Running Mate Page 4

  Despite what misgivings we children might’ve had about the toll it might take on Dad, we each wished him well and vowed to do whatever we could to help him get elected. Now that he had won in two primaries, it was game on. “Guess he’s putting out the bat call to summon me to make appearances on the campaign.”

  Ty nodded. “Have you given any thought to how you’ll respond?”

  “I’ll have to say yes to at least a few days a week on the road. I can always work from the jet.”

  “If you’re not fucking a member of the press corps.”

  I laughed. “That is true. Of course, I’ll probably be spending most of my time on the Callahan Express.”

  The campaign had recently purchased three buses to transport my father and his entourage around the country. They had been dubbed the Niña, Pinta, and Santa María after the ships that brought Columbus here. I’d been given a tour last weekend, and I had to say, they were pretty posh. My dad would certainly be given the rock-star treatment when he was onboard. A roving campaign was like a band in a lot of ways. You needed an amazing crew to make it run smoothly, and then you also had the press that rode along to cover events. In the end, it was a giant operation to plan and execute.

  Evangelina emerged looking fresh-faced and sexy as hell just as we started our descent. After we landed, I gave her an apologetic smile. “Ty and I have to get off here, but the captain will see you back to New York.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.” After bestowing a kiss on my lips, she said, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you to keep me occupied.”

  “You could always think about me while you get yourself off,” I suggested.

  “Now there’s a nice thought.”

  “Make sure you video it for me.”

  Evangelina placed a finger on her chin. “On second thought, I think I’ll wait. I don’t want anyone making me come but you and that fabulous dick of yours.”

  “Don’t forget my masterful tongue,” I added.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ty grunted as he threw one of my bags over his shoulder before brushing past us to wait on the jet door to open.

  Ignoring him, I gave Evangelina a long, lingering kiss along with a smack on the ass. When the jet door opened, I followed Ty down the three stairs and into the freezing February air, then gave Evangelina a final wave before the door slid back into place.

  A chauffeur-driven car was waiting for us on the tarmac. After throwing my bags into the trunk, we got inside to make the thirty-minute drive from Dulles into the city. The trip flew by as I worked on fielding work emails. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t ignore the growing anxiety I felt about Dad summoning me to chat. It felt as if an ominous cloud of uncertainty had overtaken me, though I had no reason to believe anything negative was about to go down.

  When we arrived at the Jefferson Hotel, I inhaled a deep breath. Because of his love of all things historical, Dad adored the Jefferson. Whenever he had to stay in the city, he always preferred to stay there. Now it was doubling as his private campaign headquarters before he headed back on the road.

  We were met at the elevators by one of the staffers. Dad had so many minions running around that I didn’t bother trying to learn their names. I always just faked a look of familiarity while shaking their hand. A quick, “Hey, man, how’s it going?” went a long way in someone’s mind. Of course, when it was a female staffer, I made sure not to say ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ for fear it would be construed as sexist.

  After a quick ride up, we stepped into the penthouse and made our way to the dining room. My dad sat at the head of the table flanked by three of his closest advisors. If he got elected president, I was sure they would make it into his cabinet. Dad rose out of his chair. “I’m so happy to see you, son.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too, Dad.” I wasn’t blowing smoke up his ass just to suck up; it was the honest-to-God truth. While my parents might’ve been wealthy, I hadn’t grown up like the other kids at my prep schools. My mom had help from a nanny, but she was the one who raised us kids. If Dad was elected president, Mom would probably be a cross between Jackie Kennedy and Laura Bush. She came from blue-blood roots, but she was very down to earth.

  As for Dad, he really was the sitcom dad. He’d never been one of these politicians who donated some sperm so he could have a family of convenience to put on campaign posters. I admired the hell out of him.

  One day, I hoped to be half the man he was. Clearly, I wasn’t there yet, and at twenty-seven, I wasn’t sure when my metamorphosis was going to begin. I figured I had time. After all, Dad hadn’t become a father until he was in his thirties, so I still had time to screw around…in more ways than one.

  After giving me a quick hug, he motioned for me to have a seat next to him. As I sat down, I nodded in acknowledgement at the staffers. The only one I recognized was Dad’s campaign manager, Bernie George. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

  “Good afternoon, Barrett. I’m so glad you could make it,” Bernie said.

  I jerked a thumb at Dad. “You keeping him in line?”

  Bernie chuckled. “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.”

  After a momentary lull in the conversation, I said, “Don’t keep me in suspense. What was so important that you had to reroute a plane for it?”

  “As you know, my victories in New Hampshire and Iowa weren’t as solid as we would have liked.”

  “Hey, you won, didn’t you? I mean, that’s the most important thing, especially since historically the winner in New Hampshire gets the nomination.”

  “Yes, it is important, but it also means that going into Super Tuesday in a couple weeks, we have to find ways to widen my lead over my opponents if I’m to get the party’s nomination.” After unbuttoning his suit jacket, Dad leaned back in his chair. “We decided the best thing to do was hire an image consulting firm to help us prepare.”

