Rumors continue to circulate about Grant Marsden’s political prospects. Is he the new hope for the future?
—American Gazette
Grant walked Ian toward the door. His gaggle of females was already outside, standing by their car. Grant couldn’t wait until he was alone; plastering a smile on his face was growing difficult. Ian stopped walking and started speaking again.
“I’d like to announce the engagement tomorrow,” Ian said. “Which one do you prefer?”
“That soon?” Grant asked.
“Of course,” Ian said. “Anyone who still remembers your old wife’s name or face will have the memory replaced with the image of my daughter. It’s important to wipe her away from the public’s mind.”
Saint Louis, Grant thought.
“What about her parents?” Grant asked. “What if they have any mementos or speak out?”
“Taken care of,” Ian said. “A team was sent to their home and all evidence of their daughter destroyed. They will look crazy if they step forward with no proof. One of my daughters must be worthy enough for you. Please, name your choice.”
Grant couldn’t have cared less. All four were properly trained and looked alike. He just said the first name that came to his mind.
“Tamara.”
“Splendid,” Ian said. “The wedding will be next month. Here.”
“I don’t want my home invaded again,” Grant said.
“Again?” Ian asked. His eyebrows rose.
“After the funeral,” Grant said. “I’m a private person.”
“Not if you want the title of grand commander,” Ian said.
Grant’s cheeks were starting to hurt from the fake smile. He did his best to keep it up and nodded his head.
“There will be television crews,” Ian said. “A scene of you formally paying me and signing over the paperwork.”
“The groom chooses his wedding,” Grant said.
“Not when he’s entering politics,” Ian said. “I thought you would be pleased.”
“I am,” Grant said.
“I’ll announce you as my successor,” Ian said. “You won’t officially take over for a few years, but the public will get used to your face. Do you need a coordinator?”
“No,” Grant said. “Brandon can handle everything.”
“Plan for two hundred guests,” Ian said. “Then whoever else you want to invite, of course.”
“How much is Tamara’s fee?” Grant asked. It didn’t matter; Grant could afford any woman, but he needed to ready the funds.
“It’s all for show,” Ian said. “She’s yours gratis. But make the check out for one million. It will never be deposited, but the amount will earn you some esteem from your peers.”
“Peers”—ha, Grant thought. There was no man or woman out there who was his equal. Grant had no peers. Ian smiled and shook Grant’s hand. Grant waved good-bye and closed the door. He let out a low growl. He couldn’t wait until this showboating was over with.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, surprised Rex hadn’t called yet. Grant wasn’t worried though; Rex never let anything lapse. Besides, Rex’s call wasn’t the one Grant was really waiting for.