Take A Chance On Me (29 page)

Keep reading for
an excerpt from the
second book in
Jennifer Dawson’s
Something New
series!

 

 

“We got the lead story.” Nathaniel Riley’s voice sounded over the car speaker.

The news didn’t surprise Cecilia. Reporters don’t shove a story about a senator recovering from a blackmail scandal to the back page.

Cecilia stabbed the speaker’s volume button until it lowered to a reasonable level. “Then everything is going according to plan.”

“I trust you’re happy.” Her father’s purring tone conveyed that he was one satisfied cat.

She clenched the leather steering wheel.

Happy. Now there’s a word. When was the last time she’d been happy? Stop. This was
not
the time to get philosophical. If she wanted a chance in hell at winning the congressional seat come election time this was what needed to be done.

It was the smart move.

And she needed to win.

She’d get over the distastefulness sitting in the back of her throat. She always did.

A green highway sign came into focus. Revival. Fifteen miles. Where everything was sunshine, laughter, and genuine happiness.

Her skull throbbed.

“Cecilia?” Her father’s voice fractured her thoughts. “What did you think of the article?”

She hadn’t read it. This morning, she’d thrown the unopened paper in the trash and deleted the Google Alert links sitting in her email. It was a fluff piece, carefully crafted by the senator’s finest. The first of many that would lead to a final press conference where she’d announce her bid for Congress. It was all part of a perfectly planned public relations strategy, designed by her.

A fine sheen of sweat spread down her back. She punched down the air-conditioner button in her understated Mercedes sedan and let the cool air wash over her face.

“Paul did an excellent job.” After years avoiding the small truths, the evasion was smooth as silk.

“Since you were unavailable, Miles and I had final approval,” Nathaniel Riley said, in his polished, politician’s voice.

“Of course.” While her tone rang with a practiced strength, her stomach rolled. What was wrong with her? She needed to get it together. This was the price her dream demanded. She wasn’t losing anything really important. Nothing that mattered.

Life in politics was all she’d ever wanted. When other little girls had been pretending to be princesses in faraway lands, she had played president in the Oval Office.

She’d been content putting her own career aside for her father’s aspirations, but that had ended when his scandal broke. She’d sat at her kitchen table reading that dreadful headline and seen her whole world crumbling under her feet.

The young woman who’d attempted to blackmail the senator had eventually been caught and her schemes exposed, but not without damage. Cecilia had managed the fallout to perfection, minimizing the whole sordid affair, publicizing how he’d been a victim of greed. It had worked—the senator was well on the road to political recovery. But she couldn’t shake the worry.

This wasn’t the first mess she’d helped him escape. At some point his bad decisions would have to come back and bite him. And where would that leave her?

It had been a slap in the face. A wakeup call delivered by a five-alarm fire truck.

“I’m proud of you, Cecilia,” Nathaniel said, and she could practically see him sitting there in his office in Washington, scotch in hand, smug in his oversized, leather chair.

Six months ago she would have lapped up his approval like a grateful puppy, but now she recognized the lie. He wasn’t proud of her. This plan helped him. How, she wasn’t sure and didn’t care, but it had nothing to do with her.

It never did.

The truth only made her more determined.

A speed-limit sign whipped past and she checked her speedometer to see the needle creeping past eighty-five. Easing her foot off the pedal, she started to say thank you for his sparse compliment but instead blurted, “Don’t you have any reservations?”

“We talked about this,” he said in a patient tone that grated on her last nerve. “This is your best shot.”

Clammy sweat broke out on her forehead, forcing her to turn the air down to arctic levels. Wasn’t thirty-three too young for a hot flash? She swallowed the taste of the bile clinging to the walls of her throat. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?”

Because I’m your daughter?
The truth pained her. That he hadn’t noticed made the cut that much deeper.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting out from under his thumb. She squared her shoulders. “Never mind. Is there anything else?”

A moment of silence fell over the car, filled with nothing but dead air. She prayed for a dropped connection one would expect in farmland Illinois, but the squeak of Nathaniel’s desk chair quelled her hope.

“Are you almost there?”

Her jaw tightened and her ever-present headache beat at her temples. “I’m about fifteen minutes outside town.”

“And your mother?” The question was clipped.

Part of Cecilia still wanted to believe that under all his bluster and power trips he genuinely cared for his wife of forty years, but she had no more delusions. “She’s already there.”

The green mile marker sign came into view. Revival. Twelve miles.

She hadn’t been to the small town since her grandma’s funeral.

A sudden, unexpected tightness welled in Cecilia’s throat, and she swallowed hard.

“I see,” he said, and another silence descended.

She dreaded spending the next two weeks in a house filled with strangers, watching her brother fawn all over his bride-to-be. Not that she begrudged Mitch his happiness. She didn’t, but witnessing it caused a strange yearning she didn’t want to contemplate.

She gripped the steering wheel, tight enough her knuckles turned white. “I still think a couple of days before the wedding would have been plenty.”

“Cecilia,” Nathaniel said, in his patient tone. “Voters love a wedding and we need the family solidarity. This will help your image.”

The logic couldn’t be refuted, but she tried anyway. “And two or three days doesn’t accomplish that?”

“Under normal circumstances, yes, but with Shane Donovan already at his sister’s side and that football player on his way, it doesn’t look good if we’re not there.”

An image of Shane snapped through her mind like the lash of a whip. He was one of Chicago’s corporate giants, and his sister’s impending marriage to the senator’s notorious son had been a hot topic on a slow news day. If it weren’t for him, she’d be home where she belonged.

“So you get to stay in Washington, but I have to play nice,” Cecilia snapped.

“I’m in committee,” her father said.

