“Yep. Then we’ll walk around downtown. I figure we’ll have photographers on us by noon.”
“So you want to get ahead of Carl by letting the cat out of the bag this way?”
He kisses me, and I feel a tug of warm possessiveness. “It’s time, Reagan. I want to be elected for who I really am, and my relationship with you is part of that. No games. I don’t want voters to feel like I pulled a fast one on them.”
Of all the things I love about Jude, I think I may love his integrity most of all.
“This will hurt you with your base, though,” I remind him. “You know that, right?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The base I care about doesn’t give a shit about political parties. They want a guy in there who can get shit done without playing games, and that’s me. I don’t care who anyone thinks I should or shouldn’t love. I love you. We’re together. Now let’s go let some lucky reporter break this story.”
When he puts it that way…I kind of want to have sex with him again before we go out to breakfast. But he’s right—it’s time.
We put on our coats and take the elevator down to his building’s lobby. My heart is pounding when the doors slide open, and Jude takes my hand and leads me toward the front door.
No photographers in the lobby or at the building’s front entrance. That means Carl hasn’t leaked anything yet.
“I figure the farther we walk, the better our chances of getting busted,” Jude says.
“There’s a diner about a mile from here with really good pancakes.”
“Pancakes it is.”
It feels surreal to be walking the crowded streets of downtown Chicago hand-in-hand with Jude. No one takes notice of us. For the first time, I feel like we’re a normal couple.
At Gigi’s Diner, we have a long, openly affectionate breakfast. Jude raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles several times. He keeps hold of my hand across the table and gives me a look of love, his eyes soft and affectionate.
“So…you lookin’ for a job, Preston?” he asks me playfully.
I shrug. “Not yet. I may go back to practicing law. Glad I kept up my license.”
“I was hoping you’d consider being my new campaign manager.”
I laugh at the absurdity of it until I realize he’s not joking. “Jude…”
“Reagan.”
“Really?”
“Why not? I think you kick ass.”
“But I’m a Democrat. The establishment would say you need your head examined.”
“The establishment can kiss my ass. You know me better than anyone. You know what I stand for. How to keep me in line.”
My lips quirk into a smile. “Most campaign managers don’t sleep with their candidates. There can be contentious fighting, you know.”
“Sounds like good foreplay to me.”
“The election’s so close that I’m not sure you need to name a manager. Just make someone on staff a figurehead manager.”
“Work for me, then. After the election.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Work for you, huh?”
“Workwithme. Whatever you want to call it. Be my right hand.”
“So I can beat you off anytime you want?”
