Candidate: A Love Story (3 page)

“Oh, please. It’s an earring, I’ve forgotten about it already.” She shrugged and tried for indifferent.

Grady waited.

“Wondering what . . . exactly?” she asked, taking a seat in her high-backed leather chair.

He walked toward her desk and leaned in, close. “I’m just wondering what or who ruffles someone as tightly knit as yourself enough to leave an earring behind, Ms. Galloway.”

Kate let out a slow breath. “I, I simply . . . forgot.” She stumbled for words. Grady smiled and then saw the heat return to her eyes. “Mr. Malendar, are we done here, because I . . . ”

Grady took Kate’s hand to shake and received that same jolt he’d felt when they had been introduced earlier. It threw him, but he polished it over. “Not by a long shot, Kate. We’re just getting started. According to the color-coded schedule you gave me in triplicate, we have a meeting at the end of the week. Looking forward to it.”

Kate pulled her hand away and Grady laughed as he walked to the elevator.

He was still smiling when the elevator doors opened to the parking garage. He liked her. This whole “handling” business his father had put together was insulting and made him feel even less of a man than he normally did around his dad, but he could have fun with it—with her. She was beautiful, and either didn’t know it, or didn’t rely on it. The way his body responded to her was something to think about, but not right now. Well, maybe just a little, as he climbed into his Porsche 911. That flushed skin, those gorgeous legs, the same legs she used to haul off and kick him. Grady put his sunglasses on after handing his ticket to the attendant. By the time he shifted into gear and the sunlight hit his face, he was laughing. She’d kicked him.
Unreal.

Chapter Three

T
he following evening, after an exhausting day of meetings and scheduling for the campaign, as well as finishing up a media package for Neviant, a new tech company, Kate drove up Sixth Street. She was on her way to a much-needed dinner with her best friend Reagan. Her usual route, the one that avoided Sixth and the Los Angeles Central Police Station, was chaos, bumper to bumper, so in spite of her memories, Kate turned down Sixth Street. As the traffic light changed, she found herself stopped next to the station.
Figure
s
, she thought, and clicked the little plastic door in the roof of her car, took out her sunglasses, and put them on even though the sun was nearly setting. People used sunglasses for more than just the sun. They masked tears at funerals, helped people hide from photographers. Sunglasses, although they always pinched Kate’s nose in a weird spot, created distance. She needed distance, as she told herself not to look over at the station, not to check and see if Nick’s bike was parked out front. The light finally changed, but Kate was already trapped in the memory.

“He doesn’t love her, Kate. He’s really sorry. You should see him.” Her brother Neil’s, voice sneaked behind the sunglasses, as she remembered him pathetically pleading her cheating husband’s case two Thanksgivings ago.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she had asked.

“Come on, you know the pressures of the job, Katie.” That was the pearl of wisdom from her father. Her father, the man who raised her, walked her down the aisle. It was all right that Nick had cheated on her because after all, the pressures of the job . . . ? Ethan, Kate’s other brother, had punched Nick and broken his nose the morning after Kate found out. A few months later though, a punch and a few cold shoulders was deemed enough punishment for Nick, and she was supposed to forgive. Again. Loyalty to the boys in blue at all cost. That had been her life; she’d never intended to marry a cop. Her father was the Chief of Police for the city of Los Angeles. Both of her brothers were cops. They never said it, but Kate was the traitor, she divorced a cop.

As she turned on Alameda, Kate glanced in her rearview mirror and saw the station fade. She remembered how excited Nick had been, when they’d first moved back to LA, that their offices were close. She even allowed the memory of him calling her down to the lobby one afternoon just to kiss her. It hurt, but not as much. She supposed the author of the completely obnoxious book her mother bought her after the divorce was right . . . time did heal.

Getting out of the car, Kate felt the warm evening breeze push her memories back where they belonged. She was all about moving forward these days, she’d read that damn book cover to cover, and nowhere did she learn how to get back to the strong, funny, curious woman she used to be. Nowhere in all of those pages did she discover when she would stop eating Toaster Strudel for breakfast and dinner, or unpack her boxes. None of that was in there, so now she just had mantras, Pinterest, and a Winston Churchill bookmark reminding her, “When you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Kate would keep going, but as she walked toward the restaurant, her latest project popped into her already-crowded mind. That last handshake, his eyes, the smug entertained look on his face. Kate felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time, restless. She let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He had no idea who he was dealing with. She wasn’t a babysitter, and she sure as hell wasn’t his hired entertainment. Kate would need to deal with Grady Malendar. Carefully.

Reagan was already in the booth at Hana’s, their favorite Japanese eatery.
Eatery
, Hana’s words, not Kate’s. Every time someone walked into the small, sparsely-decorated restaurant, the lovely Japanese men behind the sushi bar nod and say something in Japanese. Then the slender hostess looks up through her lashes and says, “Welcome to Hana’s Japanese Eatery.” So, if Lashes says it’s an eatery, who were they to argue? Reagan and Kate did giggle a little every time she said it, which was not particularly mature, but they were seldom mature when they were together.

Kate had met Reagan their freshman year in high school. Reagan cried when Kate left for Columbia. She was her maid of honor when Kate married Nick, and when Kate moved back home, it was as if she had never left. Reagan had picked Kate up off the floor, literally, at least once over the past couple of years. She was the one person in the world Kate knew for certain would love her forever, and Kate adored her right back. They were “bookends,” as her father liked to say. Kate in high heels, Reagan wearing clogs. Reagan was artistic and Kate did Reagan’s taxes every year. They complemented each other, and at this point in their lives they were truly on opposite ends. Reagan was getting married in five months, and Kate had been divorced for just over two years. It made for interesting late-night conversations. Kate always pointed out how fantastic Ben, the fiancé, was and Reagan let Kate feel sorry for herself when necessary. Reagan had liked Nick, but she’d kill him with her bare hands if allowed. Kate loved her even more for that.

