At Risk of Winning (The Max Masterson Series Book 1) (29 page)

“his GPS is still pinging, but I have him in hartford, Connecticut and I just saw him on TV talking to the president of Brazil, you know, about the rainforests? And . . . and they said—”

“Yeah, I know. he was in Brazil. You’re worthless!” he slammed the phone shut, wishing that he had a big, corded receiver to slam down for effect like in the good old days. he realized that the only way to follow Max Masterson was to really follow him, and he began the process of scheduling flights to any public appearance that he could find. That would be child’s play for any other candidate, but Max didn’t play by anyone else’s rules.

his phone rang again, and after the last call, he dreaded that this one would be more of a string of bad news. he decided to let it go to voicemail, preoccupied with combing his hair over his bald spot and spraying lacquer to keep it in place. When the phone beeped, he retrieved the message. “Greg, Masterson is sitting in the back row of the League of Women Voters speech. Where the hell are you?” The frantic voice of his assistant, Vivien, screeched from the speaker as huffington grabbed coat and tie and scrambled out the door.

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ChAPTER EIGhTY-SEVEN

Scarlett wasted no time in informing the public of her decision to run as an Independent. She had scheduled a speech before the League of Women Voters on her limo ride from the airport before the meeting with Miniver, and her surprise appearance successfully bumped both national party chairmen from the agenda. The League organizers were only too happy to substitute her speech for what was already shaping to be a dry primer on procedure in the wake of the death of Cunningham. Scarlett was determined that her message became the news of the day before Miniver had an opportunity to put his own spin on it.

On her way to the Washington hilton where the luncheon speech was to be held, she ordered the driver to erect the privacy screen so that she could change from her black mourning clothes to her favorite red dress with blue and white lapels. With her red pumps and matching red purse, she was almost ready to go by the time the black limo pulled up the circular driveway. Waiting inside were her staffers, makeup girl, and speechwriter, none of whom had a clue that she was no longer the party’s candidate for vice president. She kept that information to herself. They all chattered in seemingly oblivious abandon, none of them listening or caring if their words were heard. They were excited to see her and equally excited that she would soon be announcing her candidacy for president.

Scarlett took her speechwriter aside and spoke to her in a quiet whisper. her assistant began gesticulating in protest, raising her voice. Suddenly, she dashed toward the stage to perform last-minute changes to the teleprompter’s computer controls as Scarlett settled into the chair to groom in preparation. “I like being the woman in charge,” she said to nobody in particular.

Max’s information-gathering staff had received a quick phone call from an unidentified attendee of the Miniver/Conroy flare-up. he was only too pleased to report to Bill Staffman that Scarlett was no longer running as the party’s choice for president and that she and Miniver almost came to blows over her misplaced assumption that she would succeed Cunningham as the first seed in the race. As the informant went into great detail about the fiery exchange minutes before, Staffman was furiously passing the information to Max by e-mail. Before the message was complete, Max was sliding into the driver’s seat of the Jaguar and winding down the driveway toward the capitol, personally driving the senator’s favorite car for the first time since his death. By the time Scarlett had changed her clothes, put on her makeup, and choreographed her entrance, Max was securely situated in the back row of the conference room.

Under normal circumstances, the attention of the audience would have been focused on the front of the room, where two large screens displayed photographs of the speaker and promoted upcoming events. This day, they turned their chairs to face Max, who was failing miserably at remaining anonymous. They didn’t directly engage him

AT RISK OF WINNING

in conversation, but they stared openly and spoke to each other in low voices while Max smiled and tried to remain nonchalant. The mystery of his presence was compounded by the fact that he was apparently alone, with no staff and no security. If there were Secret Service agents assigned to the event, they were obviously focused on Scarlett’s security, not Max’s. The vacant chairs in the room were around Max, in curious violation of the time-honored tradition of surrounding political candidates with a cushion of adoring humanity at every public appearance.

