your own beliefs and make your own decisions. You don’t have to follow the path they chose.”

  She was freaking out and needed someone to come along. Brady’s calm, rational approach caused her to snap. “Oh, you’re one to talk. You toe the party line and recite the talking points—same as your father and grandfather. And they expect you to assume the throne one day. Can you honestly say that your family would be fine with you suddenly switching political parties? Or if you decided to forego the family ‘business’ altogether and become an organic dairy farmer in Wisconsin? That’s what I’m talking about here.”

  Brady dropped his hands and his jaw tightened. Aspyn regretted the barb, and, thankfully, Brady didn’t take the bait. “My family would be disappointed, of course. But as long as I did it for reasons that were important to me, they’d understand. They wouldn’t disown me.”

  “Yes, but they would still feel betrayed. Or that they’d failed somehow. That’s the whole purpose of instilling your values in your children. You think they’re important values and it’s what you live your life by. Having your child reject that or betray it?” The throbbing behind her left eye grew stronger. “You might still love your child, but you’re going to have a hard time feeling proud of them.”

  Brady nodded slowly. “And that’s what you want. Your parents to be proud of you.”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “They will be proud of you. You’re working hard and …”

  “Turning my back on everything I was taught to believe.”

  “Focus, Aspyn. You still have a mission. A good one. It’s not like you’re burning down a rain forest or hunting baby seals.”

  “I really hate it when you patronize me, Brady Marshall.” She pushed off the counter and started to pace. “There’s more to object to than the act itself. It’s the beliefs that allow those things to happen that are the root of the problem. I’ll never be as dedicated as my parents. I’m too selfish and spoiled by hot running water and broadband Internet access to go to the extremes they did. I’ve accepted that and so have they. But working for your father’s campaign is supporting a status quo that they will see as just as harmful a
s allowing clear-cutting of a rain forest.”

  “No offense, but your parents sound like they lack perspective.”

  She stopped midpace. “Oh, please. No one sees the bigger picture like Lydia and Allen Breedlove. They could connect the shoes on your feet to destruction of wild tiger habitats without pausing for a breath. Never play Six Degrees of Eco-Socio-Political Separation with them. You will lose.”

  “Noted.” Brady hooked her belt again and pulled her back close. “Who or what are you actually mad at? Them? Me? Yourself? Tigers?”

  The touch of humor helped Aspyn reel herself back in. “You know, I just don’t know anymore. I’ve been trying to sort that out for hours now and all I’ve gotten is a headache.” She scrubbed a hand over her face and rubbed her temples. “I thought I’d justified everything to myself and was good with where I stood. But now I just don’t know. Maybe I am a sellout.”

  “You are not a sellout.” He put a finger under her chin, lifting it, and forced her to meet his eyes. “Your passion and beliefs are still as strong as ever. And I really think once you explain to your parents what you’re actually

  doing, they’ll see it that way as well.” Warmth moved through her, and the sick feeling abated in its wake. Then Brady cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at her. “And that’s not the party line, by the way.”

  She winced. “I’m sorry about that jab. Upholding the family legacy is an honorable thing—especially when you love it as much as you do. I’m just feeling a bit sensitive about it at the moment.” She laughed. “I’m sure you couldn’t tell that.”

  Brady handed her her wineglass and she took a grateful swallow, letting the smooth taste soothe her jagged nerves. “Once when I was frustrated, Granddad reminded me that even slow progress was forward progress. You’ve encouraged people to speak out directly to the ones who actually can make changes instead of just railing at the skies. The knowledge you’ve picked up can be shared with other organizations to help them work the system for change. That’s not selling out. That’s reality.”

  She laughed. “Actually that’s optimism.”

  “Perish the thought.” Brady smiled. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “Well, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good, because we can’t let word get out that I’m an optimistic, quiche-eating kind of guy who is now rather oddly worried about his wardrobe destroying tiger habitats. I’d lose all my street cred.”

  She snorted. “Are you trying to imply the Capitol Building is its own ’hood?”

  “Two powerful and rival groups fighting for dominance and control, cutthroat deals, the struggle to get on top and wield the power … The analogy doesn’t take a great leap of logic.”

  “No, just a huge ego and an overinflated sense—”

  He kissed her to stop her words. “Admit it, you’re starting to love it for exactly what it is. A challenge.”

  “No, that’s why you love it. I tolerate it because I have no choice but to accept how things work.”

  “Ah, Aspyn, you’re missing the best part then. It’s such a pity.” Brady’s body belied even the mock sympathy in his voice. His hands were back in her pockets, squeezing and caressing, and she could feel the direction his thoughts were headed as he grew hard against her. Her thigh muscles loosened in response. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Not at the moment.” She raised up on tiptoes and pressed herself fully against him.

  Brady made a humming sound low in his throat.

  Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Swing voters. Margin of error. Rallying the base.”

  With a laugh, Brady swept her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom.

  Later that night, snuggled under Brady’s duvet with his leg thrown over her, Aspyn couldn’t quiet the thoughts his offhand comment stirred up in her mind.

  Reputation—street cred—meant a hell of a lot. She knew that even before she got mixed up with the Marshalls. But Brady had nothing to fear; he radiated power like a thousand-watt lightbulb. Blinding. Unable to be ignored or dismissed. No one would ever mistake him for anything other than exactly what he was. And he knew it.

