Deadly Politics (4 page)

“Actually, they told me about your divorce and your reluctance to get involved. I just wanted to see how you responded.”

I studied Brewster, all relaxed demeanor and boyish pose on the outside, while that intense Boy Scout gaze probed, searching for weaknesses.

“Interesting interviewing style you've developed, Peter. You insult the job seekers so you can watch how each performs, am I right?”

His grin turned sly. “Spot on. Didn't take you long.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Ace,” I replied, surprised how comfortable I felt at the moment. “Tell me, why does Russell need an attack dog like you? What's he afraid of ?”

Direct hit. Brewster shifted in his chair. “Senator Russell's not afraid of anything, Molly. That's the problem. I have to be afraid for him.”

I wasn't expecting that response, and it must have showed because Brewster continued.

“I need to know that anyone who works with the senator can be trusted to keep everything they see or hear completely confidential. The senator is being approached daily, hounded almost, by senators from both sides of the aisle, congressmen, lobbyists, reporters. Everyone's trying to pick his brain to see if they can figure out a way to gain his allegiance. It's all I can do to schedule him some time for himself, he's being courted so heavily—”

I couldn't resist a wicked grin. “Like a virgin at a frat party.”

Brewster gave a surprised, explosive laugh, then relaxed visibly. “Damn, Molly, I like you, and the senator will love you. You'll make a great addition to the team.”

My ass
. “Not so fast, Ace. Right now, you're 0 for 3. You've insulted my late husband's memory, sent your minions in Colorado mucking about in my personal life, and spent the last half hour baiting me. You've annoyed the living crap out of me. Why the hell would I want to work for you?”

“You'd be working for Senator Russell, not me.”

“Don't hand me that. I know how this business works. You're the chief of staff, and you run the show.”

“You want to know why Senator Russell and I want you for this position?”

“Let me guess. A mascot? A political symbol of some long-ago time when a few good men could actually make a difference in the Senate?”

To his credit, Brewster didn't even blink, let alone respond to the bait. “Actually, what we really need is an accountant and financial consultant. The household and entertaining expenses are fairly complicated. Plus, you'd be overseeing some real estate holdings as well. I'm afraid the complexity of it all was too much for the original accountant who came with us from Colorado. That and homesickness. She missed the mountains.”

I glanced out the window again but saw no brooding mountain ranges, only boxwood hedges. “That's understandable. I miss the mountains, too.” And yet, here I was sitting with a consummately political animal if ever I saw one. I eyed Brewster. “So, it sounds like you really do need an accountant.”

“Did you think we only wanted you as a … what did you call it? A mascot?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“I can see that. Tell me, how much was that Virginia developer offering you? Karen told me he's cutting back right now. Not surprising. The entire Metro Washington real estate market is still risky.”

I had to admire Brewster's ability to stay on target no matter how much distraction got in the way. “Here, see for yourself.” I withdrew a folder from my over-the-shoulder briefcase. “My last head managerial position is outlined there. Duties, salary, total compensation package. And the offer for the recently evaporated position with Jeff Parker and Associates is there as well.”

Brewster accepted the folder with a bemused expression. “You're letting me see both? You surprise me, Molly. Do you usually interview this badly?”

“Nope. But in this case I decided to put all my cards on the table.”

“Why's that?” he said, spreading the folder on the desk.

“Because I'm betting you can't come close to matching Parker's offer. Household and entertaining accounts don't need that level of management.”

“Don't forget the financial consulting. Lots of real estate there,” he said, perusing the neat columns of figures I'd prepared.

“I still wouldn't break a sweat. Face it, Brewster, I need more than you can pay.”

“Plus, other duties as assigned,” he said, glancing up with a grin.

“What? The senator wants me to wash his car? I don't think so.”

“The longer I talk with you, Molly, the more I like you,” he said, examining the pages.

Damn
. Here I was, trying my best to be annoying, and instead, Brewster was charmed. How did I manage that? Did that mean whenever I tried to be charming, it turned out annoying? Hmmmm. I should look into that.

