5
An Indecent Proposal
Someone had scratched out the conference room sign at the Logan Arthur for Governor headquarters and written in “War Room.” And, judging by the sea of faces staring back at me from across the table, they were taking the war part seriously. Their tense expressions, plus the fact that someone had hastily erased all the whiteboards—I could still make out bits of campaign strategy—were starting to make me suspect the enemy in this situation was me.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” said Nora, from her seat at the head of the table. The crisp, assured voice on the phone had turned out to belong to a beautiful Black woman wearing a sharp magenta suit and long, dark locs twisted into an elegant bun. She had a dazzling smile she’d flashed exactly once, when she’d greeted me at the door of the campaign’s downtown headquarters (just two blocks from the Fleur de Lis—ugh, there’d been so many clues) and ushered me through an office full of gawking people wearing bright blue Arthur for Governor shirts. Nearly ten of them had filed into the conference room after us, settling into seats around the table. Either I was an all-hands-on-deck sort of problem, or they expected a show. Despite being full, the room was unnervingly quiet. Everyone was waiting for something.
The door to the conference room flew open and Logan barged in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, sounding harried. “Phones are ringing off the hook.”
Ah. Right. What we’d been waiting for.
“I can only imagine,” said Nora dryly, tapping her manicured fingers on the table.
Logan made his way to the opposite end of the table, nodding at each person as he passed. He looked just like I remembered, like the photograph had captured: tall and darkly handsome, with the intensity of a rushing train, a face I wanted to run from and throw myself in front of in equal measure. The creases under his eyes had only deepened, and his stubble was now the beginnings of a beard. Unfortunately, I found I liked that even better. He looked an order of magnitude more tense than he had on Saturday night. Well, buddy, welcome to the club.
He was pointedly not looking at me. I took his cue and tried to pretend he wasn’t there, but there was no fooling my body. Even without looking, his presence gnawed at me. Under the table, I bounced my leg.
“Okay.” Nora put down the phone in her right hand, then the one in her left (wait—had she been typing on two phones at the same time?). “Let’s get down to business.” She looked at her gathered colleagues. “For those of you just getting looped in, this morning we woke up to a crisis comms situation. The ever-delightful Daniel Watcher—” She paused to allow for the groans that echoed around the table. “Yeah, that’s right, our good buddy Daniel got hold of some pictures of Logan from this weekend, and they’re going viral.”
Oh, God—they were?
“Other outlets are picking up the story,” Nora said. “We’re expecting hit pieces from Texas Monthly and the Statesman at minimum.” More groaning.
“Sex sells,” lamented a pale young slender staffer. He smoothed a hand over his perfectly coiffed black hair. “Trust me, I would know.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “It’s earlier in the day than I normally say this, but: can it, Cary.”
I couldn’t help looking at Logan, but his face was a stony mask. What was he thinking? Is this why he’d run when he saw people taking pictures—because he’d been embarrassed by the idea of them catching us together?
“Though, yes,” Nora said. “For those who haven’t seen them, the pictures capture Logan and Alexis here—” Finally, she nodded to me. “In a rather undressed state outside the Fleur de Lis hotel.”
“Remember? That’s the hookup spot where Morgan met that guy who was obsessed with her feet,” Cary added, and there were nods of recognition around the table. Everyone’s heads turned to me. Great. Now they were either imagining me in a state of undress or trying to guess what weird fetish I was concealing. Dear freak lightning storm from Saturday night, please have mercy and strike me now.
Nora cleared her throat. “Obviously, we’re not going to waste time giving our fearless leader hell for his personal choices.” She paused. “Because you can rest assured, I’ve already done that.” Snickers from everyone. Logan gave a tight smile that I think was supposed to pass for “Look at me, taking this in stride,” but instead looked more like “I am currently being tortured and you are witnessing an involuntary pain spasm.”
“So, damage control,” Nora said. “First thing we did was track down the woman before any reporters could get to her. We were going to run the picture through a reverse image search—”
“Wait.” A female staffer near Nora frowned. “Why didn’t we know her name if she was with Logan?”
Silence around the table as the pieces lined up: Caught in a state of undress. Fleur de Lis, the hookup spot. No name. Logan started coughing, and Cary leaped up and poured him a glass of water from a pitcher in the center of the table. I melted into my chair.
“Luckily,” Nora continued, ignoring the question, “Anita recognized Alexis as the younger sister of our very own Senator Lee Stone.” This at least earned me some looks of respect. Lee to the rescue again.
An older woman with close-cut white hair leaned over the table and thrust out her hand. “Anita Jones, director of research.” Her voice was so gravelly it sounded like she smoked at least a carton a day. I shook her hand and tried not to wince at her firm grip. “Your sister and I go way back. Helped her pass her big green energy bill, you know. I used to work for Mane until this one sweet-talked me away.” She slid a look at Logan and lowered her voice. “Not bad, eh?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Keep it in your pants, Anita.”
“He’s much feistier than Mane,” Anita said with a wink. “I like it.”
“Uh...” How to respond? This woman was a walking, talking HR violation. I half expected an HR rep to drop from the ceiling and snatch her away.
“Anyway,” Nora said, shooting Anita a scorching look. “Now that everyone’s up to speed.” She turned her full and formidable attention on me. “Alexis. You’ve obviously picked up that this story is bad for us. We’ve worked hard to quell rumors that Logan is a playboy, all bluster and no substance, someone who’s only running for office for the fame and fringe benefits.”
Around the table, the staffers snorted or shook their heads, plainly offended on Logan’s behalf.
“We all know that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but unfortunately, the public doesn’t.”
I darted another glance at Logan, because it was impossible to sit in the same room with him and not look. He was idly tracing a line over his palm as Nora spoke, his face still impassive.
