Rumor Has It (3 page)

“I don't recall you making a move at all that night,” she said. Liza almost wanted to excuse herself from their conversation. But she was just too entertained by the dance between these two.

“If I didn't, I must have been drinking a little too much.”

Liza drained her coffee cup and headed to the counter to get a refill. Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn't help but smile at the fact that the two hit it off so well. It was kind of weird, though, because Robert had been acting as if he didn't want anything to do with Chante or social media, and now he'd done a complete one-eighty. Maybe he had seen the error of his ways or maybe Chante was just that charming. Liza lingered at the counter a little longer watching the interaction between her friends. Though she couldn't hear what they were saying, she could tell that the conversation was going well by the way Chante smiled.

This is going to work out just fine
, she thought as she headed back over to her friends.

“Excuse me,” a smooth, deep voice said from behind her. Turning around, Liza was surprised to see Jackson Franklin standing there. Looking into his emerald eyes, she took a deep breath. Pictures didn't do him justice at all. This man was a living, breathing god—even if his tie was askew.

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

“No problem, I just need some sugar and I'll be on my way.”

Oh, I'd love to give you some sugar,
she thought as her gaze fell on his full lips. She picked up the glass container and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, then smiled at her. Liza glanced down at his massive hands and forced herself not to think about him touching her. This man was the “enemy.” He wanted a seat that clearly belonged to Robert.

“You're welcome. Excuse me,” she said. Liza returned to the pastry counter just so she could get a look at that man as he walked out the door. “Get it together,” she muttered, then ordered a cinnamon stick that she didn't really want. Looking down at the sweet treat, she shook her head thinking about how much it reminded her of Jackson's smooth skin tone.

Walking back to her friends, she chided herself for acting like a political groupie. Her job was to bring him down, not lust after him.

“Everything okay over here?” Liza smiled as she sat in the chair vacated earlier.

Robert returned her smile and nodded. “Everything is fine. Chante and I were having a great conversation that I can't wait to continue at the dinner party this weekend.” Liza expelled a sigh of relief—neither of them had seen her near meltdown with Jackson or noticed that he was in the French bakery.

Chante grinned. “I'm looking forward to this weekend as well.”

Robert rose to his feet. “I know I was supposed to talk to you about some campaign stuff, but I have to get back to the office. Breakfast?”

“Usual spot?” Liza asked.

Robert nodded, then turned to Chante and took her hand in his. He kissed it, then told both women good-bye.

Once he was out of earshot, Chante expelled a sigh. “You were right,” she said.

“What was that?” Liza quipped, then cupped her ear. “I know you didn't just say I was right.”

“He's charming, good-looking, and single. Please tell me—again—why you two have only been friends all of these years?”

“Because Robert is just as driven as you are, and you know, I need attention.”

Chante rolled her eyes. “No, you're playing Erykah Badu over here, bag lady.”

“Anyway. You and Robert are perfect for each other.”

“I see the potential. And I like what I see,” she said with a smile.

 

 

Jackson hung back at the coffee counter and watched the alluring woman talk with her friend. Something about her made him smile. Maybe it was the singsong quality to her voice or the fact that she had the most beautiful onyx eyes he'd ever seen.

Who was she? While he knew his time would've been better spent preparing for his meeting with Teresa Flores, he had to at least find out what her name was. When he saw that she was alone, Jackson crossed over to her and stood in front of her.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you mind if I sit?”

She looked up at him with a shocked expression on her face. “Well, I'm a little busy.” She nodded toward the iPad in her lap.

Unmoved, he extended his hand to her. “I'm Jackson Franklin, and you are?”

Clearing her throat, she took his hand and shook it firmly. God, she had the softest skin. “Liza Palmer, and I know who you are.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded and smirked. “You're one of the people running for the state senate seat.”

He smiled. “I hope that means I have your vote.”

Liza slipped her iPad into her purse. “Not a chance,” she said, then walked out the door, leaving Jackson standing there with his mouth wide open.

Chapter 4

Jackson had diffused bombs in Baghdad. He'd taken fire in Iraq and Afghanistan. But none of that prepared him for the force of nature that was Teresa Flores. From the moment he'd walked into her office, she had laid out his campaign, created his backstory and talking points as to why he was running for the senate seat. Even after drinking two cups of coffee, he was still having a hard time keeping up.

“Any questions?” she asked.

Oh, he had plenty, but he didn't know where to start. “Who had any idea that it took this much to run for office?” Jackson said.

“If you think this is a lot, then perhaps this isn't for you,” Teresa said as she sat behind her desk and pushed her raven locks behind her ears. “Mr. Franklin, your life is about to become fodder for news stories, comedians, tweeters, and bloggers. You have to ask yourself right now, do I want to do this and why am I doing it?”

Jackson sighed. “I'm doing this because I've seen what happens when the government caters to special interests and puts the people who keep this country free on the back burner. I have to do this because I haven't heard anyone running for any office say anything about what the people need. I could sit back and watch other people try to fix the issues that are plaguing the military community, but I've done that and I haven't seen anything happen to make things better.”