  She used to feel that way: secure in herself, honest in how she led her life, and perfectly willing to let the rest of the world deal with that however best they could.

  But something had shifted inside her now, and her skin didn’t fit quite right anymore. Had she been lured to the Dark Side? She had twinges of conscience that she might only be justifying her actions because the pleasures—all of them, but Brady mainly, she admitted—were too seductive and enjoyable to give up. Sleeping with the enemy seemed far too apt a description, especially since he was proving addictive on his own.

  Had her perspective shifted? Was she really seeing a bigger picture now, or was she only focusing on what she wanted to? Had she set herself up to be used and discarded by the system, destroying her reputation to the point no one would ever take her seriously again? And if so, would she have any chance of redemption in the eyes of those who saw her as a traitor?

  The ramifications were becoming clear just a little too late. Blind optimism was stupid and dangerous. She could try to think positively, but that couldn’t temper the knowledge that reality was cold and hard.

  So where did that leave her?

  Brady shifted, drawing her attention from the theoretical to the physical. Brady could have his pick of pretty much any woman in the metro area. There were plenty of women who would kill, cheat and lie to change places with her at this moment, but she was the one in Brady’s bed—however strangely it came to be. Brady seemed content with the arrangement, and she was settling in with an ease and comfort that disturbed her nearly as much as any long-term repercussions.

  They had no plans and no promises, but there were a lot of assumptions. And for the first time in her life, the assumptions didn’t bother her, but the lack of plans did. She was supposed to be a free spirit, someone who loved the moment for just what it was. Why did she suddenly have this urge to contemplate the future? No wonder she felt out of place in her own life; this didn’t feel like her life anymore.

  And the fact she didn’t hate that was too disturbing to contemplate.

  It would be bad luck—just asking for a jinx—to celebrate victory before the votes were even cast, but Brady privately, quietly, admitted they had this one in the bag. Taylor had run a long-shot campaign and given them a couple of shocking moments, but his numbers—which had never been too high to begin with—were completely in the toilet now.

  Taylor had found his moral high ground to be a little small to stand on once both of his very young mistresses joined him there. The catfight had been painful to watch, but when Mistress Number One brought out a child that looked much like Taylor, Mistress Number Two topped that with proof he’d been taking bribes to award no-bid contracts while in the state legislature. The ensuing debacle caused his campaign to implode and even the most vocal antiincumbent voices had come back to the Marshall camp. With only ten days until the election, there was simply no time to contain the damage and regroup.

  For all Douglas Marshall’s faults and failings, Brady knew his father didn’t have mistresses or corruption scandals waiting in the wings. There were many unpleasant words he could use to describe his father, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

  So at a time when most campaigns were in a last minute flurry of activity, Marshall HQ was remarkably calm. Aspyn had even taken the afternoon off, saying she needed to help Margo at the bookstore.

  Thanks to Taylor’s spectacular crash-and-burn, the schedule for this weekend had lightened up considerably, and he was looking forward to an enjoyable, normal Friday evening.

  Lauren sat across from him, finalizing plans for election night parties. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d set this whole thing up. The timing is too perfect.”

  “I’m not that good.”

  “You are, actually, and I must say, this has been one of the bes
t-run campaigns this season. Everyone says so, and as a member of your staff, I think it’s been almost flawless.”

  Lauren’s voice was casual, but she’d worked for him too long to get away with that blatant flattery. He sighed. “Yes, you will be getting a bonus.”

  She smiled. “Just checking. Senator Reynold’s chief of staff called me yesterday afternoon. He’d like to arrange a meeting. He’s looking for some new blood for his campaign.”

  “That’s going to be a mean one. He’ll be facing a primary challenge. It’s not undeserved, but it makes it even harder to gain momentum.” His brain immediately began to whirr, plotting and planning …

  “Should I schedule the meeting?” Lauren asked.

  Two weeks ago, he would have said yes. Now, though … “Not immediately. Tell him we’ll chat after the first of the year. I’m going to take a couple of weeks off after the election. There’s a nice warm beach somewhere with my name on it.”

  “I think that’s a great plan. Want me to call your travel agent? Get her to come up with some ideas?”

  “Sure. Just tell Sarah to pick a place where there are no elections going on.”

  In the blandest, coolest voice he’d ever heard from her, she added quietly, “And should I tell her to make the reservations for two?”

  He shot a look in Lauren’s direction, but she was feigning deep interest in catering orders. Somehow, though, he wasn’t surprised Lauren was wise to the facts of his extraoffice time with Aspyn.

  But reservations for two? The idea of a vacation had only occurred to him this morning, and he hadn’t explored the idea in any depth. But now that Lauren mentioned it, he had rather assumed … Taking Aspyn seemed the natural thing to do. The idea held appeal, too. More appeal than he expected.

  Election Day had always loomed large on the calendar; the time before it overcrowded and overscheduled, then nothing but emptiness beyond. He hadn’t had time to think beyond that date. He did now, and he felt guilty he hadn’t consciously thought about his relationship with Aspyn past that point in time, either.

  But then, Aspyn didn’t talk about anything past Election Day, either, so he had no idea where she stood on the issue. Aspen lived firmly in the moment, so it wasn’t something he could assume she’d even thought about.