“You're right, Molly. We can't match Parker's offer—”

Ha!
Part of me exulted inside. I'd escaped the political snare. Tweaked the legislative lion's beard and gotten away. Victory was mine! Why, then, was there a slight feeling of disappointment inside?

I slipped my briefcase over my shoulder and started to rise from the chair. Make a fast getaway. “Well, Peter, it's been grand. I can't tell you when I've had this much fun. Although my last root canal comes to mind.”

Still immersed in the columns of figures, Peter held up his hand. “Not so fast, Molly, I wasn't finished yet. As I was saying, we can't match Parker's offer, but we can get you the cash flow it appears you need every month.”

Huh
? I hovered over the chair. Brewster's hand waved me down again. “Does it involve wearing disguises and delivering packages in the middle of the night? If so, I'm not interested.”

“Nope. Strictly legal. Want some coffee Molly? I'm dying for a cup.” He suddenly pushed his desk chair over to an antique tea cart complete with china coffeepot and saucers.

Startled by yet another abrupt change in direction, I hesitated. Then the caffeine lobe of my brain began to throb.
When didn't I want coffee?
“Uh, yeah, I could definitely use a cup. I purposely avoided the caffeine rush this morning.”

Brewster turned an incredulous gaze my way. “Good God, you mean this is you without caffeine?”

“Sober as a judge. Scary, isn't it? Black, please.” I pointed to the cup he was pouring.

“Why am I not surprised?” Brewster walked over and handed me the delicate china cup and saucer. “I shudder to think what you're like wired.”

“It's not pretty. Another reason not to hire me,” I said, trying not to slurp the dark nectar in one gulp. It slid down my throat with that delectable burn, smooth and harsh at the same time.
Ahhhhh
. Nerve cells were coming online.

Brewster simply laughed as he poured coffee for himself. Clearly, my repeated refusals only heightened his interest. Just like a teenage boy in the back of his parent's Buick. The more his girlfriend said “no,” the harder he tried.
Men
. Where do they learn this? In the cradle?

“Now, where were we …” He set the coffee cup on the desk and grabbed a pen. “Cash flow. Let's see what we can do.” Brewster proceeded to scribble all over my neat columns of figures. “As they say, there're two ways to raise income. Either increase revenues or decrease expenses. What if we decrease your housing expenses to zero, Molly? Take a look and tell me what you think.” He slid the open folder across the desk.

My curiosity aroused, I reached for the folder and examined what Brewster had done. He'd checked my budgetary requirements and neatly eliminated the housing expense. He'd also eliminated the commuting expenses.
What was this guy smoking?
Even if I moved into Nan and Bill's house permanently, I'd still have to get into Washington every day. And this section of Georgetown was not on the Metro line. I'd have to drive. A rental car at first, until I could bring my car from Colorado.

I gave the poor deluded boy an indulgent smile. “These are nice numbers, Peter, but they're totally unrealistic. There's no housing expense and no commuting expense. That's ridiculous. I will not move into my cousin's home permanently. I may not have much pride, but I have a shred or two left. I plan to rent an apartment, probably in Virginia, which means I'd be commuting.”

Peter sipped his coffee. “What if free housing was available to you? Subject to your approval, of course. Would you be interested?”

That got my attention. “I'm listening.”

“The real estate portfolio you'd be managing is mine. That's why I need your expertise. And that's how I can offer you more money. Your duties would be spread between the senator's domestic accounts and my business accounts. I have properties in several states and some in the D.C. Metro area as well. One of them is vacant. It's here in Georgetown. Only three blocks away, over on P Street. It's a modest two-story brick townhouse. Small, but nice.”

Nice?
Nice
! A modest townhouse on P Street in Georgetown? It would have to be infested with rats not to be nice. And Brewster was offering it to me free when he must have scores of eager Washington wannabes clamoring to pay at least three thousand a month to live there. Now I
knew
he was on something.

I managed not to laugh in his face, but I did smile. “Peter, you can't be serious. You're offering me free rent on prime Georgetown real estate? Washington has rotted your brain already, and you haven't been here a year yet. You need to see a doctor.”

