Party Lines
Party Lines
By Fiona Wilde
©2010 by Fiona Wilde and
Blushing Books
Copyright © 2010 by Blushing Books® and Fiona
Wilde
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced
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Wilde, Fiona
Party Lines
eBook
ISBN:
978-1-60968-417-4
Cover Design: ABCD Graphics
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This book is intended
for adults only.
Spanking and
other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended
for adults.
Nothing in this book
should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the
spanking of minors.
Chapter
One
Lindsay
Martin breathed took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping her cool as
Ronald Sharp launched into his tirade.
“The
truth is, Ted,” Sharp said, addressing Touchpoint host Theodore Beck, “Miss
Martin’s defense of her candidate won’t play among the hard-working people of
this state. A multi-millionaire masquerading as someone who understands the
travails of the middle class will be seen just for what she is – a phony
who will say anything to get elected.
“In
fact, Ted, if Miss Martin here is honest then she’ll tell the voters tonight
that Clara Faircloth’s father made the fortune she inherited by selling out the
very workers who made the family so wealthy.” He smirked. “Wasn’t Faircloth
Industries the lifeline of Frankinville before your father sold the factory for
parts, leaving scores of hardworking people out of a job?”
Ronald
Sharp was looking at her occasionally as she spoke, and he smiled. Lindsay
braced herself. She knew what that smile meant. The rival campaign manager was
closing in for the kill. Or what he thought was the kill. But she was ready for
him.
“Well,
Mr. Sharp. Since we’re revisiting the so-called sins of the fathers, let’s look
at your candidate’s family for a moment. I do believe that the
sale of Faircloth Industries was precipitated by the senior
Bradford Hopkins using his political office to condemn the land surrounding
Faircloth Industries, thus prohibiting the expansion and eventually forcing the
sale
.
She
pulled out a piece of paper. “I think this previously unreleased memo between
your candidate’s father and the head of the former head of the Army Corps of
Engineers, a man who was later tried and convicted for corruption. The plot was
well documented, something I’m sure Hopkins would have done if he’d known his
oldest son would eventually seek the office he’d held for so long.”
Now
she was smiling, and her rival’s face – to her satisfaction – was a
mixture of shock and outrage.
“Let
me see that,” he said as he reached for the paper she was now handing to Ted
Beck. But it was too late. Beck was practically salivating as he snatched the
paper from her hand, and Roland Sharp’s expression faded morphed into one of
disbelief. They both knew the contents would be the lead story on tomorrow’s
news.
“Well
if this wasn’t a rousing exchange, I don’t know what is.” Beck was laughing as
the music cued the end of his program. “But take heart, friends. This story isn’t
over. Tomorrow night we’ll revisit this issue and these new and explosive
charges leveled by the Faircloth campaign. Until then, Goodnight All!”
Ron
Sharp stood and pulled his microphone off. “That was a dirty trick,
Lindsay!”
“Yeah,
but I got you back,” she replied.
“I
meant what you did was dirty.” Ron Sharp was sputtering now, and even the
cameramen were stopping to stare. Even though he was only 44, Sharp had gotten
the reputation for being one of the best and most unflappable campaign managers
in the southeast. He was ruthless, and undeterred by calls for civility. “Win
at any cost” was his motto, and for the past
eight
years it had worked. Five conservative politicians were ensconced in their
positions, thanks to him. But it was the senatorial campaign of Bradford
Hopkins which
promised to vault him into the national spotlight.
Now,
to be bested by this petite former librarian working on her first campaign…it
was a bit more than he could take, especially since her revelations had given
him a dose of his own medicine - medicine he wasn’t used to taking.
“Where
the hell did you get that?” he asked. “Or was that just a bluff dreamed up in
your starry-eyed liberal little head. Because I swear to God…if it was…”
“Research.”
Lindsay picked up her briefcase, opened it, and handed Sharp a copy of the
memos. “It was no bluff. It was good, old-fashioned research.” Now it was her
turn to smirk. “Maybe if you did your homework you’d have found out the same
things I did before you made an ass of yourself, Ron.”
He
looked at the paper, as if reluctant to take it from her, but she persisted. “Here.
