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“Well, Anna. It’s funny that you ask that because we are here in front of one of my favorite spots in my parents’ house.” James shoots me a grin. “We are next to the fireplace in our living room. Keiran and I spent many a night right here when we were younger, spread out across the floor, reading comic books. Isn’t that right?”
I pick up the ball that he’s rolled to my feet, “That’s right, James. When we were a bit older, we replaced those comic books with James Joyce novels and books about how black holes are formed. But we kept up the habit of reading in here, in our Glasgow home.”
“You two don’t sound Scottish to my ears!” Wendy says, laughing at her own joke.
“We actually both went to boarding school in England and attended Oxford for university,” I explain.
“We spent a lot of time traveling in our school years as well. My brother might not just come out and say it, but our father Lord Beaumont Grayrose, was also prime minister of Scotland. We were essentially raised in the public eye, Wendy.”
“Is that why you are running for prime minister? To continue that tradition?”
“Yes,” James says, smiling. “That is certainly part of it. I also believe that healthcare and jobs need a massive reformation. And I’m here to tell you now that I am the man for the job. I’m a dogged advocate for every man, woman, and child here in the whole UK. And being from Scotland, I’m already used to having to convince people that I belong. I like to work toward people knowing I’m going to be right there, giving a megaphone to their voices and their interests. That’s why I’ll make the most successful prime minister: because I understand the issues our country faces and I am willing to fight for what we all believe in.”
“That sounds great. Honestly, I wish that everyone felt that kind of fire for politics. I can’t even pretend to care when someone starts telling me about anything to do with taxes,” Anna jokes.
“Tell me about it. Thank god for accountants, honestly!” Wendy chimes in.
“I know we have some great ones,” James says.
Both women nod, smiling. Wendy turns to me and I shift, reminding myself to smile.
“You two have been on the campaign trail together for about a month, right? My sources say that you kicked off your tour in America, of all places.”
She clearly directed it at me, but James fields the question like a pro.
“I would say that we are announcing my run for prime minister right now!” he says, easily avoiding the question. “Thank you both for taking part in my announcement.”
Wendy doesn’t even lose momentum. She just peers straight at me. “I heard that you have hired an American au pair for your young daughter. How is that going? I imagine that you’ve been working really closely together with her—”
“It’s been fine!” I raise my voice, giving her an even smile. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy with running NewsCorp and working on my brother’s campaign that I’ve barely had time to sleep.”
Her expression tightens. “A source told me that your wife is actually in the Netherlands and has been there for quite some time. What can you tell me about that?”
Rage fills my veins. It takes everything in me not to rip the mic pack off and demand that Wendy get the fuck out of my mother’s living room.
Instead I blink slowly, then give her a puzzled look. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I frown at Anna, raising an eyebrow. “Anna, do you know something I don’t? Because this isn’t making much sense to me.”
Anna swallows nervously, smiling at Wendy.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Wendy looks dead at me. “You and your au pair witnessed the death of my partner, Max Hershal.”
“Okay,” James tries to cut in, standing up. “This interview has really gone off the rails. We are supposed to be talking about my ministerial run.”
“Max must have uncovered something about you and your nanny,” Wendy says, her face flushing. “That’s why you paid someone to run him down. That’s why you’re not answering me now!”
I huff a laugh, although inside a cold hand clenches in a fist around my heart. Standing up, I give Anna a skeptical look.
“I really thought you were more professional than this. You realize that I am one of the most powerful men in the media industry, right?”
She stands up, her expression unreadable. “If you’ll just stay, I can ask the questions that you were expecting—,” she tries.
I give her a cold glare. “I’m done. I don’t know what kind of planning went into this little scheme, but the two of you are done. This may not be a NewsCorp station, but I know your boss, your boss’s boss, and so on, all the way up the food chain. If I were you, I would make sure my CV was nice and tight. Because you’re done in broadcast journalism.”
With that, I finally rip out my mic pack and stalk out of the room. James is right on my tail, following me like a lost puppy.
“What was that?” he demands. “What do I need to know about that woman accusing you of killing her husband?”
