The Start of Something Good Read online

  Mia dropped into the opposite chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "Okay, tell me everything."

  "Lake's campaign manager called. Seems Chloe got in trouble up at school. She vandalized her professor's car."

  "What? Why would she do something like that? Was she drunk?"

  "This was the same professor who gave her academic probation for cheating on his exam."

  Irritation scratched at her nerve endings. So many kids couldn't even afford school. She hated when opportunities were squandered in the drive for either attention or rebellion. Of course, she'd never met Lake's daughter and didn't like to judge. She swallowed back her angry retort, already searching for ways to fix it. "When did this happen?"

  "A few weeks ago."

  Her eyes widened. "You're kidding me. Wait, why didn't I know about this?"

  "Lake was sure he could make it go away without involving you. After all, he's the DA and running for mayor. He figured fixing the car and a healthy donation to the school would solve the issue."

  She hated the resentment that curled in her belly. She'd agreed to run his PR because she genuinely believed in Lake's ideals and felt he had a good heart, with a passion to serve the city. But she disapproved of trying to buy his daughter out of trouble. Still, he wasn't the usual greedy politician. She'd conducted a ton of research before deciding to take him on as a client, and he'd never once rang her bullshit meter. Her father always told her she had the ability to spot a lie immediately, and it would be a gift that served her well.

  And it had. Her gift guided her to accept only clients whose ideals and nature were similar to her own.

  "Okay, so I'm guessing the school didn't agree with Lake's reparation plan?"

  Gabby sighed. "It backfired. The professor was so outraged, he pressed charges, and Chloe had to go to court."

  "You're telling me Lake wasn't able to get in contact with the local court and arrange something?"

  "He assumed it wouldn't be a problem. But this judge didn't care who Chloe's father was or what strings could be pulled. Guess he planned to teach Chloe a lesson, and no one was going to stop him."

  Mia groaned. "Why am I terrified to hear how this story ends?"

  "They assigned her to community service for the summer."

  She sprang from the chair and began pacing, trying to fit the pieces together. "Okay. We can work with this. She wasn't expelled, which is huge, and we can arrange for her to fulfill the hours at the DA's office or any of the not-for-profit organizations we deal with. I need to contact Bob to see if we can keep the details private and off the radar from the press."

  "I'm not done. The sentencing already occurred. She's required to do her service at a local horse-rescue farm in the town. I guess it's also a popular bed-and-breakfast for tourists."

  "She has to stay there all summer?"

  "Yep."

  "Why on earth would they pick a horse farm for her service?"

  Gabby shrugged. "Guess the place needs volunteers."

  "Okay. We can handle this. I'll take the angle that Chloe wants to stay at school this summer and keep her off the radar. I just need Bob to help bury the sentencing deep enough that no one gets to it."

  Gabby regarded her with a sympathetic expression. "Lake has a different viewpoint on this. He's afraid Chloe will get in more trouble without someone to watch out for her this summer."

  "He has a point. Who is he sending out to stay with her?"

  That's when she noticed Gabby's expression hadn't changed. The realization came slowly, tumbling over her like a horror movie unfolding screen by screen. Her mind fought it, already coming up with a thousand denials and excuses ready to spring from her lips. Unfortunately, all that came out was one word.

  "No."

  "Lake's going to be here at noon to talk to you about it."

  A humorless laugh burst out. "No. No way, Gabby. I'm no babysitter; I'm a woman with my own company and apartment and a, a . . . life! I despise small country towns with their ridiculous rules and judgments. Plus, teenagers scare the crap out of me. Why do you think I don't want any children? Because they grow up to be teens!"

  Gabby sighed. "I know. Look, you'll need to stand your ground when he comes. I'm sure there's another alternative, but I also know how persuasive Lake can be. That's why he's such a beast in the courtroom. He makes you believe his solutions are critical to solving the problem." She gave a mock shiver. "The man is scary good. And hot as hell." Gabby cocked her head curiously. "You spend a lot of time with him, and he's just your type. Intelligent. Passionate. A bit of a control freak. Alpha male to the max. Don't you have just the tiniest crush on him?"

  Mia paused, considering her friend's words. Jonathan Lake had a dynamic presence that served him well on camera. With his thick, dark hair; ocean-blue eyes; and energized persona combined with lethal charm, he reminded her of JFK Jr., poised to take on the world. Her heart ached every time she thought about the tragic loss that took JFK and Jackie's son way too soon. But the moment Jonathan reached out to shake her hand, she knew there would never be a relationship between them. Yes, he was attractive, and yes, he checkmarked all her boxes, but there was no chemistry. No zing. No charge. Just a flat frequency that warned of nothingness.

  Thank God. Being involved with a client was a big no-no, and that would've been a sticky obstacle to overcome.

  "Nope. I'm happy to report there is zero attraction between us, and that's why we work so well together."

  "After all those deadbeats hurt you, I figured you'd be done with that chemistry test. Ever think you need some computer nerd or overall nice guy? You can start as friends and grow to respect and eventually love each other?"

  Mia rolled her eyes. "Too many Hallmark movies, Gabby. I steamroll over nice guys--they can't keep up. And without an innate attraction, I'm just not interested. I've decided celibacy is my best option at this point. At least until the election is over."

  "Then I know what to get you for a birthday present."

  "What?"

  Gabby grinned with mischief. "A hell of a lot of batteries."

  Mia laughed. "You're such a good friend."

  "I know." She reached out and plucked a red folder from the teetering stack. "Here's everything I found on Chloe Lake, along with the charges and sentencing. You need a plan before he gets here, or you'll be stuck upstate for the summer. Do you even own riding boots or a pair of jeans?"