Take it,” she said. “I don’t mind. The truth will out. I’m sure of it, and I’m
sure the voters will be able to tell the difference between a candidate raised
by a self-made millionaire and one raised by a millionaire whose sense of entitlement
to power has been adopted by his son.”
Ron
snatched the paper from her hand and glared down at her.
“Steady,
now,” Lindsay told herself. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but having this 6’5”
man glowering down at her with such a stormy expression rattled her nerves a
bit. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him, to gaze
directly into those deep gray eyes.
Ronald
Sharp didn’t even look at the paper, which he instead shook in her face.
“Don’t
think this is over,” he said. “I don’t like being blind-sided, especially by
some little political upstart. I bet you think you’re really clever, don’t you?
But don’t think that this stunt will deter Hopkins from doing what’s right for
the voters of this state. Don’t think it for a moment.”
“Going
to concede is he?” Lindsay allowed herself to effect an innocent look that
juxtaposed the flawlessly planned counterpunch she’d just delivered.
“Not
a chance,” he said as he stormed away. “Hopkins is in this to win.” He looked
back over his shoulder. “Which he will.
”
It
was only after he’d rounded the corner that she allowed the vestiges of bravery
to fall away. Lindsay wanted to sit down, but the cameramen and even Ted Beck
were watching from the shadows and she knew her reaction – even now,
mattered. Her every move was a reflection on Clara Faircloth, a decent woman
who’d trusted her to run a campaign when she could have afforded anyone else.
So
despite the fact that her hands and legs were starting to shake, Lindsay nodded
and smiled at everyone as she went past.
Only
later, in the car, did she put her head on the wheel and breathe deeply until
some of the stress waned from her body. Beside her on the seat her cell phone
was ringing, and she could see that it was her boss, calling no doubt, to
praise her carefully crafted performance on the show.
Lindsay
decided to wait until she got back to the hotel to call Clara back. She was
looking forward to hearing the older woman’s words of praise. She meant a lot
to Lindsay. Clara Faircloth was a true role model, and represented everything
Lindsay wished she could be.
Lindsay
had always followed politics, and had worked on just about every liberal
campaign that would have her as a volunteer. She had no idea her organizational
skills had even attracted attention until she’d gotten a call from Clara
Faircloth herself requesting a meeting.
She
could hardly believe it when the savvy and respected business owner had told
her she was running for Senate and didn’t want her campaign handled by another
predicable insider.
“I
want someone who is trustworthy,” Faircloth had said. “I want someone outside
the political machine but with enough knowledge of its inner workings to be
ready for anything. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but people are saying
good things about you.
Very good things.
I want you
for my campaign manager, Miss Martin. Will you do it?”
Lindsay
had hardly been able to form a “yes,” and even now could hardly remember
accepting the position. But she had and had handled the campaign brilliantly.
And after going head to head with Ron Sharp tonight she knew this was her
calling. And she also knew that infuriated the man who was now her chief
nemesis on the campaign trail.
Right
away he’d treated her almost dismissively, and with
a certain
condescension designed to shake her confidence. Ron Sharp exuded confidence,
arrogance,
an
undeniable aura of dominance. And in
that lay a veritable minefield. For the one thing that Lindsay knew about
herself – the one thing that she was sure would have shocked and
disappointed the other progressives on her team – was that she had one
flaw that made her extremely vulnerable to a man like Ron Sharp.
Lindsay
Martin was a submissive. She always had been, and strong men like Ron Sharp
were her worst fear not because she couldn’t battle with them, but because she
had to force herself to do it. As a submissive, her natural inclination was
to
demure, to acquiesce.
It
had always seemed unfair to her to be saddled with such a defect. After all,
she had brains, education and skills to make her a naturally take-charge type
of person. And Lindsay enjoyed organizing people and events, fighting for a
common cause. But the larger part wanted to be taken, molded and directed. The
larger part of her wanted to be molded, even as she was molding public opinion.
Now,
sitting in the car reveling in her victory over Ron Sharp, she wondered if he’d
sensed her innate submissiveness in her. Perhaps that was why he’d so brazenly
tried to spring his attack on Clara’s character. Not that it mattered. Even if
he had, then it had played to Lindsay’s advantage. Besides, her loyalties were
to social change. Not to her own needs. She just had to remember that.