Dirty Work (15 page)

“Tom,” I say, running to catch up with him, “I realized you’re exactly right about those changes to my stump speech. Can I run through the new version with you on the way to our next stop?”

“About time,” he mutters.

We’re walking out the front doors of the school when I turn to look at the bathroom door we came out of. Jude walks out, his head down. I exhale with relief.

It’s only a matter of time before we get caught. Lexi will keep my secret, but the next person to bust us might not be so loyal. We should stop this madness until after the election.

But I can’t. Jude means too much to me. I’ll have to keep risking my career for these stolen moments which aren’t nearly enough, but for now, are all we have.

C
ampaigning is lonely
.

It’s hard to imagine that’s reality when you’re surrounded by thousands of people every day. But even in the biggest crowds, there’s emptiness.

Seeing Reagan yesterday stirred up so many feelings. I couldn’t let her walk out of the high school without getting her alone. It had been too long since I’d seen her, and since Tom entered the picture, there’s been distance between us.

He watched her like a hawk as she sat by my side. Carl always keeps his eyes on me, but not with the same intensity. Tom wasn’t staring at her out of duty, but with want in his mind. It’s the same look I have when I’m with her.

Sitting in my bunk and staring at the ceiling, I can’t get the image of Reagan and Tom together out of my mind. They have a past—no matter how sordid—and I wonder how much of what brought them together in the first place may be pulling them back together now.

Carl pulls back the curtain and sticks his face in my personal space. “Let’s go over the schedule for this week.”

I turn my head and glare at him. “I could’ve been sleeping,” I say before rolling out of the bunk.

He laughs while he spreads out papers across the table. “I knew you weren’t. There’s too much going on to nap.”

I slide into the booth, set my phone facedown, and glance out the windows, watching the rows upon rows of corn sweep by. “Maybe I’m exhausted.”

He ignores me and shoves a piece of paper in front of me, tapping his finger against it. “We have a debate in three days in Peoria,” he reminds me, like I could forget. “I think this will be the one that puts the nail in Ms. Preston’s coffin.”

I push the paper toward him. “I’m ready.”

“The appearance in the school went viral. You’re riding high right now in the polls, especially among young voters.”

“That’s always good to hear.” My phone beeps and I pick it up, glancing down at the screen.

Boo: You’re a celebrity.

“Something good?” Carl asks. I peer up at him over my phone, and he’s quirking an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Just a message from a constituent.”

He’s pacified and returns to his paperwork. “They can’t get enough of you.”

“Yep.” I unlock my phone to send her a quick reply.

Me: I’ve already been informed.

Boo: I think you almost need a fan club.

Me: Want to be the president?

Boo: I’m your biggest fan.

No matter what’s going on around me, and how crazy the chaos becomes, she gives me a reason to smile. I chuckle softly, forgetting all about Carl.

“Is there something going on I should know about?”

I switch my phone off and place it facedown again. “Nothing at all. Just checking out some of the social media posts.”

Carl slams his fist down on the table and grunts. “Goddamn it. Who’s in charge of the travel accommodations?” he yells toward the back of the bus.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stretching my arms across the back of the booth cushion.

“Someone’s getting fired over this shit.” The vein near his temple is protruding, and I can almost see it pulsate. “They booked us at Preston’s hotel again.”

It’s like the clouds have parted. I need to tell the travel assistant to keep up the good work. “It’s not a big deal.”

Jonathan, a newbie to the campaign, walks toward the front with his face hung in shame. “I did, sir. Is there a problem?”

“You booked us in the same hotel as the Preston campaign. Mr. Titan cannot work under these circumstances. You need to find us new rooms as soon as possible, or you’re fired.”

Jonathan peers at me, but he doesn’t lift his head. “Everything else is booked,” he says in a shaky voice.

“Cancel it, we’ll stay on the bus.”

“Jonathan,” I say and stare Carl down. “Leave the hotel rooms. It’s not the end of the world to be at the same hotel. We’ve done it before and survived. We can do it again. Keep up the good work.”

Jonathan’s head rises, and I can see the surprise on his face. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Thank you,” I tell him with a smile. “You’re doing a good job.”

He smiles before walking toward the back of the bus with his head held a little higher than before.

“He’s doing a shitty job, and you know it.” Carl is trying to contain his anger, rubbing his hands together on top of the table.

I wave him off. “It’s one night, Carl. I can use it to my advantage.”

He sighs, puffing out his cheeks. “How?”

“I can get into Preston’s head a little. Throw her off before we even get to the debate.”

He curls his lip and narrows his eyes. “You think you can get to her?”

“She’s easy to rattle. You saw her at the last debate. You said this one is critical. Why not use our location to our advantage?” I’m grasping at straws, because I want to be closer to Reagan. I know if Carl thinks I’m using it as part of my game plan, he’ll be all for it.

“It could work,” he says, brushing his graying hair off his forehead.

“It will work. Now tell me about the rest of the week.”

He rattles on about rallies and small, town hall meetings that he’s scheduled for the entire week. I nod my head every few seconds, pretending I’m listening as I type a message to Reagan.

