Candidate: A Love Story (13 page)

Kate finished her meeting with Mark, and spent the majority of the morning putting the finishing touches on the statement that was read at a two o’clock press conference. Grady would ideally have been there, but the senator decided he would address the media himself and spare his son any further hassle. It was a kind gesture Kate didn’t often see in politics. The response to the senator’s statement was almost instantaneous, and Bracknell spent the rest of the day fielding calls of support and donations to the senator’s campaign. It was a good day. Kate accepted praise for her work, but she was exhausted and still felt restless and maybe a little angry. She had offered a suggestion, one that worked, and Grady still found a way to cut her off at the knees. Kate closed her computer, rubbed her eyes, and was finished for the night. She shut her office light off and headed out as her phone rang. She knew the number and let it go to voice mail.

Kate pulled out of the garage and thought that maybe she would pick up Chinese for dinner. For the first time in a while, toaster food didn’t sound good. Her phone rang again. Same number.

“Katherine Galloway,” she answered.

“I’m sorry.” Grady said in a tone she had not heard since this project had started. She said nothing. “It’s not your fault and it wasn’t fair of me to snap like that. I’m not going to waste your time making excuses. I’m simply calling to apologize. I’m sorry, Kate.”

Kate swallowed a lump in her throat as she pulled up to a red light.

“You certainly don’t need to apologize to me, Mr. Malendar. I understand how frustrating . . . ”

“Don’t! I’m sorry. Please don’t start that shit with me. Your Mr. Malendar routine. I can’t take it.”

“Grady, it’s not a big deal. You’re entitled to snap. This is a crazy time. I get it. You don’t owe me anything. It’s fine.”

The line was silent.

“I do need to discuss this with you at some point. Your father’s statement worked, but we need to be on the same page if there are any follow up questions from the press. We can talk about it in the morning. Have a good night.”

“Would you like to have dinner?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m asking if you would like to eat, Kate.”

“I’m not sure that’s such good idea.”

“Come on, let me take you to dinner. You said you have to discuss today’s events with me. I’ll buy you a meal and you can give me my lines. It will be very . . . front of the curtain. I promise.”

“It’s probably best if you just lay low at least for tonight. Where on God’s earth could we go for dinner tonight that wouldn’t create a media frenzy, positive or negative? I know this is ridiculous, but it’s still a situation. The press will be all over you, waiting for your next conquest. Male or female.”

Grady laughed and Kate smiled into her phone.

“That’s why you’re perfect. No one would ever believe that you and I were . . . ” He stopped mid-sentence, and must have realized his comment was a veiled insult.

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” she said.

Kate felt her face warm and she discovered she actually wanted to go to dinner with him. She wanted to see him. “Grady, thank you for the invitation, but I’ll just talk with you tomorrow.” She hung up before he could say anything else and began to hyperventilate as she rounded the corner to her apartment. Suddenly she was filled with a strange intrusive weight. She wanted her strudel, strudel was just fine.

Her phone rang.

“What?” she said in her most unprofessional voice.

“Please, just listen. I know I can be a pain in the ass. Have dinner with me and we can put this behind us? I’ll be on my best behavior. How about I cook at your place?”

Kate said nothing, this guy was incredible . . . the balls.
My place, would we call it a place? What are you doing Kate?

“Kate?”

She took a deep breath. “Fine. My apartment in an hour. I have the basics, but you’ll need to bring anything extra to make dinner. I don’t cook.”

She could feel him smiling through the phone. “Absolutely, don’t worry about a thing. Just text me the address. I’ll bring everything. Hey, Kate, what kind of beer do you like?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re making.”
Flirting? Jesus, Kate, are you flirting now?
“I don’t eat mushrooms,” she said, and then hung up before she was stupid enough to say anything else. Her heart was racing, her hands were clammy, and she was in trouble.
Shit.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hat was she thinking? She didn’t even have a real home to cook dinner in. Boxes, strategically arranged boxes, that’s what she had, and Grady Malendar was arriving any minute. She must have slipped into some sort of exhaustion coma because she truly didn’t care. Her hair was still wet and she moved her lips, feeling the Chapstick she’d put on after getting out to the shower. Everything was heightened. She noticed the fade in her jeans and the shine of her toenail polish. She remembered the salon lady saying the bright red polish she had chosen was called Lady is a Tramp. Her mother, who was in the pedicure chair next to her, had snickered and clearly disapproved. Kate decided then and there that the
Lady is a Tramp
would be her “go to” color from then on out.

Kate was hovering, pacing, not sure what to do, and then the doorbell rang. She didn’t even bother to look in the peek hole. Grady stood in the open door, with several paper bags hanging from those damn arms again, and that smile. He was trouble in a linen shirt, but she stepped back anyway and let him walk right into her insanity.

“Wow, I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, taking the bags around some boxes and into the kitchen.

“I’m still unpacking.” Kate said, grabbing the beer dangling from his full hands and suddenly realizing she was hungry as she saw the bread peeking out of the bag.

“I didn’t realize you just moved in.”

“Yeah, well . . . beer?” Kate asked as she put the bottles in the fridge.

“Please.” He began unpacking the bags. Fresh vegetables. She hadn’t seen those in a very long time. Wasn’t she supposed to be tending to him? Well, not him exactly, but his image? Why was she beginning to feel he was trying to take care of her?

“So you and your husband have been—”

“Oh no, we are not jumping into that. You promised food. I need food and we are here to discuss potential questions following the senator’s statement, remember?”

Grady nodded. “Can I have one question? Just one? I make my own marinara sauce. Come on.”

