Chapter Two #2
I pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh. “Fine. Do what you want.” Tiresome woman. She never listens, which sometimes benefits me in the long run, but still. I’m not used to people going against my requests.
“So…” Micah prompts.
“There’s no woman.”
“But you just said,” Paul, the assistant campaign manager, begins before I silence him with a glare.
“Paul, can you run this morning’s meeting without me and Hayden? I need to speak with her.”
“Yes.” He motions for everyone to take their seats at the long, sleek, wooden table. I walk out of the room but stop when I don’t hear anyone following me.
“Hayden,” I bark, dragging out her name like a reprimand.
“Coming,” she squeaks, and then the only sound is her heels clicking across the hardwood floor, echoing off the walls. When we are far enough away from the meeting room, I stop and turn to face her, but her body slams into mine. My arms automatically extend to steady her from falling.
“How many times am I going to have to catch you today?”
She stares at me, then her eyes flick down to my hands, which are grasping her surprisingly firm biceps. In fact, one look over tells me that Hayden is in fantastic shape, her body perfectly proportioned—something I hadn’t paid much attention to before. I like proportions.
What am I thinking?
I rip my hands away and cement them to my sides. I don’t need to be noticing my female campaign manager’s muscles—or body shape. That’s a lawsuit begging to happen.
“Sir, why did you tell that woman you’re seeing someone? You’ve been on three blind dates and have turned every woman down. Is there something you’re not telling me?” Hayden’s hands find their natural home on her hips as she continues on. “If you’re seeing someone, I need to…”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Stop calling me sir. I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Why did you say that? This has got to…”
The pitch of her voice continuously grows with each passing word, piercing profusely into my skin. Closing my eyes, I uncross one arm and lean my head into my hand, pressing my fingers to my right, aching temple. Tuning her out isn’t working, no matter how hard I try.
“…making me look bad…”
“Hayden. I said stop.” My voice is as sharp as a pin prick.
The silence is a welcome guest. I rub my temple one last time before opening my eyes. Her eyes—a rich shade of cocoa—sparkle like they're on the verge of dumping tears.
Why? Why do I always go one step too far and make her want to cry?
A deep sigh releases from my chest as I think over my next move and drop my arms to my sides once more. Hayden remains silent just as I asked.
No, ordered.
What’s the harm in one more command? “Follow me.”
The moment I begin walking away, I hear her heels in pursuit. She follows at a distance, probably to make sure she doesn’t wind up in my arms again.
Good. Personal space is imperative.
I journey through my home, weaving around corridors and taking a set of stairs.
Eventually, we arrive at the third floor sitting room, which is tucked away in a corner of the house.
It’s much different than the first floor sitting room where the interview was held.
That room screams old money, and it’s what everyone expects in a house like mine.
I strictly reserve this third-floor room for one-on-one conferences that I need to make sure remain out of earshot.
It’s also cozy and comfortable and doesn’t overwhelm the senses.
Plus, the shorter walls are lined with eras of knowledge accumulated in the form of the written word.
A room more preferential to my tastes.
After opening the door and breathing in the smell of old books, I sweep my arm to motion for Hayden to enter first. Her brows knit and a crinkle forms just above the bridge of her nose.
“After you,” she says, dropping her head.
I don’t have time for this.
Her heels follow me into the little nook.
Taking a seat in one of the dark brown velvet armchairs, I motion for Hayden to do the same. She sits, smoothing her black skirt and tucking her legs off to the side. I catch a glimpse of white gauze on her hand as she reaches for a stray curl in her face.
“What happened this time?” I ask with a huff of annoyance. Is it too much to ask that my campaign manager remains whole and unbroken for the duration of this campaign?
Her face twists in confusion before her dark brown eyes bug out at the sight of her hand. She yanks the injured hand down to her lap, covering it with her other hand.
“A little scrape from cleaning up glass earlier, that’s all. No biggie.”
I briefly recall something shattering during the interview. “Who dropped the glass? Why couldn’t one of the housekeepers clean it up?”
Her tawny cheeks flush as she looks down at her hands. “I dropped the cup I was holding when you mentioned a girlfriend.” She meets my gaze. “So, I guess it was technically your fault for lying to that interviewer. I mean, we haven’t even discussed—“
“That’s why I brought you here. Please, fix this.”
She stares at me, mouth agape. A beat later, she erupts with laughter, jabbing her finger to her chest. “Me? Fix your lie?” She laughs more, and I grow on-edge with every cackle.
“Yes, you. You were already supposed to have someone lined up like I requested last month.”
Hayden makes a sound somewhere between a snort and huff. Then she adopts a horrid impression of what I’m assuming to be my voice. “She’s too tall. She’s too short. She’s cretinous. She’s tiresome.”
I glare at her. Hayden resumes in her normal voice, “Look, Mr. Marshall. With all due respect, you’re too picky.
I could go on and on listing reasons you’ve given me regarding the unsatisfactory qualities of some pretty amazing women.
Any of them would make a fine wife and first lady.
I can’t do my job appropriately, which is to manage your campaign, because you have me on this hopeless task of finding a woman who meets your standards.
Yes, I’m your campaign manager, but I am not your press secretary. I’m not here to fix your image.”
“Miss Bennett.” I tap my fingers on the arm rest, one by one, thinking through my next words. “The women you have set me up with are…chasers. They all chase money, titles, and social status.”
“But—”
I hold one finger up. How do I explain to her, someone who is not concerned with chasing money and fame, that I need a woman who is just that—not a chaser?
“I need a wife I can fully trust. A woman who not only understands my world, but can also be of assistance. I don’t need a trophy wife, and I do not need love.
I need trust, skill, and intelligence.” I pause, watching Hayden’s wheels turn.
“You have yet to deliver that woman to me. We are in a pickle, it seems.”
She narrows her eyes. “You got yourself into this mess, and there are a million other things I need to be doing to get you successfully elected to office. You need to get yourself out of this pickle jar. I’m the fork who keeps missing the mark, apparently.”
My head pounds with the beat of my heart. Hayden Bennett is as vexing as she is good at her job, which is the only reason she is still here. That, and I know Stella trained her. Stella Harper was a phenomenal human to have around.
“Two more weeks, Hayden. I’ll double your pay this month for the extra work and the previous time you’ve put into this.” I know she isn’t after money, but money can still talk.
Her narrowed eyes snap open, and she straightens. “Fine. I’ll scrounge the earth for a few more women. But that’s it. If you still haven’t chosen one by then, I can’t help anymore, Mr. Marshall.”
Finally.
I hold out my hand to shake hers before realizing the hand she would grab mine with is the cut one. Instead of switching, I nod, rise out of the chair, and take my leave. I need time away from the woman—and campaigning in general. Just a few minutes alone would be satisfying.
“Mr. Marshall, come quick. The Republican candidate said that you were…” Micah skids on his heels as he rounds the corner of the hallway.
A few minutes alone…