The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(74)

“He did?”

“Yes, he didn’t tell me much, but I know it ended . . . badly.”

There could not have been a good ending to what we had. I’d thought it would end because of the truth Maxim told me from our first night together—that he would walk away no matter what. Ultimately it ended because of the truth he withheld.

“It was only a week.” I lower my lashes, protecting any secrets my eyes might share without permission. “But we didn’t part on the best of terms. I’d like to know what role you see him playing in your campaign.”

“Well, I’m hiring Hunter, Allen because I trust your judgment.” He angles a frank look from under a lock of blond hair that has defied styling. “But my brother is very popular and well-respected.”

“Yeah. Handsome. Forward-thinking. Environmentally and philanthropically aware. A little too rich and privileged to trust completely, but then leaving your father gives him that bootstrap narrative. People like and trust him.”

“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.”

“I give everyone some thought when they’re connected to one of my campaigns.”

“One of yours?” He lifts his brows. “So we’re good?”

“Not even close.” The comment has no real teeth, and we share a quick grin. “I still need to clarify how we’ll deploy your brother. I agree that he could be possibly your most valuable surrogate, but I don’t want to work with him.”

Owen’s speculation and my unbending will squeeze into the tight silence my comment leaves behind.

“Kimba or another staffer can accompany him when he goes on the trail,” I say. “We’ll assign someone who is not me to prep him for interviews and appearances.”

Iasonos comes in with my salad and Owen’s pa?dakia. Our conversation idles while Nos serves the food.

“Need anything else?” Nos asks.

“No,” I say with a smile. “I’m good.”

“So am I,” Owen says. “Looks delicious. Thank you so much.”

Ever solicitous and sensitive to the private nature of my business back here, Iasonos backs out quickly.

“So you want no contact with Maxim,” Owen says, picking up his fork and the thread of our conversation. “Got it.”

“I want to avoid any awkwardness, and a personal relationship, even former, could prove awkward, but I understand there may be times when we . . . encounter each other.”

“I get it,” Owen says around a steaming bite of food. “I’ll tell him.”

It feels cold, Owen delivering this message to Maxim, but I want as little contact with him as possible.

“The other issue may actually prove more difficult.” I heave a sigh and then dive in. “I don’t think your father should be seen as connected to the campaign at all.”

He looks at me for several seconds before laying down his fork.

“My father first mentioned the presidency to me when I was seven years old, Ms. Hunter. He will not take kindly to being completely cut out.”

“Please, call me Lennix.”

“Lennix,” he says pointedly, “my father is one of the most powerful men in the world. Having his support can only be a good thing.”

“Oh, really? When you’ve distanced yourself from him on half the votes his oil lobbyists pushed?”

“Well—”

“When your brother, whom you just said will be one of your most important surrogates, has been estranged from him for nearly fifteen years based on deeply entrenched philosophical and political differences?”

“True, but—”

“When I have led several protests against him when Cade Energy infringed on restricted tribal property?”

“I know, but—”

“Him speaking for you makes the three of us look like hypocrites.” I lean forward and defy Emily Post to prop my elbows on the table. “And I haven’t been in politics long enough to be okay with looking like I don’t mean what I say.”

“He has connections we could use.”

“Some of them, if uncovered, could lead to unsavory places.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’ll protest. “I said unsavory, not illegal. We’ve already started digging. Just because something isn’t illegal doesn’t mean the public will like it.”

“You’re saying I should cut my father out altogether?”

“I’m saying if your daddy is pulling any strings, I don’t wanna see them.”

“He’s not pulling my strings,” Owen says, the closest thing to anger I’ve seen showing in his eyes.

“Then this is a moot discussion.”

“Isn’t there some middle ground between him representing the campaign and not being involved at all?”

“I didn’t say he couldn’t be involved at all. I think aligning yourself with him publicly too closely will backfire. I said I don’t want to see the strings, not that he couldn’t work backstage.”

“Let’s get something straight, Ms. Hunter,” he says, pointedly ignoring my invitation to address me informally. “My father is not a ventriloquist and I’m no dummy. You’re running my campaign, but never forget it is my campaign. I understand the differences you have with my father, and that you don’t want anything to do with my brother. I won’t hesitate to put distance between me and either of them if necessary, but I won’t disavow them simply for being who they are.”