Me: I hear we’re going to be roomies again.

She doesn’t reply right away, and I turn my attention to Instagram to find out what’s being said about me. But the first image I see is of her. She’s laughing about something and looks relaxed.

But the thing in the photo that catches my attention the most isn’t her beauty—it’s Tom. He’s behind her with that watchful eye, standing entirely too close.

Her message flashes at the top of my screen.

Boo: Peoria?

I close Instagram, but not before I save the photo of Reagan to my phone and send her a reply.

Me: Yeah. It could be fun.

Boo: Or a complete disaster.

Me: Y?

Boo: Tom’s always watching me.

Me: I noticed.

My hand grips the phone tighter, and I punch in another message.

Me: I’m sure Lexi can keep him busy for a few moments.

Boo: Let’s hope.

Me: I need to taste you.

I have to adjust myself after thinking about touching her again. She’s replaced my nightmares most nights, chasing them away with dreams of the future.

Boo: Me too… Gotta run. Chat later.

“Jude, are you listening to a thing I’m saying?”

I glance up to an annoyed Carl with his head cocked and arms crossed. I smile, tossing my phone to the seat. “My head’s in the game. Keep going. You have my full attention.”

He talks while I daydream of Reagan. Her naked. Her moans. Her tiny breaths as I taste her skin. She invades my thoughts with fantasies I plan to make realities in a few short days.

* * *

“
W
hat floor is
the Preston team staying on?” Carl asks the front desk manager at the ritziest hotel in Peoria.

She continues typing on her computer and doesn’t bother to look up. “I can’t answer that, sir.”

I’m barely able to stand still and keep my eyes on anything but the lobby of the hotel. Each dark-haired woman walking through the elegant hotel is Reagan until I see their faces. “Carl, it really doesn’t matter which floor we’re on. I just want a room to relax and prep for tomorrow.”

“We have very limited availability in the hotel this evening, and your room has already been assigned.” She glances up just as I turn. She smiles as her eyes roam over the part of my body that’s visible above the front desk. “But I can see about upgrading you to a suite, Mr. Titan.”

“That would be wonderful.” I lean forward and get a better view of her name tag. “Melinda.”

She blushes. “It would be an honor,” she says and starts to chew on her bottom lip.

I lean against the counter with my arms crossed and scan the room while she pounds away at the keyboard.

“Are there two bedrooms in the suite?”

Fuck. I didn’t think of that.
There’s no way I want Carl staying with me. I have one plan during my stay, and it’s to sneak away and spend time with Reagan.

“No,” she says quickly. “Your room is on the floor below Mr. Titan.”

Carl starts to mutter under his breath about bullshit and respect. I don’t bother to add my two cents, because he’s right where I want him—far enough away that I can have some privacy.

“Here are your keys.”

Carl nudges me and holds out my plastic keycard with the number 1011 on the paper holder. Just as I grab it from him, I see her. Walking through the revolving door with her hair blowing in the breeze is Reagan Preston, and standing in the door behind her is Tom Harbor.

She glances up from her phone and catches sight of me, but she doesn’t react besides a small smirk. Tom moves to walk beside her and grabs her arm, stopping her from coming any closer.

My body tenses and I take a step forward, but I stop when her eyes widen and lock with mine. The way he’s putting his hands on her makes my blood boil. Even if there’s something going on between them and I’m being played, he’s being too aggressive for my liking. Tom’s face is tight, and his lips are barely moving as he speaks to her.

“Can you please have our bags delivered?” Carl asks Melinda.

I turn to face them because it’s the only way I can stop myself from marching over and knocking Harbor on his ass. I can see the headline now: “Titan takes down The Barber,” and it would probably ruin my campaign because I’d be portrayed as a maniac.

I bend down and grab my bag. “I’ll get my own, thank you, Melinda.”

She smiles brightly and her cheeks pink. “You’re welcome, Mr. Titan.”

Carl walks away without so much as a thank-you and gets a glimpse of Reagan just as I start to follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder, catching me staring at her as I walk.

“It’s between them, Jude. Don’t get involved,” Carl tells me as if he can read my mind.

“Even if she’s the enemy, no one should touch a woman like that, Carl. No one.”

“It’s not our business. It’s probably a lover’s quarrel.” His last statement is almost a punch to the gut.

But it
is
my business. When it comes to Reagan, especially if someone is putting his hands on her, it becomes my business. I have this overwhelming need to claim her and mark her as mine.

* * *

I
t’s been
three hours since I checked in and still nothing from Reagan besides a text telling me that she was fine and would text me later.

I’ve already worked out, had something to eat, and am starting to wear a pattern into the tan Berber carpet of my suite. Carl excused himself for the night, heading to the bar across the street to meet with some local Republican bigwigs. I told him I wasn’t feeling up to it and needed to get my head in the game for tomorrow.

After what feels like my hundredth lap around the living room, I pull out my phone and type Reagan a message.

Me: Coast is clear.

Before the message sends, there’s a knock. I almost jog to the door and press my eye against the peephole. I see Reagan outside with a hoodie pulled down so low I can barely see her sunglasses-covered face.