“You’re late.”

“I know,” Kate said, finishing up a quick text to her sister-in-law, who insisted on sending pictures of her nieces at the oddest times.
How can I not respond to a picture of the girls?
she thought, tilting her head up quickly to smile at Reagan as she slid into the booth.

“It’s so scary that you are out there in the world with that phone. I mean you’re in public relations for Christ sake, and you are the worst texter. That must be Faith with yet another picture?”

“Why does she do this? Why can’t she just email? I love email. Texting seems so urgent, immediate, you know?”

“I do. That’s why I shut mine off.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have that luxury.” Kate stood to take her jacket off.

“I am proud of you that you managed to get to the table without bumping into something. We’re drinking Pisco Sours tonight,” she said, pointing to the board above the sushi bar.

“They’re the special!” they both said in harmony, and Kate’s shoulders instantly relaxed. They always had whatever the drink special was for the evening. For a sushi place, Hana’s really pulled off some incredible craft cocktails. Both of them thought the owner’s husband secretly wanted to be a bartender, but he was given the gift of making damn good spicy tuna rolls, and the dream was crushed. Kate put her phone away and checked her selections on the sushi menu.

“So, wedding cakes. Where are we at?” Kate asked, opening a bright pink folder she had removed from her briefcase.

Reagan sighed. “As I’m sure you’re already aware, I’m not really a cake person. Ben wants carrot cake. Can we even do that? It’s so . . . lumpy.”

“You can do anything you want. It’s your wedding. I’m sure they can smooth out carrot cake.” Kate made a note.

“Should I call the wedding planner lady?” Reagan asked.

“Brenda.”

“Right, Brenda. Why can’t I remember her name?”

“Because you don’t like her and you are trying to avoid all things wedding-related. I’ll call her and get a carrot sample in there for next week. You can try a few cakes. Maybe Ben will find something else or we will find smooth carrot. It’ll be fine.”

Reagan smiled and took a bite of her tuna roll.

“Great. Now let’s tackle seating,” Kate said, wiping her hands on her napkin.

“Ben’s mother is complaining that her side of the family is stuck in the corner of the reception room,” Reagan said, rolling her eyes.

Kate pulled out the seating chart and looked up. “It’s a round room.”

“I know. I told Ben that last night, but she’s driving him crazy.”

“Okay, well, we could . . . move their table closer to the center instead of off to the side of the circle.”

Reagan looked over as Kate starting erasing and re-sketching the table. “Right, but then we have to move my family table too.”

“That’s fine. What if we move them both in front of you and Ben instead of to the sides like you originally planned? That will make it easier for dancing and Ben’s mom will have a better view. Maybe that’s why she felt like she was in the corner.”

“Perfect.” Reagan looked relieved, as if she could not possibly make one more decision. “I love you. I mean, I loved you before all of this wedding business, but I really love you now,” Reagan said, stealing ginger off of Kate’s plate.

“I love you too.” Kate finished drawing the new seating chart. “And, we are almost done. You’re doing great. I realize your artistic soul has a hard time with all this structure, but trust me, if we get this out of the way now, all you’ll care about on the day is kissing that wonderful man of yours.” They had just clinked glasses, when Kate’s phone vibrated.

She looked at the screen—Mark.

“Hi, Mark.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at dinner. Why?”

“With who? Have you seen Grady today?”

“Mark, it’s eight o’clock on a Tuesday night. I don’t meet with him until Friday. What’s going on?” She heard a deep sigh across the phone.

Shit.

“A friend of mine just texted me to say he saw Grady Malendar mounting the concrete horse outside of Roka on Hollywood Boulevard. He knows we are representing the senator and thought he’d have a laugh at my expense.”

Kate’s breathing picked up, and in seconds her Pisco Sour buzz was gone. She waited for Mark to start yelling. It was coming, any minute.

“When was this?”

“Thirty fucking minutes ago.”
Here it comes.
“I don’t need this Kate. He’s your goddamn responsibility.” Kate motioned to Reagan that she had to leave. Reagan nodded and called for the check.

“I realize that, but we just met with them yesterday. I mean what the hell does he—”

“Don’t . . . don’t be cute or clever or sarcastic. Get into the office now.”

Kate hung up.

“Was that the lovely boss?” Reagan asked as she signed for the bill.

“It was. This new client is going to kill me. I’m in charge of a child.”

Reagan looked interested. “Wait, they have you working with a kid?”

Kate laughed and threw her phone in her purse. “Yeah, a very big kid.” She looked around out of habit, and then explained to Reagan just who her new client was.

“Holy crap, are you kidding me? I saw him at some art gallery once, or maybe it was a picture of him at an art gallery. He’s hot, Kate.” They got up to leave because Kate could actually feel Mark seething. She needed to get to the office before he blew.

“No. He’s not hot. He’s a pain in the ass and for some reason, karma maybe, he’s mine, all mine.”

Reagan smiled. “It sure is karma,” she whispered, “the really great kind.” They pushed through the doors of Hana’s.

“What?” Kate asked fishing for her keys.

“Oh nothing, honey,” she said, kissing Kate on the cheek. “You’ve got to get going. Call me if Mark actually blows.”

Kate shook her head, kissed Reagan back, and for the second time this week, cursed Grady Malendar.

Chapter Four

“R
eally? Right out of the damn gate? He’s ridiculous,” she exclaimed as she entered Mark’s office and threw her keys in her bag.

He glanced up from his desk covered in paperwork. “Fix it, Kate. You can fix it. Clean this up and then figure him out. We need to find something . . . redeeming.”

“I can’t. He’s an arrogant, womanizing ass and there’s nothing—”