That meeting had been a total waste of time.
Not that the executives of Rappahannock Pharmaceuticals knew it. Leighton had been so prepared, she could’ve given that presentation while completing the New York Times crossword and playing Double Dutch. She had no doubt they’d retain her firm and request her specifically for the account.
But while her mind had been able to provide information, it hadn’t been capable of accepting it, which meant her assistant would have to find a surreptitious way to get it later. All because she’d been mentally berating herself for her behavior the night before.
She’d ignored her own pep talk. She’d gone from refusing to succumb to this inconvenient attraction to eye-fucking Jonathan while her fiancé—his brother—stood nearby. Thank God Thomas hadn’t come out and seen them. It was bad enough Mr. Bridge had, but he’d been too much of a professional, and a gentleman, to comment on it. In the end, she’d decided to pass on the selection he’d brought. The one Thomas had liked was a bit much and the one Jonathan had . . .
Cursing herself and her Moran sensitivity—similar to gluten, only more disruptive—she slid on her sunglasses and exited the office building, one of the many housed in Tysons Corner, one of the largest business districts in Northern Virginia. She needed to keep her distance. She didn’t like the way he made her feel: flustered, hot and needy.
None of this was helped by the fact that the man was the walking, talking, breathing personification of sex. Everything about him teased her. Taunted her. Called to her. If she gave in, his essence would lift her off the ground and draw her to him, like an old-style Looney Tunes cartoon. It had been that compelling. And it had taken a massive amount of self-control to resist it.
His dark hair had grown a little longer and a little shaggier and the gleaming strands contained a wicked wave, giving him a disheveled I-will-fuck-you-long-hard-and-oh-so-well look. He’d worn a dark green t-shirt that had draped itself across his chest and broad shoulders like a possessive lover. A tattoo on his bicep had played peek-a-boo with her, guaranteeing her eternal curiosity, while jeans sat low on his hips and highlighted strong thighs and a bite-able ass.
She’d noticed his every movement—where he stood, what he was doing—and she could feel him watching her, his gaze leaving invisible love marks on her skin. She could barely look him in the eye, afraid that what she was feeling would show. Or even worse, that looking at him would intensify those feelings. Feelings that reminded her of her father’s deception. Feelings that she’d amputate and cauterize if she could, because the last thing she wanted was to be like her father.
Her need to escape Jonathan’s presence had been so great that she’d left her diamond cuff behind. She’d call Thomas later and ask him to retrieve it for her.
That was all the mental energy she planned to waste on Jonathan Moran. She needed to get back to DC.
Speaking of . . .
She shifted her Goyard St. Louis tote on her shoulder, pulled out her cell and placed a call to her office.
“How did it go?” her assistant asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Great. Rappahannock should be contacting us within the next few weeks.”
“That’s wonderful.” Nicole hesitated. “And Ramsey?”
That’s right. Leighton hadn’t been in the office this morning. “He’ll do it.”
Nicole blew out a breath. “Ramsey agreed to champion the bill through committee?”
Leighton pictured the incredulity on the stylish young woman’s face.
“I’m offended. You doubted my skills?”
“Will you fire me if I say, ‘a little’?”
Would she? This was Leighton’s third assistant in two years. Her co-workers would blame it on her exacting standards, but Leighton never asked her assistants to do anything she wouldn’t—or hadn’t—done herself.
“It’d take too long to train your replacement. But I might decide to revoke the additional two days off I authorized so you could go on your cruise next week.”
“I should’ve known better.” Nicole’s response was offered without equivocation. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Good, and I’m kidding.” This time. “I’m on my way back. I’ll be there in time for my appointment at two.”
“Did you grab lunch? You’re back to back all afternoon.”
“I will. Make sure all my notes are uploaded to my tablet and I need you to block off an hour for us to conference tomorrow morning.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“Ramsey brought up the safety issue.”
Nicole cleared her throat. “Is that a problem?”
“Absolutely. I took precautions to make sure it never got out.”
Which meant there was a leak in the office and she needed to find out who it was.
Over a year ago, her boss assigned her to the Concord Tires case. The company had improved on the current process used to self-inflate tires on commercial and military vehicles, finally making them viable for consumer vehicles. They’d realized the potential but lacked the access and know-how to make it happen.
That’s where Leighton came in. She’d urged, pushed and persuaded members of Congress until she’d amassed a cadre of support, including one to sponsor a bill that would make the external air valve, Concord’s new invention, a requirement for all automobiles that travel on interstate roadways.
Plainly speaking, every tire on every car to be sold in the US would be required to carry the Concord valve. Billions of dollars of profit were on the line.
“And if word got out you knew about the problem, did nothing and people got hurt—”
“I’d be subpoenaed to appear as a witness at the biggest congressional hearing since Jack Abramoff was investigated for defrauding his own clients.”
“That would be . . . unfortunate,” Nicole said.
Unfortunate? Understatement of the year.
“Concord will have time to fix the problem before the rollout begins. Until then we need to quash any whispers of danger that may arise.”
But discovering the mole and establishing a strategy for damage control would have to wait until another day.