The whole situation annoyed her, and she spoke without thinking. “And God forbid the voters find out your wife and son aren’t speaking to you.”

“That’s enough. I’m still your father.”

Something tightened in her chest. Was he? He didn’t feel like it. She straightened her shoulders and modulated her tone to neutral. “All I’m saying is that I’m not sure it’s necessary.”

“Trust me, it’s necessary.”

She laughed, a hard, brittle sound. “Trust you? You almost ruined your career.”

“But I didn’t,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “I’m doing what I need to do, and if you want to win, I suggest you do the same.”

She fought it—the pull that longed for his approval—but the habit was too old and her anger too new. She took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Sometimes it was best to concede the battle to win the war. Or at least that was the political spin she sold herself today.

“Good. Remember the plan.”

Ah yes, the plan. She ate, slept, and lived the plan.

Revival. Eight miles.

Two weeks with Shane. Two weeks with his sharp, disapproving gaze. Two weeks of playing the ice queen he expected, pretending he had no effect on her.

She was exhausted just thinking about it. “I remember.”

“And on that note,” Nathaniel said, his voice rich and pleased.

Her stomach dropped with dread.

“I spoke with Miles and Paul this morning, and we decided right after the wedding we’ll announce you’re running for office.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, right after?”

“At the reception. We’d call in a few reporters to cover the wedding. You could let it slip and have a press conference the next day.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Was
nothing
sacred to him? “It’s Mitch’s day. Let him have it.”

“The timing—”

She cut him off. “No. This is
my
campaign, and I’m putting my foot down.”

She might not be close to Mitch, or have the slightest clue what to say to him, but she respected what he’d done and how he’d turned his life around after the senator had gone and fucked it all up. She wasn’t about to ruin his wedding to gain a few points in the polls.

“Cecilia, let’s be frank. You’re a long shot.”

Yes, the factors working against her were endless, but she was sick of him pretending he wasn’t part of the problem. Venom filled her tone as she spit out, “Thanks to you and that little intern
I
told you not to hire.”

He scoffed. “That’s easy for you to believe, but we both know your image needs work.”

Nausea roiled in her belly. “I didn’t get blackmailed. You did.”

“The voters forgave me. After all, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Ha! You didn’t get caught, there’s a difference.”

“Perception is reality, my dear. You know that better than anyone.”

What did he mean by that? He sounded smug, as though he knew something she didn’t. “I’ll build my own perception.”

A long, put-upon sigh. “You can’t connect. You’re logical and pragmatic, which can be a benefit, but it doesn’t win votes. People don’t love you. You don’t inspire them to act, or empower them to believe that government is within their grasp. You have no voice. No vision.”

The truth. It was like a stab to the heart, but she refused, absolutely refused, to give in to the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes. She did not cry. Ever. Instead, she steeled her spine and said sweetly, “Awww, you always give the best pep talks.”

“It’s up to me to tell you the truth.”

A cocktail of riotous emotions threatened to bubble to the surface, but she pushed them back down. “I will not let you ruin Mitch’s wedding so you can play father of the year in front of a few reporters.” Her training had served her well because there wasn’t even a hint of a quaver in her voice. Her hurt was hidden down deep where it belonged.

And since he was so keen on truth, she’d dole out some of her own. “As
your
advisor, let me return the favor. If you want a chance in hell at winning your wife back before the next election, you’d better stop using your son to gain points in the opinion polls. You’re losing her. She’s starting to loathe you. Maybe that’s why you had sex with an intern younger than your daughter?”

“Watch your mouth.” His voice was filled with outrage. Unlike her, he’d never been a pro at hiding anything unless he had an audience. “I did not sleep with that woman.”

She laughed, the sound filled with rough, bitter edges. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You think I didn’t see how you fawned over her? How you preened at her ego stroking?”

Fifteen seconds must have ticked by before he spoke. “Have you told your mother this?”

She scoffed, shaking her head. This was so like him. All he cared about was covering his ass. Another mile marker sign flew by. “Good-bye, father.”

He hung up without a word.

She exhaled a slow, steady breath.

Well, that was ugly.

She’d held her own and scored her point, but the victory was hollow.

Revival. Next exit.

She slowed to fifty-five and changed into the right lane. She had to block out this noise—her family crisis, Shane Donovan, the wedding—everything and concentrate on what was important.

Winning the election.

It was the only dream she’d ever had, and she couldn’t let it die along with everything else.

 

 

Cecilia had been banging on the front door of her brother’s farmhouse for five minutes and still no one answered. She glanced around the front yard filled with the same large oaks and weeping willows, but where her grandma had had shrubs, her future sister-in-law had lush hydrangea bushes in vibrant pinks, lavenders, and greens.

It was like stepping into an alternate universe where time had stopped, but reality had been altered just enough to make the familiar, foreign.

The breeze blew, sending the old porch swing swaying, and a burst of nostalgia filled her chest. How many summer nights had she sat there as a little girl, smelling of Off and the river, curled next to her grandma’s side reading
James and the Giant Peach
?

She could still see her grandma sitting there in her housedress, looking like she was part of the earth. A tightness welled in her chest at the memory.

Would her grandma have even liked the woman she’d become?

She huffed out an exasperated sigh. Where was all this emotion coming from? She needed to shake it off and get it together. She turned away from the past and rang the bell, then rapped hard against the panes of glass.

Met with nothing but silence, she twisted the handle and found it unlocked. Since they expected her, she took a cautious step inside. Her heels clicked against the original hardwood floors, which gleamed with a richness that spoke of the care someone had put into restoring the wood.

“Hello?” she called out, peering around the empty foyer. The walls were different. The rose-patterned paper had been replaced with a soft, dark gray paint she’d never have picked because of the dark wood moldings, but it looked exactly right.