thankless grunt work, this wasn’t merely a job. This was their family, and they needed to believe in their candidate. A quiet dinner with his wife would be good for everyone’s morale. The same way children were reassured by small acts of affection between their parents.
“Ben,” Grace stage-whispered. “Everyone’s been pushing so hard. How about we send the team out while we’re at dinner?”
Lombard didn’t like that idea at all, but it was Grace to a tee. Too kindhearted for her own good. Or his. Still, he laughed magnanimously like it was the best idea he’d heard in years. Actually, when he thought about it, he liked how it would work itself out. Reed and Saldana would decline, which meant their people would have to skip it. That would leave a few lower-level staffers going out for dinner on his nickel. It would look good without costing him much in terms of work—a win, coming and going.
“And that is why I married this woman,” he said. “But after dinner, right back on the chain gang, everyone!”
That brought laughter all around, but his message was clear: there was work to be done. Things were turning around, and people liked working for a winner. He’d take care of them once he was in the White House, but for now a small taste of his largesse would tide them over.
One of Reed’s phones was ringing, but he wasn’t back from shuffling his appointment with Senator Russell. Reed’s aide glanced at the number but let it ring.
“Would you get that?” said Lombard.
The aide answered the phone, asked a few questions, and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. Lombard knew immediately that he’d made a mistake.
“Sir, I have a Titus Eskridge? He has an update for you on the ‘ACG situation’?”
Lombard kept his expression even and disinterested but felt his wife’s gaze on him. Colonel Titus Stonewall Eskridge Jr. was the founder and CEO of Cold Harbor Inc.—a private military contractor based out of Virginia. Cold Harbor had been a major contributor to his Senate campaigns, and Lombard went way back with Eskridge. Grace could find something redeeming in most people, but she couldn’t even pretend to tolerate the man. Years ago, Lombard had severed political ties with Cold Harbor at her insistence, so he would need a very compelling reason for taking his call. A reason he didn’t currently have.
A career in politics might have taught him the art of the bluff—he could take a knife in the back and whistle a happy tune—but somehow Grace had always been immune to such deceptions.
“Titus Eskridge? Well, they sure do come out of the woodwork this time of year.” He waved the phone away. “Give it to Leland or take a message.”
“Yes, sir,” said the aide.
He glanced over to his wife, but she had already turned away. He would wait for her to bring it up later. One thing was for sure—his quiet, romantic dinner had just been canceled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jenn Charles sat at her desk and went back through her report on Vaughn. It had been one thing to bring him in to consult, but now George was contemplating inserting him into her team for phase two. It was a mistake. She knew it in her gut but couldn’t articulate it beyond that. She needed more to back up her hunch.
Gibson Vaughn, son of Sally and Duke Vaughn. Born and raised in Charlottesville, Virginia. His mother passed when he was three. Ovarian cancer. Hard way to go, she thought. Gibson Vaughn had been raised, if one could call it that, by his workaholic father.
Duke Vaughn had been a legend in Virginia politics. Undergraduate and master’s degrees in political science were both taken at the University of Virginia. A larger-than-life personality, Duke was a born charmer who put friends and foes alike at ease. He lived for the political dogfight and found his life’s calling as Benjamin Lombard’s chief of staff. They made a great pair—Lombard, the stubborn, principled brawler, and Vaughn, the master of the backroom
“Ben,” Grace stage-whispered. “Everyone’s been pushing so hard. How about we send the team out while we’re at dinner?”
Lombard didn’t like that idea at all, but it was Grace to a tee. Too kindhearted for her own good. Or his. Still, he laughed magnanimously like it was the best idea he’d heard in years. Actually, when he thought about it, he liked how it would work itself out. Reed and Saldana would decline, which meant their people would have to skip it. That would leave a few lower-level staffers going out for dinner on his nickel. It would look good without costing him much in terms of work—a win, coming and going.
“And that is why I married this woman,” he said. “But after dinner, right back on the chain gang, everyone!”
That brought laughter all around, but his message was clear: there was work to be done. Things were turning around, and people liked working for a winner. He’d take care of them once he was in the White House, but for now a small taste of his largesse would tide them over.
One of Reed’s phones was ringing, but he wasn’t back from shuffling his appointment with Senator Russell. Reed’s aide glanced at the number but let it ring.
“Would you get that?” said Lombard.
The aide answered the phone, asked a few questions, and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. Lombard knew immediately that he’d made a mistake.
“Sir, I have a Titus Eskridge? He has an update for you on the ‘ACG situation’?”
Lombard kept his expression even and disinterested but felt his wife’s gaze on him. Colonel Titus Stonewall Eskridge Jr. was the founder and CEO of Cold Harbor Inc.—a private military contractor based out of Virginia. Cold Harbor had been a major contributor to his Senate campaigns, and Lombard went way back with Eskridge. Grace could find something redeeming in most people, but she couldn’t even pretend to tolerate the man. Years ago, Lombard had severed political ties with Cold Harbor at her insistence, so he would need a very compelling reason for taking his call. A reason he didn’t currently have.
A career in politics might have taught him the art of the bluff—he could take a knife in the back and whistle a happy tune—but somehow Grace had always been immune to such deceptions.
“Titus Eskridge? Well, they sure do come out of the woodwork this time of year.” He waved the phone away. “Give it to Leland or take a message.”
“Yes, sir,” said the aide.
He glanced over to his wife, but she had already turned away. He would wait for her to bring it up later. One thing was for sure—his quiet, romantic dinner had just been canceled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jenn Charles sat at her desk and went back through her report on Vaughn. It had been one thing to bring him in to consult, but now George was contemplating inserting him into her team for phase two. It was a mistake. She knew it in her gut but couldn’t articulate it beyond that. She needed more to back up her hunch.
Gibson Vaughn, son of Sally and Duke Vaughn. Born and raised in Charlottesville, Virginia. His mother passed when he was three. Ovarian cancer. Hard way to go, she thought. Gibson Vaughn had been raised, if one could call it that, by his workaholic father.
Duke Vaughn had been a legend in Virginia politics. Undergraduate and master’s degrees in political science were both taken at the University of Virginia. A larger-than-life personality, Duke was a born charmer who put friends and foes alike at ease. He lived for the political dogfight and found his life’s calling as Benjamin Lombard’s chief of staff. They made a great pair—Lombard, the stubborn, principled brawler, and Vaughn, the master of the backroom
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