“You got a call from District Life,” Nicole informed her.
District Life magazine was the premier guide to affluence, influence and sophistication in Washington. Their associate editor was a sorority sister who called on Leighton if she needed a quote from a Washington society insider or an identification of someone photographed for their “Gallery of Galas” section.
“Were they looking for a quote or an ID?”
“Neither. They’re doing a story on the merger and they’re considering a small profile on you.”
She pumped her fist and gained a wink from a passerby. “Fantastic.”
This could be great timing. And if they scheduled the interview soon, the article would come out just after the bill passed.
“They mentioned the possibility of the cover . . . if you could get your mother to pose with you.”
Resentment squeezed the air from her lungs and she let her hand drop to her side. Her first instinct: tell them to fuck off! But the publicity would only help to raise her profile. And the higher her profile, the better it was for work. She could interact civilly with her mother to achieve that outcome.
“She’s out of the country, but she should be back in a couple of months. She’s guest lecturing at Howard University for the second semester. See if that’s amenable for another article at a later date.”
“Have you told her yet?”
She knew what her assistant was asking. Nicole had a soft spot for Beverly Clarke and couldn’t understand Leighton’s remoteness. Not surprising since the Clarkes excelled at projecting the perfect image. “No.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“She’ll find out when she gets the Save the Date card. Same as everyone else.”
“Leighton.”
She gritted her teeth against Nicole’s censorious tone. It wasn’t any of her mother’s business. If she didn’t need to know the pertinent details about her parents’ personal lives, her mother didn’t need to know about hers.
“Anything else?”
“Kimberly Reed called.”
The wedding planner. “What did she say?”
“She offered two options. She could meet you next month or, if you didn’t mind, she could see you after hours, tomorrow night at her office.”
Next month? Unacceptable.
“Where’s her office?”
“On Eleventh and N Street.”
That was only two blocks from Sedici. Two birds, one stone.
“Call her back and tell her I’ll meet her at her office.”
“Will do. I’ll see you back here soon.”
Leighton disconnected the call and started to call Herb when a familiar profile several yards away caught her attention. Although Leighton couldn’t see the woman’s full face and people streamed between them on the busy street, she’d know that patrician nose, strong jaw and severely cut silver bob anywhere.
She hurried toward the older woman who’d taken on the role of her unofficial mentor when she’d first started on the Hill. When she was close enough that she could reach out and touch her shoulder, she said, “You promised me you’d quit after the last campaign!”
Andrea jumped then coughed and a plume of smoke wafted from between her lips. She turned, her expression warning a cutdown was coming, but a smile immediately smoothed out her features.
“Leighton! You scared the hell out of me!”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know . . .” The hand wielding the cancer stick twirled in the air. Andrea wrinkled her nose and dropped the lit cigarette, stomping it with her heel. “Need to cut out these filthy things.”
Like Leighton hadn’t heard that before.
“I stopped for a while,” Andrea said, blowing out a noisy breath, “but you know how it is when I get stressed.”
“Why are you stressed?”
Andrea shrugged. “Never mind. I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m doing well.”
“Clearly. I’ve heard talk about the tire bill you’ve been shopping around. Oh, and I understand congratulations are in order.”
Leighton shrugged. “Thanks. If we can get pull it together, we’re thinking of getting married in the spring.”
Andrea frowned. “Wait, you’re engaged?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Really? “Thomas Moran.” A thought occurred to her. “If you didn’t know about my engagement, why were you congratulating me?”
“I was talking about the list.”
Leighton froze. “The Top One Hundred Lobbyists?”
Every year, policymakers on the Hill curated a list of the city’s top lobbyists. It was a prestigious listing and hard to crack if you were under fifty. Year after year, most of the same names appeared. She’d never made public her desire to be on the list, but she’d wanted the recognition.
Badly.
“How did you find out? They aren’t releasing it until next month.”
But she already knew the answer to that. Andrea Ferris was an institution in DC politics. She knew everyone and everything that happened in their small, incestuous world.
“So, I made it?”
“You made it, doll.”
Leighton pulled Andrea into a hug, laughing as happiness spilled forth from her.
“It’s just an honor to be considered,” she finally said, with a small, knowing smile.
“Bullshit. You’ve wanted to be on that list ever since you started working as a lobbyist.”
“You’re right. I did.”
Andrea’s face withered into sober lines. “Now, about this engagement—”
“You don’t approve.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t,” Andrea said plainly. “He’s not the one for you.”
“That’s an interesting position to take considering you introduced us.”
“He’s the managing director for a large, distinguished investment firm. He was fine to date, especially when you wanted a suitable escort to events around the city. But long term?” Andrea shook her head. “He isn’t in your league. You need someone to challenge you, someone to arouse your passions—”
Unbidden, an image of Jonathan flashed in her mind. The way he’d stared at her mouth like it was a gourmet feast and he hadn’t eaten in a month. She lifted her chin. “The last thing I’ll ever consider when it comes to my future is passion.”
“I’ve seen you together. You don’t love him.”
She brushed that off. “In DC, people get married for lots of reasons.” Power. Access. Branding. “Love is way down on the list.”
