The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,57
manager,” Connor says, grinning.
I hold my breath, and Owen narrows his gaze on the TV screen, not looking at me.
“What dynamic is that?” Maxim asks easily.
“They hate each other.”
“God, Connor, you make us sound like a bad soap opera.”
“No, a good one. Like Dallas or Dynasty.”
The audience laughs and Maxim does, too, albeit with that guarded watchful look on his face.
“Okay, okay, enough tough stuff,” Connor says. “Let me ask the things everyone wants to know.”
With his hardest-hitting questions out of the way, Connor shifts to lighter topics, and by the end, Maxim has the audience thinking and laughing and pretty much swooning.
“He’s such a natural,” Owen says when the segment ends. “Maybe one day, I can convince him to run for office.”
I almost choke on my marshmallow. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Agreed,” Glenn speaks up. “Candidates have to be incredibly disciplined.”
“You’re mistaken if you think Max wasn’t intentional about everything he revealed tonight,” Owen says, smiling. “Lennix, I’m surprised you don’t think he should get into politics.”
“I think he’s positioned himself as just enough of an outsider that everyday people trust him, but as someone so undoubtedly influential that politicians want to use him. The best of both worlds. I think they trust him because he’s not a politician.”
“Gee, thanks,” Owen murmurs wryly.
“You know what I mean,” I laugh. “He’s better off staying out.”
I don’t add, of course, that Maxim in politics sounds like a nightmare for our personal life.
After the show, Millie goes to bed, but Glenn, Owen and I put in another hour hammering out the speech. By the time we go our separate ways, I’m exhausted and can barely see straight on the ride home. I’m letting myself into the apartment when Maxim calls.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and liquid.
“Hey yourself, Mr. Late Night.”
“I made Kimba promise this is the last one. I have better things to do with my time than answer inane questions for lame late-night hosts.”
“It’s not a waste of time. The rapport you’re building with America will come in handy later when Owen needs you to speak on his behalf.”
“If you say so. I miss you.”
His abrupt shift from the campaign to personal throws me off for a second. “Uh, yeah. Same.”
“It was cute at first,” Maxim says dryly, “but I don’t think same properly conveys how much you should be missing me right now.”
“How should I properly convey it?” I ask teasingly, dropping my bag on the floor and stretching out on the couch.
“A picture of your naked tits would be a good start.”
“Did we learn nothing from Anthony Weiner? A dick pic is forever, so imagine the half-life on a tit pic.”
“Good point,” he says soberly. “Soooo . . . video?”
“Doc.” I laugh, kicking my shoes off and wiggling my sore toes. “They’re just breasts. Nothing special.”
“Shhhh! They’ll hear you.”
“God, don’t make me laugh. Owen’s cook made pot roast tonight, and I ate my weight in beef. And before you ask, no, I didn’t check to see if it was non-foresty.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. Why were you eating at O’s place?”
“We were working on the speech for that fundraiser tomorrow in Baltimore. I watched your segment at the house with him, Millie and Glenn.”
“Ahhh. Good ol’ Glenn. I don’t think he’s a fan of me.”
“No, he totally is,” I say. I’m not sure either, but we can’t have tension between two key figures in my campaign.
“Did you hear what Connor said about my dad?”
“Something about you being the greatest business mind?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“I don’t know why he said it.”
“He believes it, of course. He’s right. You are.”
Maxim just grunts at my praise. “Dad knew it would get back to me, so he’s signaling me something, but I’m not sure what yet.”
“Maybe he’s ready to repair things between the two of you.” I try to keep my voice even, but the thought of seeing Warren Cade on the regular if he and Maxim reconcile may bring that pot roast back up.
“After all these years?” Maxim asks. “Maybe. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what drove us apart.”
Him being an asshole?
“More than anything,” I say, suppressing my internal scream. “I’d love to stay on the phone talking about your father, but alas . . . I have a life.”
I sit up, grabbing my sling-backs by the straps and heading to the bedroom
“Very funny.” He does chuckle, but then sobers and says seriously, “I can’t wait to see you next week.”