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A text comes in for him as he says this, which stops me from saying to say to hell with the console and scrambling over it to get closer to him. Not that that would be a bad thing, but tonight, it would be. We’re on our way to Bradford’s home to meet with his political consultant, father, and brother to go over the damage control plan they’ve assembled. Arriving in a just-fucked state for that isnothow I want my first meeting with these people to go.
I watch as Bradford reads the text. If I had to guess at the feeling it’s stirring in him, I’d say anger.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He glances at me. “It will be.”
He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t prod for more information. I’m actually not sure I want to know what it is because I can only assume it’s more backlash to our marriage. However, it’s a reminder of everything we’re up against. “I promise this will be the last time I ask you this,” I say softly. “Are you absolutely sure about this marriage? About what you might be giving up by choosing me? Maybe you should take a night by yourself to think about it again.”
Bradford doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “I’m not taking a night by myself, Kristen. I’m never taking a night by myself again unless it’s unavoidable.” His decisive tone goes straight to my stomach, settling low there. It reassures any remaining hesitation I have over hurting his career and I decide that this really will be the last time I ask him that question.
Bradford’s driver pulls the car into the garage of the tower he lives in and five minutes later, we’re in the private elevator on our way up to the penthouse. We stop at the 129thfloor and exit into a gallery that leads to a grand salon that is one of the most luxurious rooms I have ever been in. I don’t have near enough time to take in the sumptuous creams and grays that fill the room because I’m immediately presented with three men staring at me like I’ve created the worst problem of their lives.
I recognize his father and brother, Hayden, and am guessing the third man is Alan, his political consultant. Alan reminds me of that actor, Jon Hamm in looks. Dark hair, strong jaw, tanned. Good looking. Just not as tall. And definitely not as friendly looking. He’s watching me with an assessing look. No smile in sight.
“Gentlemen,” Bradford says, extending his arm to pull me next to him. “This is Kristen.” He then goes around the group and introduces me to everyone.
“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” Edmund, Bradford’s father says, his eyes and voice filled with displeasure. “However, here we are and my son seems adamant that this marriage is here to stay, so welcome.” Edmund might be welcoming me, but it’s obvious he wishes he wasn’t.
I call on my manners and smile at him. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Looking at Edmund is like looking at an older version of Bradford. I read once that fathers have the upper hand when it comes to gene expression in their children and that is more than true with the Black family. Edmund’s five sons all have their father’s dark hair, height, and good looks.
We move to the dining room and sit at the large table that can seat twenty.
“Let’s get straight down to business,” Hayden says, his tone clinical.
Bradford cuts in. “Let’s come back to that.” He looks at Alan. “Your plan is good, but there’s no way Kristen is attending all those social events.”
I frown. We haven’t talked about this. “Which events?”
“The ones we need you to attend if we’ve got any shot at salvaging your husband’s political career,” Alan says. The way he utters the word “husband” leaves me in no doubt that he wants me to disappear.
“Alan,” Bradford says, his voice holding a warning.
I touch his arm to stop him. “No, it’s okay.” I look at Alan, feeling more than confident I can handle this man. A year and a half of standing up to my father has given me skills I never had before. “Go on.”
Alan details weeks of daily functions that include breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and galas. He’s also scheduled some media interviews in a few weeks. The hope is that by then the scandal will have died down enough to begin a media campaign to win support. When he gets to the media outlets owned by my father’s company, I shake my head. “You can take the last five off your list. My father’s company owns them, and based on the phone call I had with him today, he won’t allow interviews with Bradford and me to appear in any of his publications.”
“Jesus,” Alan mutters. “The day just gets fucking better.”
“Enough,” Bradford snaps, his tone sharp enough to gain everyone’s full attention. The severe expression on his face is one I would shrink from if it was directed at me.
Alan has the sense to take heed. He doesn’t dwell on the Blaise Media issue. He moves on, giving me a full rundown of other social appearances that he’s proposed for Bradford and me over the next few weeks.
“Okay,” I say, “I can do a lot of those, but some will clash with my work and a couple of things I already have planned that I know I can’t get out of. How about I email you that information so you can rearrange what you can?”
He appears okay with that and nods his agreement.
“You’ve packed too much into the weekends,” Bradford says. “Remove everything from the Sundays. Kristen needs a day off.”
“No.” I look at him. “It’s only for a few weeks, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you run ragged for weeks.” Bradford appears anything but convinced.
“Trust me, I’ve worked harder before.” I eye Alan. “The Sundays are fine.”
Bradford and I engage in a war of looks. His saystop arguing with me on this. Mine saystop being so overprotective.
Alan cuts into our war. “The Sundays stay. We don’t have time to fuck around with this, Bradford. You made your choice, and just so I’m leaving you with no doubt about this, it was a choice that may end your political career before it even starts. The sooner we rectify it, the better.”