The sly grin returned. “It's my property, Molly. I can rent it to whomever I choose. And it's not free. Your residence there will be as property manager. Remember ‘other duties as assigned'?”

He was serious.
Oh my God!
I sat back in my chair and stared at him. “You're willing to take a loss to let me—”

“I'm not taking a loss. It's vacant, remember?”

“Yeah, but you could rent it in a heartbeat for three or four thousand a month.”

“It's okay. My other properties are rented. You don't have to worry about me, Molly.” He grinned. “That's my CPA's job. You'll be working closely with him, needless to say.”

Well, he had me there. I wasn't Brewster's CPA or his mother. If he wanted to give me a Georgetown townhouse to live in, who was I to say no? Meanwhile, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused me to pause. Who was I to say
yes
? Could I actually live in the midst of all this again? Here in Georgetown? Memories were around every corner. Ghosts roamed the streets. Could I do it?

Out of nowhere, a voice I hadn't heard in a long time whispered,
“Make new memories.”

I recognized that cheeky voice. Ever since Chaos took over my life. Crazy Ass, I called the voice, because it always brought the wild, out-of-nowhere, go-for-it suggestions. Good old Crazy Ass. I'd missed it. The voice of the opposition, Sober-and-Righteous, had been ruling the roost for weeks now and had sent Crazy Ass scurrying into the bushes when Chaos appeared. Virtuous, but boring as hell, Sober was strictly steady as she goes, nose to the grindstone and full of other guilt-producing clichés that could be counted on to keep me on track.

“Make new memories.”
Hmmmmm. There was a thought.

“You're considering it, I can tell,” Peter observed.

“Damn right. I'd be crazy not to.” I stared through the window at the boxwood. I hadn't smelt boxwood in years. By June, the scent would be heady. My nostrils twitched.

Sober-and-Righteous asserted itself into my imaginings.
Hold it! Everything's moving too fast. This guy is worse than a carnival barker hawking teddy bears. You need time to think.

I had to agree with Sober. Things were moving way too fast. This offer, the money, the house, the idea of living and working in Georgetown—I did need time to think.

I looked Peter in the eye. “This is a lot to digest. The money, this whole job offer, the house, all of it. I need time to consider everything, Peter.”

“I understand. Think about it all you want. This afternoon. Then call me with your answer this evening.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a card. “Here's my cell.”

“You need an answer tonight?” I said, not even trying to hide my surprise as I took the card.

Now it was Brewster's turn to be sober. “The senator needs someone fast. Those accounts are piling up. If you say ‘no,' then we have to go back to square one.”

Guilt. Works every time. “Okay, I'll let you know by this evening.” I gathered my things and rose to leave.

Brewster came from around the desk, all boyish charm again. “Would you like to meet the senator?” he tempted. “Luisa beeped me that he's returned from his breakfast with constituents. He's got a few minutes before he heads to the Hill.”

Shocked, I found myself stammering. “Oh, that—that's not necessary, I—I don't want to delay him—”

“No delay, Molly. He's been anxious to meet you.”

Brewster proceeded to escort me from the library and into the hall, ignoring my protestations. I looked down the hallway, and there was Russell, walking straight toward us. I gulped. No time to get away.

“Senator, I've done my best to sell Molly on the position. I'll leave it to you to close the deal.”

Brewster handed me off to the senator. Russell clasped my hand in a hearty bear-paw handshake and leaned forward, his eyes gazing into mine. “Molly Malone, I cannot tell you how delighted I am, we all are, that you're thinking of joining our efforts here in Washington. I'm honored that you'd consider us,” he said in that resonant basso voice I remembered from campaign news highlights.

The senator was even better looking in person. Although he was seventy, he still looked trim and fit in his expensive tailoring. Tall, silver-haired, handsome in a distinguished way, and mesmerizing as all get-out. I gazed up at the senator and felt the full force of his personality wash over me in a wave.
Whoa
. No wonder this guy won the election. Those other guys never had a chance.