  “But during your senate runs, you always thought those firms were a joke.”

  My father’s grave expression told me just how very serious he was. “Since I never had such narrow victories during those races, I decided to reevaluate my stance on them.”

  “Spoken like a true politician.”

  “After they did a thorough investigation, they found one area of my personal life that desperately needs improving.”

  “And what was that?”

  “You.”

  My brows popped up. “Me? What the hell could they have possibly found wrong with me?”

  “Your playboy lifestyle.”

  “Oh please. I’m not a playboy.”

  Dad’s gaze swept from mine over to his political best friend, Thomas Jenkins. After a nod, Thomas opened the manila envelope in front of him. “The image consultants did a survey of voters in the states with the largest electoral votes. They found the fact that you’re unmarried and not in a committed relationship, with either a female or a male, to be undesirable. Throw in the fact that you run with a group of young men and women who are considered spoiled trust-fund kids, and it makes you and your father seem out of touch to mainstream voters.”

  Popping out of my chair like a jack-in-the-box, I jabbed my finger at Thomas. “I’m not some trust-fund twat flitting from one party to the next! I work fifty-hour weeks, if not more. I’m dedicated to The Callahan Corporation.” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Did they tell the voters I have an MBA, for Christ’s sake?

  Thomas shook his head. “They don’t concern themselves with your professional accomplishments, Barrett. For them, it’s about what they’ve read on Page Six, but most of all, it’s what they’ve seen on the internet.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. I knew exactly what was out there, and it sure as hell wasn’t flattering for my father’s campaign. Since 2013, the media loved referring to me as Bare Callahan after I was recognized in some of the pictures from Prince Harry’s infamous Vegas trip. At the time, it seemed totally legit to play a game of strip pool with a bevy of beauties and the guy who was fifth in lin
e to the British throne. Of course, the copious amounts of alcohol that induced the shenanigans had clouded our judgment and made us oblivious to the possibility that some asshole would snap pics with their phone and expose us to the world.

  Of course, the prince had the presence of mind to cup his royal jewels in the pictures while my junk was blowing in the wind. That led to the press’s second nickname at my expense. I became Bear Callahan, or the Bare Bear, because I was apparently hung like a bear. Truthfully, I really got off on the Bear Callahan one.

  When it came to Dad’s kids, Thorn was a war hero, Caroline was a former deb with a squeaky-clean image, and I was the partying man-whore with no soul. Although I hated to admit it, I knew politics, and therefore knew I was a liability to the campaign. I sure as hell didn’t like being the albatross around Dad’s neck. I had this weird thing about always wanting people to like me, which was one of the reasons I was always up for going out and getting crazy. People tended to like carefree, inebriated Barrett—well, I guess only the people in my circle did, certainly not the ones in Dad’s or the American people as a whole.

  Grunting in frustration, I plopped back down in my chair. “Fine. Whatever I have to do to improve my image, I’ll do it.”

  Dad’s expression lit up. “You will?”

  “I promised you when you first told us you were running that I would do whatever it takes to see you elected. It might not count for much, but I am a man of my word.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that, son, because what I’m about to ask of you is pretty extreme.”

  “Let me guess, you want me to do volunteer hours at a leper colony?” I jokingly asked.

  “I want you to get engaged.”

  I snorted. “Good one, Dad. Now what do you really want me to do?”

  Slowing down his speech, Dad carefully enunciated, “I want you to get engaged.”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

  “Then why did you question me?”

  “Excuse me for stating the obvious, but the idea that you want me to get engaged to help your campaign is a little too absurd to believe.”

  “No, Barrett, I’m probably as serious as I’ll ever be.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered as I dragged my hand over my face.

  “I know it might seem a little extreme—”

  A maniacal laugh poured from my lips. “A little extreme? I’d say that’s the fucking understatement of the year.”

  “I never said what I was going to ask of you would be easy.”

  “Can’t I try some intense volunteering to better my image? Maybe start a foundation or something?”

  “Only commitment is going to alter the public’s perception of you.” My father gave me a tight smile. “It’s time for you to grow up in their eyes. The one way to do that is to show that you have matured and abandoned your frivolous past. Marriage is a natural progression.”

  “But you know as well as I do that I’m not the marriage type.”

  “Yes, I know that better than anyone, but people can and do change. I swore after I lost Celia that I would never give my heart to another woman. For many years, I held to that promise, and then your mother came along.” A loving look came over his face, one that would have disgusted me as a teenager, but now that I was older, mystified me more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever having that look on my face—ever, couldn’t imagine that there could actually be just one woman who would ever be enough. Cue all the soul mate/other half bullshit. I couldn’t imagine a woman looking at me the way my mom looked at Dad, either. What they had was rare, and I couldn’t see myself in their shoes. Ever.

  Across the table from me, Bernie cleared his throat. “Barrett, I think it’s important to remember that your father isn’t asking you to actually get married. It’s all just a façade. After the election, you can go right back to the life you had before, even sooner if he doesn’t secure the nomination.”

