Owen and Mill don’t have an arranged marriage. I believe they love each other, but it’s a power match without a doubt. Her father, a former governor, has been grooming his pretty daughter for the White House for as long as our father has been grooming Owen. It doesn’t hurt that she’s probably smart enough to run the country herself in a pinch.
“So back to this woman, Lennix,” Millicent says. “Maybe having her around will calm you down some.”
If there is one thing that I’m not around Lennix, it’s calm. At least I wasn’t before. Who knows now? We haven’t been in the same room in ten years, and the last time we were together, I fucked her on a table.
“That’s doubtful,” I reply.
“What’s doubtful?” Owen asks from the dining room door.
“That Max’s new girlfriend will calm him down.”
“Girlfriend?” Owen frowns. “Who?”
“She’s talking about Lennix,” I say, tugging a strand loose from the disciplined pleat of Millicent’s hair.
“Maxim!” She shrieks and jogs over to the framed mirror taking up half a wall. “Now I have to fix it.”
“You know we talked about this, Max,” Owen says, his “big brother” face in full effect. He practically wags his finger at me. “You know Lennix’s conditions.”
“Conditions?” Millicent asks, turning from the mirror. “Which ones? What are they?”
Owen doesn’t want to know where he and Lennix can shove their conditions. It’s very dark there.
“She doesn’t want to work directly with Maxim because of their torrid past,” he says, pulling her into his side. “You look beautiful, Mill.”
“Why thank you, O.” She beams up at him, all silky blond hair and limpid blue eyes. They’re basically POTUS Ken and Barbie. “But tell me more about these conditions and their torrid affair. I had no idea.”
“It wasn’t torrid. How many are we expecting?” I ask, deliberately sidestepping the irksome subject of Lennix’s conditions and our past.
“Well, it’s just the nucleus team,” Millicent answers, winking at me and mouthing ‘we’ll talk later.’ “And we wanted it to feel personal, so we said they could invite a significant other.”
“That’s nice,” I say, only half listening and a quarter interested while I check stock numbers on my watch.
“Most of them aren’t bringing anyone,” Owen says, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “But Lennix is.”
My head jerks up and I stare at my brother for an elongated moment while I make a conscious effort not to bare my teeth at him. I finally ask the question pounding at my temples. “Who?”
39
Lennix
“Are you sure about this?” Wallace asks, the question in his voice reflected in his expression.
“I told you a dozen times that tie is fine,” I say, reaching up to adjust the knot. “But good Lord, when I gave it to you I never thought you’d mangle it. Where’d you learn to tie these? The Boy Scouts? This tie is Armani and you made it look like I picked it up at the five-and-dime.”
“Not the damn tie, Lenny.” Wallace grabs my hand and pulls it away from his neck. “Me coming with you to this campaign thing.”
“Of course.” I slide my glance to the perfectly manicured bushes flanking the front porch of Owen Cade’s townhouse. “They said we could bring someone.”
“Someone? Like a random friend?”
“Random?” I overstretch my eyes and mouth with outrage. “You’re not random. You are the most on-purpose friend I have. Joe’s bringing Erin.”
“They’re married.”
“Howard’s bringing Bill.”
“They’re married.” He points to himself. “I’m not your husband.”
“Not for lack of trying on your part.” I grin up at him. “Come on, Wall. I neeeeeed you.”
“I’m your beard, aren’t I?” he asks, suspicion and realization lighting his eyes. “You’re betting Maxim Cade will leave you alone if he thinks you’re taken.”
“Exactly.” My smile comes and goes, then I shake my head. “No! I mean, no. Not at all.”
He dips his head and looks at me knowingly.
“Okay. Maybe a little.” I put my hands over my ears. “Stop looking at me so loud.”
“If you expect Maxim to believe you’re an old married couple,” Kimba says from the bottom of the steps, “your bickering will convince him.”
“Would you shut up?” I hiss, looking at the bushes like they might be bugged.
“Also that startling lack of sexual chemistry you two got going on?” Kimba points between us. “Reeks of trudging through matrimony.”
“Can we please just put on our big girl panties and show Senator Cade why we’re the best in the business?” I ask.
“I’m already wearing my big girl panties, honey,” Kimba says, practically gliding up the steps. “They’re La Perla.”
“I’m not comfortable at all with this turn of conversation,” Wallace mumbles. “I’ve been telling myself, ‘Wall, you need male friends.’ Too many girls.”
“Shut it. You love us.” Kimba reaches up to hug Wallace around the neck. “How the heck are ya, Wall? Welcome to paradise. Good to have you in D.C. Congrats on the promotion.”
“Thanks,” Wallace says, returning her hug.
“Now if we could persuade your sister to accept a promising opportunity every once in a while,” I interject. “Who leaves the LA Times on the table?”
“That was a decade ago, Lenn,” Kimba says. “You still riding Viv about that?”
“I’m not riding her about what happened ten years ago,” I say. “Not when we only have to go back a year to her turning down a great assignment in Paris.”
“She was pregnant with Madison,” Wallace reminds me. “Please don’t begrudge me my niece, Mary Tyler Moore.”
“Mary Tyler Moore?” I ask, not connecting any dots.
“Yes, Mary Tyler Moore,” Wallace says patiently, like we should know this. “Career woman from the seventies. Threw the hat up in the air in New York.”
“What have I told you about watching those seventies re-runs on Nick at Nite?” Kimba swats Wallace’s arm. “What’s next? Blow up dolls? How the hell am I supposed to find you a normal girl with you watching Mary Tyler Moore?”
“I don’t like normal girls,” Wallace says sullenly. “Find me someone like Lennix.”
“Hey,” I pipe up, offended. “I’m normal.”
They exchange a meaningful glance before looking back to me.
“You’re not normal even a little bit,” Wallace says. “It’s why I love you, Lennix.”
He says it just as the door opens and we come face-to-face with none other than Maxim Cade.
I should have prepared for this moment better. I vaguely recall experiments where continued exposure to certain stimuli desensitized the subjects to the impact of it. I should have spent last night playing footage of Maxim non-stop on a loop so I wouldn’t have this reaction to him.