The audience had one thought about his presence, “Why is he here?”
Scarlett was patiently reviewing her three-by-five card when her staffers burst into the room. “he’s here!” they announced in chorus.
“Who’s here? What are you talking about, why are you so excited? Miniver didn’t follow me here, did he?” she worried.
“No! Max Masterson! he’s sitting in the back row!” sputtered Angie Francis, her youngest event planner. Angie had assumed the duty of crowd control. She was charged with making sure that signs prominently displaying Scarlett’s name in red were in the hands of anyone who agreed to hold them up whenever the cameras were pointed in their direction. She hadn’t noticed Max’s discreet entrance until the rumbling of the audience began, but when she saw the cause of the commotion, she wasted no time in battling her way backstage to announce the surprising news.
“Well, I don’t suppose you asked him why he is here,” responded Scarlett to nobody in particular.
“Uh . . . no ma’am.”
“Well go out there right this instant and ask him, then get right back to me. I don’t want to be the last to know, ladies, and I expect you to give me a complete report before I walk out on that stage. I will not be upstaged by a political opponent at my own event.” Scarlett’s tone was stern, and her normally cordial demeanor was distorted by the events of the day. “Did you misunderstand me?”
“No ma’am,” they chirped in unison as they trailed backwards out the door.
When they reached the main room, Angie took control. “She means for me to do it. We can’t walk up to him like a pack of highschool girls. You two stay back, and if you see me signal, come and rescue me. how do I look?” Angie’s subordinates looked glum and wouldn’t answer. She was only a messenger, but they both silently wished that they could spend a moment alone with the handsome man, even if he was the competition.
Angie made her way across the room, weaving deftly between the tables of local dignitaries. As she approached, Max watched with interest as she tripped headlong over a purse that blocked her way, and recovered on the back of a large woman whose hat blocked the view of most of the audience behind her. She regained her dignity as she skidded to a stop directly in front of her target. She timidly held her hand to the side of her head and whispered into his ear.
“Mr. Masterson, I’m Angie Francis. I’m from Miss Conroy’s staff. She . . . She asked me to come over here and ask you what you are doing here . . . No, that didn’t sound right. She wants to know why you came to hear her speak . . . You are here to listen to her speech, aren’t you? Really, you have everyone curious.”
“Angie, it’s a pleasure to meet someone so graceful in maneuvering through that minefield,” he remarked, still appreciating her approach. “Tell Scarlett that Max Masterson would like ten minutes of her time,” he whispered back.

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ChAPTER EIGhTY-EIGhT

This is unprecedented. It wasn’t planned. I can’t just change my speech to suit Mr. Masterson. What is he trying to do, rattle me? I fully intend to take that stage and make my planned presentation and then I’ll deal with Max Masterson. how do I look?” Scarlett’s agenda had been scuttled from the moment Cunningham dropped dead, and she was uncomfortable dealing with constant change. That morning, she was the imputed candidate in her party’s quest to unseat an incumbent president, now she was swimming alone in shark-filled waters.

“Miss Conroy,” whined the staffers in unison. “Are you going to talk to him?”
Scarlett averted her gaze from the mirror for a moment, her annoyance apparent in her expression. “Please ask the moderator to make my introduction. I am going to make this speech. Now.” She stood, and made her way toward the door as her three assistants scrambled to make last-second preparations.
Already on stage, Martha Worthington, the chapter president, was warming up the crowd with a rousing introduction of their featured speaker. News of Max’s presence had been quickly relayed to her, and the audience was buzzing about it. She was uncertain whether to announce his presence, along with that of the local dignitaries who had graciously taken time to attend. Part of her believed it would be rude to have another presidential candidate in attendance and fail to acknowledge him, nonetheless she couldn’t help wondering why he was here. Candidates didn’t customarily crash their opponent’s speeches. Martha didn’t know what to do and was further confused by Scarlett’s premature appearance on stage. It all seemed so rushed and impromptu. Scarlett was walking to her prearranged position on the stage, forcing Martha to hurry her introduction. She abandoned her notes that she had spent the entire morning drafting and refining, and began her introduction. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Scarlett Conroy, candidate for president of the United States of America!”
The applause began, and Scarlett moved into the stage lights, pausing to pull her silver brush from her purse as she had so many times in her political career. As she began combing her red hair, the spotlight swung to the audience microphone, where questions were to be asked during the give-and-take session following prepared remarks. Max stood at the microphone. Scarlett’s expression betrayed her annoyance at being upstaged by her opponent.
Realizing that the microphone was dead, Max stepped back and, in a loud voice, announced, “Ladies, would you mind if I took ten minutes of Miss Conroy’s time? We’ll be right back.” Max walked up the steps toward Scarlett, who shook her head. The audience, knowing that they were being treated to an event that would end up on every news feed in the world by day’s end, murmured their consent if only to be part of the unplanned ex

AT RISK OF WINNING
citement. he took her arm as she protested, and escorted his opponent to a private anteroom.

The press assigned to the event quickly delivered the news by cell phone. Video coverage of the event was provided by the lone camera of the League, and anything newsworthy would be edited from the group feed, which would not be ready for broadcast until after the event. The delay launched them into panic mode, and they rushed to get the news to the newsroom.