“Don’t you want more for yourself? Do you want to wake up five years from now and realize you’ve made a mistake? That you settled out of disappointment, hurt and anger?” Andrea’s tone could just as easily been used to soothe a skittish mare.
Leighton adjusted her stance, shifting her weight onto her back leg and crossing her arms. “Marrying Thomas will give me exactly what I want.”
“Which is what?” Andrea narrowed her eyes. “I used to know.”
A way to build her own legacy. She no longer thought it enough just to be the daughter of Gene and Beverly Clarke. Though the world didn’t know it, the association, especially given what she now knew, sullied her soul.
“What are you doing over here?” Leighton asked, seeking to change the subject. “You’re a long way from Capitol Hill.”
Andrea looked away, running an unnecessary hand over her smooth hair. “I was having lunch with a friend.”
“Have you started dating again? Good for you.”
Andrea’s wife died two years ago from breast cancer. She still wore her wedding ring.
The door to the restaurant swung wide, surprising both women. A tall, middle-aged brunette stepped out.
“That must be an extremely long cigarette, Andrea.” The woman’s eyes widened when they landed on Leighton.
Oh. My. God.
Leighton was sure she mirrored the other woman’s expression.
“Governor Wittig, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is—”
“Leighton Clarke.” Wittig took her hand. “I know who you are. Andrea speaks of you constantly.”
“She does?”
“You have a fan in her.”
Leighton shot a look at Andrea. “The feeling is mutual.”
“I’ve met your parents. Good people. Your father was a brilliant man.”
Leighton didn’t even flinch. “Thank you.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Good. Traveling.”
“One of the perks of retiring from public office. I plan to take full advantage of it if I ever decide to follow suit.”
Leighton glanced at the signage above the restaurant. “I thought you were allergic to seafood, Andrea.”
Wittig answered for her. “We weren’t here for the cuisine.”
The two women shared a look.
It clicked then.
The smile that crossed the governor’s face confirmed when she knew that Leighton had figured it out. “It’s off the beaten path, and at this point, secrecy is of the utmost importance.”
“I understand.”
Wittig turned to Andrea. “Are you considering her for the team?”
“Possibly.” Andrea winked at Leighton. “I’ll try to convince her.”
Wittig nodded. “That’s good. With the people you know and the connections you have, you’d be an asset.” She clapped her hands together. “Make it happen, Andrea, then come back inside. I only have fifteen minutes before I have to leave. It was a pleasure to meet you, Leighton.”
Wittig re-entered the restaurant.
Excitement hummed in Leighton’s body. “The rumors are true? She’s going to run?”
“Nothing’s been decided—”
“Oh, come on. How many times have I listened to your stories recounting the beginning of a campaign? And since you haven’t worked on a state race since your early days . . .”
“We’re talking. We have another year before she needs to declare anything. Right now, we’re just laying out a strategy.” Andrea reached into her fitted suit jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She shook one loose. “Are you interested?”
“In what?”
“Say something was happening—and I’m not saying it is. Would you be interested?”
There was a time when she would’ve jumped at the opportunity. But that was before she’d been able to see past the illusion of service and learned it was all about power.
“Thanks for the offer, but no.”
“Working on a national campaign is something you’ve always wanted to do.”
“Not anymore. Besides, as you mentioned, my career is flourishing, especially with this big client I’ve taken on.”
“Concord Tires.” Andrea shook her head. “You know that’s not going to end well, right?”
Leighton narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve managed to keep it hidden, but you have to be concerned about their safety, with the tires over-inflating and explod—”
“Do you have the entire city under surveillance?”
“Do you want to be called in front of a judicial committee?” Andrea fired back.
“No! And I won’t. By the time the rollout begins, Concord will have fixed the problem.”
“You hope.”
“I’m a lobbyist, not an engineer. If there are mechanical issues, they have nothing to do with me.”
“This isn’t like you.”
“It’s not how I used to be. It’s who I am now.”
“I know when you found out about your parents—”
Resentment thickened her throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I respected that for a while and maybe my leaving you alone with regards to Thomas and your parents, not saying my piece, did you more harm than good.”
Leighton’s blood simmered. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Have you talked to your mother?”
“Andrea, you want to stay my friend? Stay the fuck out of it!”
Andrea’s mouth dropped open. Raising both brows, she nodded and held her hands up, palms out. “Fine.” She lit her cigarette, inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke. “As for Wittig, you don’t have to make up your mind right now. Take some time. Think about it.”
“I don’t need to think about it. I’m not interested.” Leighton glanced at her watch. She’d have to call Herb now if she didn’t want to be late for her afternoon meetings. Who did she have to lobby to get another couple of hours added on to the day? “I’ve got to go.”
“We’re not done talking about Thomas and your engagement.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Doll, I love you like you’re my own daughter and I’m concerned about you. The engagement, Concord Tires . . . Are you sure you want to go down this path?”
The image of the intense look on Jonathan’s face when he slid the engagement ring on her finger flashed in her mind. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage. She smothered the image.
“My life is exactly how I want it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”