  “Either way, it’s a long fucking time to be tied down to someone I don’t even know,” I countered.

  Leaning forward in his chair, Dad squeezed my arm. “Search your conscience, Barrett. If things go south and I don’t win the nomination or the election, do you really want to think there might’ve been something you could have done?”

  I whistled. “Nice guilt trip, Dad.”

  He smiled. “I’m a business man. I’m just pulling out all the stops.”

  “Yeah, well, what if I ignored my conscience saying this is the right thing to do and refused to go along with the charade?”

  “Then you leave me no choice except to play hardball.”

  “Am I to assume your hardball would be worse than your guilt trip?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Okay, I give. What would you do?”

  “Fire you from Callahan Corporation.”

  A horrified breath wheezed out of me. Fuck me. He wasn’t joking about playing hardball. While I’d only been working full-time for the company for two years, I’d spent every summer since I was fifteen working there. Dad had started me in the mailroom, and I’d had to work my way up so I could understand the inner workings. Callahan Corporation was my life.

  “You couldn’t—no, you wouldn’t dare.”

  “Since I do hold the majority stake in the company, I can fire anyone, even my own flesh and blood.” My father gazed imploringly at me. “I would hate to resort to that, son, but if you pushed me to it, then I would.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered. Talk about being between a rock and a fucking hard place. I once again saw the lady with the weights, and this time the take the deal side had plummeted to the ground.

  Dad sighed. “In my heart of hearts, I know you would never force my hand. I know that because regardless of the media’s perception of you, you have an exceptionally good heart.”

  “Don’t flatter me, it just cheapens things,” I grumbled.

  “It isn’t flattery. It’s the truth.”

  When I looked into Dad’s eyes, I knew he was being genuine. The man had been in politics for thirty years, and thankfully, it hadn’t corrupted him. If I had a good heart, it was because I had inherited it from him, and from my mom too. I just didn’t know if I could ever live up to how much they believed in me.

  Dad smiled. “So will you do it?”

  The one thing in life I hated was when I felt like a disappointment to my father. Because of the heart condition I’d had as a kid, I hadn’t been able to see the pride on his face the first time he saw me in uniform. That had all been reserved for my older brother, and now Thorn’s sacrifice of service was a matter of pride to the campaign whereas my less than exemplary character was a deficit—and therefore, in my eyes, a disappointment.

  “Yes, I will.”

  With a wink, Dad said, “You bought my bluff about firing you, huh?”

  Well damn. I sure wasn’t expecting that. “Yeah, I bought it. Your poker face is perfection.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He rose out of his chair and gave me a quick man-hug—the kind of arm thrown around the shoulder pat gesture. “Thank you, Barrett. You don’t know how happy this makes me.”

  Hearing those words from him made me very happy, but I didn’t let him see that. Instead, I put up a strong front. “Look, I just said I would do it. That doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s destined to fail.”

  “I think you’ll find we have a very well-constructed story.”

  “Well, riddle me this: how does my fiancée fit into the fact that I just slept with a woman an hour ago on The Callahan Corporation jet?”

  “Honestly, Barrett, our jet is for business purposes, not to use as a flying mattress!”

  “I’m sorry.” I thought it was best to refrain from telling him that a mattress hadn’t been involved today; I didn’t think he would have appreciated the clarification in his current mood.

  “Anyway, we plan to announce the engagement on Monday, which gives us two weeks before Super Tuesday to help boost my image. The story
we will give to the press is that the two of you dated previously in the past before breaking things off. Even though you were apart, you still had feelings for each other. After being reunited at a campaign function this weekend, the two of you decided you couldn’t live without each other. You popped the question, and she happily accepted.”

  “That’s quite a story. You know, you should start penning romance novels in your spare time.”

  “I’ve always found your mother’s sarcastic wit endearing, but on you, it’s quite irritating,” Dad replied.

  I held up my hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to behave.”

  “So with the story we have come up with, you weren’t engaged at the time you were screwing the opera diva.”

  Widening my eyes, I demanded, “Wait, how did you know—” Then I realized who I was dealing with. Dad had connections to the FBI and the CIA. Hell, he probably knew people in MI6 over in the UK when it came down to it. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t find out.

  Dad winked at me. “Knowing you, I’m sure you haven’t given this girl any reason to believe you had a future together.”

  With a smirk, I replied, “Actually, we are supposed to see each other again tonight when I get back to New York.”

  “But you won’t. You’ll break it off using the story I gave you.”

  Bernie nodded. “Should Miss Petscova become a problem, we will simply remind her of the NDA agreement she signed.”

  Yes, I was that much of a douchebag that I had anyone I slept with more than once sign an NDA. It was more about the fact that women who dated me might be privy to inside information about The Callahan Corporation, not to mention that if they flew on the jet, there might be the odd senatorial document left behind by my father. It was a way to keep my hands clean.

  “Okay, I know you said my engagement would be announced on Monday, but I don’t see how I can possibly find someone to get engaged to in forty-eight hours.”