She waves me off. “It’s fine. It’s not like I had big plans for the day. Besides, I owed you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Quinn.”
“Exactly.” She grins, that mischievous light in her eyes. “Now we’re even.”
“We’re far from even. By my count—”
“Cooper!” I turn to find Tom, my old boss, smiling at me, drink in hand. “I thought that was you.”
“In the flesh.” Tom is one of the few people on my father’s team I genuinely like, and this time, I don’t mind making introductions. “Tom, this is my friend, Quinn. Quinn, this is Tom Anderson, the Field Director for my father’s campaign. I interned with him over the summer.”
“He did great work,” Tom says, clapping me on the back. “We were sorry to lose him.”
“According to the polls, you managed just fine without me.”
“Yeah, but we’d have done even better with you.” He turns to Quinn and stage whispers, “Cooper was our secret weapon with the AARP crowd. The men enjoyed talking sports and the women— Well, I don’t have to tell you how charming he can be.”
She laughs good-naturedly. “No, you really don’t.”
“That reminds me.” Tom’s attention swings back to me. He’s all business now. “Your father said you’re interested in working on The Hill when you graduate in the spring. I’ve got a lead on a Staff Assistant position I think would be a good fit. I can send you the details.”
I nod, feigning interest. “That would be great.”
I hate lying to Tom, but I don’t have a choice. Not when my father is using me like a cog in his political machine.
Irritation skitters up my spine, but I breathe through it, forcing myself to focus on the conversation.
“What exactly does a Field Director do?” Quinn asks, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’ve always been curious about the composition of a political campaign.”
Her face gives nothing away, but I know the truth. She doesn’t give a shit about campaign roles or Tom’s duties. She’s redirecting the conversation.
To spare me.
The realization nearly blows me away.
That this woman could ever think she does more harm than good is a fucking travesty.
She’s an angel.
And just for tonight, she’s mine.
42
QUINN
My wine glass is empty,and my mouth is parched when Tom finally excuses himself. Cooper’s been quiet, leaving Tom and me to carry the conversation. The only thing that seemed to penetrate his thoughts was talk of Wildcat football.
And even that was short-lived.
The moment Tom suggested Cooper could end his football career on a high note by winning the national championship, he’d completely shut down.
I reach across the small table, touching Coop’s forearm. “Are you okay?”
“I could use another drink.” He raises his beer and drains the bottle. “How about you?”
“I’d kill for a glass of water.”
“Smart.” He nods, flashing me a conspiratorial grin. “This thing is like a marathon. Pacing is key.” He checks the time on his phone. “Two hours down, eight to go.”