“Logan is young compared to Mane, which could swing either way—it could be a boon for us or an Achilles’ heel. Mane’s team’s doing their best to present it as a flaw, and this playboy reputation plays right into their hands. If word gets out Logan was, uh, acting a little salacious, we’re worried it’ll sink his credibility. Especially with the female politicos we’ve been courting for endorsements.”
“Including your sister,” Anita added. And it hit me: of course Lee would catch wind of this. What if I hurt her reputation? What if I humiliated her? It wasn’t just my career on the line.
“We need to make this go away,” Nora said, as if she’d read my mind. “Take control of the narrative.”
“Yes.” My voice came out small, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, I’m all for that. I’m an elementary school librarian—I don’t exactly want my one-night stand blasted on the news. And, you know, there’s Lee to consider...”
“Perfect.” Nora beamed at me, and I winced. Her smile was a tad...predatory, like a cat grinning at a mouse who’d just walked into its waiting paws. I got the distinct impression I was about to get a sales pitch. “Then we’re all on the same page. Unfortunately, the pictures are out there and the pundits are clamoring. The truth won’t work, so we need a story.”
From the other end of the table, Logan crossed his arms tight over his chest. Nora ignored him, keeping her gaze on me. “What we propose—actually, I’ll be real—what we’re begging you to consider is to tell the public that you and Logan are dating. Seriously dating. Like, church bells ringing in the distance. We’ll say the photos caught Logan with his girlfriend, not his fly-by-night, because everyone knows Logan Arthur is a serious, focused, mature man who can commit to things. Like, say, a single woman. Or the entire state of Texas.”
“You want us to say we’re dating?” My head snapped to Logan—and for the first time, he looked back. There was an unexpected vulnerability in his eyes as he searched my face for my reaction. Whatever he saw there made him swallow hard and lean away from the table.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Don’t mind him,” Nora said. “Lying goes against Logan’s moral code, which is why we love him. But it’s my job to win, and a political campaign is won or lost on public perception. What people think of the kind of person you are is—like it or not—ten times more important than your fiscal policy. That’s why we agreed—” she looked pointedly at Logan “—that this was our best option.”
“I’ve built my entire career around telling the truth when other politicians wouldn’t,” he protested, but he sounded resigned.
“And no, Alexis.” Nora turned back to me. “We don’t just want you to say you’re dating. If no one ever sees the two of you together, it’ll look fishy. We’re proposing you and Logan pretend to be in a relationship from now until election day—upon which time Logan will win and we’ll roll out a public breakup plan. Irrevocable differences. Conscious uncoupling. Something vague and mystifying where everyone walks away with their reputations intact.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You want us to go on actual dates?”
“More like carefully staged appearances. Mostly attending campaign events together. Speeches, rallies, pancake breakfasts, fundraiser dinners.” She waved jazz hands. “It can be quite glamorous. And it’s only until November 7th—two measly months. Anyone can do anything for two months.”
“I once pretended I was Matt Bomer on Grindr for two months,” Cary piped in. He turned so I could witness his profile. “See? The resemblance is uncanny.”
Anita snorted, but her words were directed at me. “The truth is, cookie, you’re good for business.”
“Anita,” Nora warned.
“We ran an exploratory poll,” Anita explained, “and people responded favorably to the idea of Logan in a relationship. And you couldn’t make for better optics: you’re pretty, connected to a Democratic senator, and an actual, honest-to-God elementary school librarian. Who even knew they made those anymore? You’re literally wearing a cardigan. Nice girl jackpot.”
I drew the cardigan tighter over my chest. Apparently, I needed to date Anita Jones. She found me more irresistible than all my exes combined.
“Enough,” Logan said, leaning over the table. “Alexis isn’t some prize horse at a show. You don’t need to twirl her around and slap her hindquarters.”
It was the first time I’d heard my real name out of Logan’s mouth, and at the sound, my body betrayed me. That familiar electricity zipped through me, making me lean incrementally in his direction. No, I reprimanded myself. He left you at the hotel without a backward glance. No last name, no phone number, nothing. And while that’s technically the point of a one-night stand, rude. Plus, he never told you he was a politician—and a playboy to boot! Okay, good, now I was properly pissed at Logan again.
I cleared my throat, and all eyes fell on me. “I understand what you all get out of this. But what do I get?”
“Other than saving face with your employer?” Nora gave me a pointed look. “How about fame, glory, and thousands of new Twitter followers?”
Cary shrugged. “Don’t you have a SoundCloud to promote or something?”
It was my turn to scoff.
“Then what do you want?” Nora asked. “Because we can’t offer you money. If that got out—”
“I don’t want your money.” But her question lingered: What did I want? To turn back the hands of time and never set foot in the Fleur de Lis seemed out of the realm of possibility. The truth was, I didn’t know. I’d never been good at understanding how I felt or even what I thought when put on the spot. Usually, I liked to mull things over in private, preferably while reading a book. My feelings usually dawned on me hours or even days later, like watercolor paint slowly blooming on a canvas.
Every single person around the table, Logan included, watched me. “I’ll have to think about it,” I said, and saw them deflate. Suddenly this was the last place on earth I wanted to be: in a room full of disappointed strangers. I shoved back from the table. “I have to go.”
Nora leaped to her feet. “Totally understandable. It’s a big ask. Just—please don’t talk to anyone about this until you talk to us. Here.” She thrust a business card at me. “Take this. My cell’s on the back.”
“And decide fast,” Anita said. “We can only stall the reporters for so long. We have to jump before Mane does.”
I nodded over my shoulder, wrenching the door open. “Right. Process fast. Got it.”
“The clock is ticking!” Anita called. All the people at their desks whirled to look at me. “The vultures are circling!”
I put my head down and booked it out of the office.