Kate sighed and gave in. “Fine, one question.”

“There’s a little pressure here. Hold on. And this doesn’t count as my question—do you chop?”

“I suppose.” He handed her one of the knives he’d pulled out of the block and gently guided her in front of a cutting board full of carrots and onions.

“Great, you chop,” he said wiping his hands on a towel. He grabbed his beer and sat up on the counter.
What are you, five?
she thought, but did not say. She had not sat on a counter in a long time, probably since she was a kid. It looked like fun. Grady was nothing if not fun. She envied that part of him. It seemed so simple in theory, to just have fun. She set her focus back to chopping—it wasn’t something she did often, so she actually needed to pay attention.

“Okay, here goes. It’s a two-part question.”

She stopped chopping and looked at him.

“Like a compound word, two parts.”

She was walking a fine line. She barely knew him and yet she found herself comfortable sharing at least part of herself. She said nothing, didn’t protest, but didn’t encourage, and returned to the cutting board.

“Right, here we go.” Grady took a sip if his beer and continued. “I’m assuming you’re divorced. How long have you and . . . ”

Kate laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Nick,” she said filling in Grady’s implied blank.

“Nick, right. How long have you and Nick been divorced?”

Still chopping and not looking at him because her heart was racing, Kate said, “Yes, we are divorced. Just over two years.”

It was silent for a moment, the only sound was the knife slicing through carrots.

“Part two. Have you lived anywhere else since you moved out?”

Kate set the knife down. “Oh, aren’t you cute?”

“Well, my mom really thinks so, but . . . ”

“You don’t need to dance around me, Grady. Just ask what you need to ask. Have I been living out of boxes for almost two years? Yes.” Kate glanced quickly at him and then returned to chopping. “Ever been divorced?” she asked.

“No.” Probably the first one-word response she had ever heard out of his mouth.

“It’s not fun.” She was finished with her task. Kate gestured for the towel from Grady and wiped her hands. “Done.”

He hopped down from the counter and reviewed her work. “Nice chopping. Were you in love with him? I mean, of course you were, are you still?” With that he moved to his cans of tomatoes without looking at her.

For one moment Kate thought about laughing him off, but it was a genuine question and there was not a hint of sarcasm. She wasn’t sure why she answered. His two-part question was over. She didn’t need to say a word, but she did anyway. Maybe it was partially for herself. “Yes, I was in love. But no, I no longer have any feelings for Nick.”

“Hmm,” he said, and began sautéing the carrots and onions. “So what do you think—”

“Grady,” she warned.

“Right, too personal. Hand me that olive oil.”

They ate and she tried to steer clear of anything beyond typical first-date questions. Wait, this wasn’t a date, she thought, but then admitted that’s what it felt like. A first date, maybe even more than that. He was in her home, cooking them dinner. That was a date, all things considered, so why didn’t she hate it? Why was she asking him if he wanted ice cream instead of showing him the door?

Grady talked a little about the traveling he did after he graduated and Kate talked about her job.

“Why do you give it so much?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your job, that place, the people you work with? Why is it all so important? I mean, there’s more to life than a job, right?”

“Well, I suppose there is, but I need to get paid. Besides, I love my job. I need to be there and I give what’s required.”

“I’d say you give it quite a bit more than what’s required.”

“Doing my best work is important to me. I would think as my client, you would appreciate that.”

Grady smiled. “I’m not your client and I get that a job well done is important, but what about your life, the rest of you?”

“What does that mean? My life is . . . great, it’s fantastic, really. You should have seen me a couple of years ago.” Kate attempted a laugh and messed with the napkin in her lap.

“I would have liked to have seen you a couple of years ago.”

What the hell does that mean? He
’
s into nut jobs?
“Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe you were a little more reckless, free?”

She looked at him and could not figure out where this was going. “Reckless, by your definition? I can guarantee I’ve never been reckless. I was born grown up. I’m sorry that bores you, but I’m probably the perfect antidote to your free spirit.”

She smiled hoping they would move on.

“You seem very . . . in control. I’m intrigued by that.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. You’re so wound up and sort of obsessed with creating pictures for other people and yourself, maybe. I understand being driven, but it feels like you’re hiding, and you know what, Kate?”

She was annoyed now. “Oh great, another pearl of wisdom?”

“I think you want to be found. I think beneath all this, this pencil skirt, tightrope-walking, you’re probably breathtaking. I’m guessing you’re brilliant when you’re flustered and spinning out of control.”

She didn’t know what to say. Kate felt warm and he was looking at her like he saw something she had never imagined being. She did what she always did in uncomfortable situations, she dismissed it.

“Yeah, thank you for that, but you invited yourself to dinner so we could discuss . . . wait, why did you come for dinner?”

Grady laughed, and Kate still had that wrinkle between her brows.

“I think it was just dinner and something about questions that may come up. I wanted to have dinner with you and you said we couldn’t go anywhere in public because I’m a pariah now, so I came here and made you dinner. How was it by the way?”

“Well whatever the reason, I’m not paying you for therapy or an image make over. You’re paying me, remember? So maybe we should use this time productively. Let’s review the statement your father gave earlier today. It’s brief. Nothing too painful.” Kate stood and as she brushed by Grady on her way to her briefcase and the statement, work to quiet her mind, he took her hand. Not a grab, a hold. His fingers traced her palm and interlaced with hers. She stopped dead, but kept looking toward her briefcase, willing it to rescue her from warmth she knew she should not want and could not have.

“Kate, the dinner, the sauce, how was it?”

She looked at their hands and then at him.