Teresa applauded. “You can't buy that kind of passion,” she said with a smile. “Jackson, I think you're the real deal and will be a real asset to the people of this district. All I need from you is to be honest and to keep doing what you do. Don't worry about poll numbers; that's my job. We're going to make you the next North Carolina senator.” She extended her hand to Jackson. “Now, you need a makeover.”

“What?”

She nodded. “You have to look like a politician. A few suits and a haircut will give you just what you need to look like what people think a senator should look like.”

Jackson rubbed his forehead. “What is this, a dog and pony show?”

Teresa shrugged. “Yes.”

“This is really not what I signed on for.”

“Well, politics is about image as much as it is about substance. You don't think your opponents aren't doing the same thing we're doing right now with their staff?”

“I don't want to be that kind of man. If people can't accept me for who I am and what I have to offer, what is the point of all of this?”

“Do you want to win?”

“Of course I do, but not at the expense of my integrity.”

“And, Jackson, I'd
never
put your integrity into question. You're one of the first men who has ever walked into this office and impressed me.”

Jackson furrowed his brows. “How so?”

“You're honest, you have real concerns about this undertaking, and your passion about winning this seat is real. I've been doing this for thirty years and you're the second guy I ever seriously believed in.”

“Who was the first guy?”

She shook her head and chuckled. “I'm going to plead the fifth on that one. All I know is, I will hire your videographer.”

Jackson laughed hardily as he caught her reference. Then she handed him a business card. He read the lifted gold text,
Charles P. Dwight, Haberdasher.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes. We have to get you camera ready when you go file. Charles will fit you in a suit that will have you looking a leader and a military man at the same time. Voters will flock to you. We're not going to have you looking like a man who gets seven hundred–dollar haircuts or a career politician—we're just going to polish you up a bit.”

“When should I go see this Charles guy?”

Teresa looked at her watch. “He's waiting on you now.”

Jackson rose to his feet, in awe of his campaign manager. “Then, I'm on my way.”

“And after you meet with Charles, I have a couple of donors that you're having lunch with at Chima. Make sure you wear your new suit. Jackson, I believe in you, and if you sell these guys on your passion, I think we have a serious shot of winning this election.”

He smiled and tipped his hand to her as if he were wearing a hat. “Thanks for your faith in me.”

“Don't make me regret it.”

Jackson left the office and headed to Charles Dwight's shop in Uptown Charlotte. It wasn't lost on him that the clothier's business was across the street from the restaurant where Teresa had set up the meeting with the donors. “I hope this isn't the beginning of a mistake,” he mumbled as he walked into the shop.

“Jackson Franklin?” a thin, tall man dressed in a pair of black slacks and a green and gold plaid shirt asked.

“Yes. Charles Dwight?”

“Guilty as charged. Now, Teresa neglected to tell me that I was going to be working with a model.”

Jackson furrowed his brows. “I wouldn't go that far.”

Charles fanned his hand. “Please, the last wannabe politician who walked in here needed a potato sack. You're going to be easy to clean up.”

About two hours later, Jackson was dressed in a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, crisp white shirt with a North Carolina flag tie, and a pair of brown wing-tip shoes. He thought the tie was a little over the top, but glancing at himself in the mirror, he had to admit it worked.

Crossing the street, he headed to the Brazilian steakhouse and noticed that it was practically empty, except for a table in the center of the restaurant. The host didn't say a word; he just led Jackson to the table.

“Mr. Franklin,” one of the men said as he rose to his feet.

“Yes, and you have me at a disadvantage,” Jackson replied as he shook his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“I don't know your name.”

The man chuckled and pointed his index finger at Jackson. “I like that. Stephen Winston, president of Charlotte Metro Credit Union.” He introduced Jackson to the other men at the table. “This is Taiwon Myrick and . . .”

“General David McClain,” Jackson said, then saluted the older man.

“Sergeant Franklin, I have to admit I was intrigued when I heard that you were running for office. Not many of us do this. But when I heard why you were doing it, I knew I had to meet you and see if I could support you.”

“General, I'm honored to meet you. And we can't sit by and become the good men who do nothing while our brothers and sisters suffer.”

Taiwon cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but don't we have other issues that we need to focus on?”

“Yes,” Jackson said, turning to face Myrick. “The General Assembly has crippled education and social programs, and tax reform is a joke. It seems as if the government is out to keep the poor in their place while the rich keep getting a bigger piece of the pie.”

“Sounds like you're running on a socialist platform,” Taiwon retorted.

“Not at all,” Jackson said, folding his arms across his chest. “But it's time to stop rolling over the poor in this state and this country as if they don't matter. Politicians are supposed to represent everyone, not just the special interests and people with deep pockets.”

“You know, you can't win an election without money,” Taiwon said.

“And some donors expect favors,” Stephen said.