“Max Masterson just showed up at a Conroy speech and dragged her offstage!”
“What is he doing there?”
“I don’t know. he said he would be back in ten minutes.”
“Where are they now?”
“In another room. Alone.”
“Get in there and find out what’s happening.”
“I don’t think we can. They asked to be alone.”
“They’re presidential candidates, for Chrissakes. They don’t have any right to be alone.”
Greg huffington, capitol correspondent for News Tonight, would have none of this. Masterson had thwarted him at every opportunity, and he would not sit still for another report that parroted the rest of the press corps. he was the lead dog, the one who got the news before his competition. he was in charge, and no third-rate politician was going to upstage him in front of his audience again. he made his way through the crowd toward the room, film technician in tow.
An elderly woman returning from a well-timed trip to the ladies’ room was slowly making her way back to her seat. Obviously not moving fast enough for him, he unceremoniously steered her into the lap of a large black woman, who loudly proclaimed her annoyance to everyone in the room. “Who does that white man think he is? I don’t deserve to be treated like this! Now look what you’ve done! My dessert is ruined!”
The elderly woman looked apologetic as she pulled her hand from the strawberry shortcake and stood up.
huffington continued barging forward, intent to get into that room. As he made his way to the stage and hurried across the lighted expanse toward the door, two Secret Service agents placed a welltimed tackle from behind and took him out at the knees.
The applause was deafening.

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ChAPTER EIGhTY-NINE

It took two minutes for Scarlett to stop protesting in her most authoritative and presidential voice that Max Masterson would never work in Washington again after this stunt, until she realized that her opponent had never worked in Washington before and that he was smiling.

“What are you smiling about? I hate you!”
“No you don’t. You love me.”
“I do not! I’m leaving this room right this second!”
“Before you leave, I need to ask you a question.”
“Max, you exasperate me. What could possibly be so important

that you have to drag me off the stage just before a speech?” her complexion was quickly matching her hair, and her normal composure was degenerating into a state of uncontrolled anger. Max paused, waiting for her to stop talking and calm down. he knew he had little time left before they broke the door down and rescued her from her opponent’s grasp. he sat down, releasing his grip, realizing that Scarlett wouldn’t bolt out of the room until she satisfied her curiosity. She collected herself, and he marveled at her ability to recover from the unexpected in so short a time. Finally she sat down, waiting.

“Will you be my running mate?”

Scarlett’s mouth fell open, and for the first time in her political career, she was at a loss for words.
Max continued. “Scarlett, I have known you since we were little. My father had a great deal of respect for your daddy, and whether you realize it or not, we have both been raised to—”
“Reared.”
“What?”
“You rear children. You raise livestock.”
“OK, reared then, dammit. Are you going to correct my diction, or are you going to let me finish before they break the door down and haul me off?” The sound of muffled voices was accompanied by an authoritative knock. Scarlett was oblivious.
“Why on earth would you want me?’
Max tried to continue, but the knocking became pounding. he got to the point.
“Scarlett, ever since we were kids, you have been good at all of the stuff I’m not good at, and I was better at the rest. I can’t think of anyone who would be better at balancing the ticket for the benefit of the American people. Now, if you are so inclined, would you be so kind as to inform those folks at the door that you are not being molested, as desirable as that sounds to me, and that you require a few more minutes alone?” Scarlett jumped up and hurried to the door, pulling it open so fast that a Secret Service agent lost his balance and stumbled into the room, followed by a surge composed of Scarlett’s staff, several reporters, and the collected leadership of the D.C. chapter of the League of Women Voters. They all looked crazed. Max sat with his hands folded in his lap, smiling at the throng.
“I am in a private meeting, and I require several more minutes to discuss a matter of great importance with Mr. Masterson, and I do not want to be disturbed again. Now, everyone out!”
The surge reversed, and she slammed the door loudly.
She’ll make a good VP, if I can get her to take the job, thought Max, as she settled back into her chair.
“Now, Max, before I give you my response, I’d like to hear more about what you have in mind.”
“Scarlett, as I was saying before your adoring supporters interrupted me, is that we have both been reared since we could talk, for one goal. Now that we are both pursuing that same goal at the same time, it is beginning to look like neither of us can succeed without the other.” he stood and faced her.
“So . . . Be my running mate. I know about your meeting with Miniver and his henchmen. My people had a similar meeting with Blythe’s henchmen a few days ago, and they said basically the same thing. I am at the top of the polls, as much as I loathe them, because people are fed up with politicians and the usual way of electing a president, and you have succeeded because you are so good at playing the game better than anyone in politics. Together, we can’t lose. Apart, we both lose. So what’s it going to be?” Max began to count off the seconds in his head. If she didn’t respond within one minute, the offer would expire, and he would walk out of the room.
Scarlett didn’t wait. her response took less than ten seconds. Without a word to Max, she stood up and walked out of the room, greeted by the cheers of three thousand curious supporters and made her planned speech.