“That's what this meeting is about?” Jackson asked, looking around at the men at the table. “You want to bankroll my campaign and then keep me in your pocket?”

The men looked at each other and smiled. “I like this guy,” the general said.

“It's easy to stand up when you don't have power,” Taiwon mumbled.

Jackson gritted his teeth. “Listen,” he began. “I'm not going to beg for anything. Either you want to support me or you don't.”

David McClain applauded. “You've got my support. That takes balls.”

“So, no one stands up for what's right anymore?” Jackson asked.

“Nope,” David said. “That's why I want you to represent district forty-five.” The old general sat down and wrote a check for Jackson's campaign with more zeroes than Jackson expected.

The lunch meeting turned out to be a success. Jackson's honesty and straightforward way impressed the donors, and he left with more than a million dollars in donations—with no strings attached. Though he was a little wary of Myrick. When he got into his car, Teresa called him.

“I just heard great things about you,” she said when he answered.

“I was just being me.”

“That's all I want you to do, Jackson. Now, we need to get the paperwork together for your campaign account. But I don't want to overwhelm you today. Go home, get some rest, and we will hit the ground running tomorrow,” she said.

“I'm going into the office. I need to check on my clients and make sure the referrals are going through. . . .”

“Yeah,” Teresa said. “You're going to be a great senator.”

After hanging up with Teresa, Jackson felt as if his real life was coming back into focus. He was doing this because he wanted to make sure the military men and women he wanted to save were getting the help they needed.

As soon as he arrived at the office, Daniel cornered him and asked him about his meeting with Teresa.

“She is something,” Jackson said with a smile. “Before I got there, she already had donors with checkbooks lined up to donate to my, what did she call it, war chest.”

“I told you. I'm wondering who else is running in this race if Teresa's already lining your war chest.”

Jackson shrugged. “I guess I should know these things,” he said. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Greasing palms, meeting people who could make a difference if they gave a damn . . .”

“Calm down, Jackson,” Daniel said. “Politics is nothing but a dog and pony show. It's a game.”

“With real people's lives hanging in the balance? This is bullshit.”

“You do realize that it gets harder.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. “This is why Raleigh is so screwed up. Men and women sell their souls for power.”

“That's the difference between you and them—you're not in it for the power.” Jackson agreed but he was happy to change the subject.

“Where are we on the doctor referrals?”

“We have doctors for the clients, but the problem is, we have a few people who don't want to deal with doctors who don't know what they've been through.”

Jackson sighed. “I was afraid of that. How much time do we have?”

“Not much. That's why you have to do this,” Daniel said. “We need someone representing us who understands that our returning troops need this kind of help.”

“Not only troops but all of our families who need help. I was reading some of the bills that the General Assembly is debating and I don't see how any of this helps the majority of citizens in North Carolina.”

“Preaching to the choir. I understand how important you've been to our clients. You've been where they've been. I can't reach them the way you do.”

“And they think another doctor won't be able to do that either,” he said with a sigh. “But the government they fought to protect won't keep centers like this one open.”

“You take that passion to the General Assembly and things might get done.”

“That's the . . .” His cell phone rang, flashing Teresa's name and number. “I have to take this.” Daniel nodded and backed out of Jackson's office.

“Yes, Teresa.”

“You impressed the right people at lunch today,” she said.

“You already told me that.”

“We have a breakfast meeting with the general and Senator Thomas Watson,” Teresa said.

“What time?” he asked as he flipped through his calendar.

“Six.”

“That's early.”

“Well, let's not be naïve here, these donors are hedging their bets and meeting with candidates all day. You do realize that there are at least thirteen people who are rumored to be interested in this seat. I've looked at them and your real competition in the primaries is going to be Charlotte lawyer Richard, er, Robert Montgoy. He's been looking for a reason to throw his hat in the political ring for a long time and he's the typical Charlotte politician.”

Jackson snorted. “That's the problem, isn't it? We keep sending typical politicians to Raleigh.”

“That's true. But you need to meet the competition and see where you're the same and how you're different.” He could hear Teresa typing on her computer. “Sending you an e-mail about Montgomery right now. Oh, and he's probably going to attend the breakfast as well. Knowing him, with his entourage.”

“Are we taking a page from his playbook?” Jackson asked, his head already throbbing.

“No. We don't do pompous. We're not assuming that we're going to win, although you will.”

Jackson chuckled as his computer and smartphone alerted him that he had an e-mail.

“Review the e-mail and let's meet for a quick dinner at my office. I'm vegan, by the way, so if you can't go without meat, bring your own meal.”

“Got it,” Jackson said. Then Teresa hung up. He noticed that she never said good-bye. He'd have to ask her about that over dinner.

 

 

Liza yawned as she read over her guest list for Saturday's party. Just as she was about to call it a day, her phone rang—playing “Hail to the Chief,” Robert's ringtone. “What's up, senator?” she answered.

“Getting ahead of yourself, sis.” She could hear the chuckle in his voice. “Chante is a lovely woman. I need her phone number.”