  She shuddered at the thought. She loved everything about this messy, dirty, gorgeous city and had sworn long ago to never leave. Not when she could score designer shoes, tampons, and a grilled chicken salad with yogurt-dill dressing on the same exact block. "Of course I own jeans. Just not ones for actually doing things in. And do my new Coach boots count?"

  "Not when you can't wear them in the rain. Plus, they have fur, with a three-inch wedge heel."

  "Then we both better get to work on an alternative plan. 'Cause I'm not going to ruin my summer, and I refuse to let Jonathan Lake order me around. I'm his PR rep, not his personal assistant. Let Bob head upstate to get her out of this mess."

  They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Lake's campaign manager, Bob, was a former marine who ran a ruthless schedule and never showed a hint of emotion. With a massive, muscled build; shaven head; and cold, dark eyes, he'd eat Chloe for breakfast. But he was a hell of a manager and the ultimate pit bull protector of Lake.

  "Just be firm," Gabby advised. "How about we hire a cleaner?"

  "Are we now involved in the mob?"

  "Sorry, been watching too many political dramas. How about we find someone else to watch her? Someone who can make sure she finishes her community service without getting into any more trouble?"

  "Good. Let's get a list together and screen some candidates so we're ready at noon."

  "Got it." She paused, then frowned. "Umm, should I start with Care.com?"

  "No! We know people. Don't we? Start with Bob. Maybe he has some friends on the softer side."r />
  "Sure. I'll get on it right away." Gabby went back to her scary desk, and Mia headed into her office. She dove into her endless email pile, sorting through potential new clients and allowing herself to feel the tiny pulse of pride flowing through her veins. She'd built her company by sheer grit, hard work, and a little luck. Her dream of being successful at thirty was finally coming true, and Lake's election would put her over the top. She had almost six months to push through before Election Day, and she intended to do anything to win.

  Then she'd finally achieve justice for her father.

  At exactly noon, there was a quick tap on her door. Jonathan Lake stepped into her office, automatically shrinking the space around him. His aura practically vibrated with energy. Clad in a navy-blue suit with a sharp red tie, he emanated a successful businessman without the show of money. Another perfect balance for the election. He was rich but not too rich, and his clothes bespoke serving the people, not his ego. Without a word, he put down his briefcase and took the chair opposite her desk. They stared at one another for a while in silence, both preparing for the conversation.

  "You received all the details of our current dilemma?" he finally asked. His voice was clipped and no-nonsense, but Mia caught the tired lines bracketing his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders.

  "I did. I'm sorry, Jonathan. I didn't realize Chloe was in trouble," she said gently.

  He winced. "I thought after the cheating incident, we wouldn't have any other problems. Dammit, she's a good kid! I don't know what's gotten into her lately."

  "She's nineteen. I remember I thought I was immortal and knew everything."

  A grim smile twisted his lips. "Yeah. She hasn't had the most normal life, either. But this could be critical. If word gets out my daughter vandalized property, I'm done. I'm supposed to stand for family values. They'll crucify me."

  "Maybe not. Has Bob tried to bury it?"

  "I think we're good for now. But there's no way my daughter is going to spend the summer alone where she can get into more trouble. The press will have a field day. Something has to be done."

  "I'm already on it. I have Gabby gathering up a list of options to find someone to be with your daughter twenty-four seven. Have you thought about a bodyguard?"

  "Absolutely not. It has to be someone I trust. Definitely a female. Preferably a person who knows what we have at stake and who can be in constant contact with me. A person who's smart yet kind enough to be with my daughter."

  Oh, he was good. She narrowed her gaze as he ticked off his wish list and his voice filled with emotion and concern. Too bad she had his number.

  "I'm not doing it, Jonathan," she said firmly. "It's simply not possible."

  "Why?"

  She blew out a breath at his demand. "I have a business to run. An apartment to look after."

  "Do you have cats? Dogs?"

  She frowned. "No."

  "I'll get you a house sitter, vetted by me. I'll get you a temp and set you up with anything you need to do work from another location."

  "No. I also hate traveling and despise the country. I'm allergic to horses."

  He snapped that electric blue gaze to her face. "You're lying."

  "Fine. But I hate horses and the smell and small towns and anything vintage. I hate bed-and-breakfast places where strangers eavesdrop on your conversation and butt into your business. I'm also terrible with kids."

  "You hate them?"

  "No! But I can't relate to them. I feel awkward and stupid, and I'd be the worst person in the world to help your daughter. She'd hate me. She'd be miserable and beg you to take me off her hands. Better to get the right person for her in the beginning. Someone more matronly."

  He grinned. "She's going to love you."

  Her temper swirled. She leaned her elbows on the desk and spoke in a deliberately cold voice. "No, Jonathan, I'm not doing it. You can't bully me or bribe me or buy me. I'm your PR person, not your assistant or girlfriend or campaign manager. Get Bob to do it."

  "Chloe can't relate to him. She's met him a few times, and they just stare at each other in wary silence. I think he scares her."

  "Don't you have one of those kind, silver-haired secretaries who'll be over the moon to take a long vacation from the DA's office?"

  He snorted. "Hell no. My assistants are scarier than Bob."

  She slammed a palm on the desk. "I'm scary! I'll terrify her. I mean it. We are not discussing this option anymore. There is no way in hell I'm spending the summer watching your daughter at some horse farm. Are we clear?"

  She steeled herself for his killer charm or skillful debates. Instead, he stared at her with a defeated look in his eyes. "I don't know what to do, Mia," he said. Truth rang out in his words. "Chloe needs someone to trust. Someone to protect her from all the stuff that can happen to a kid involved in politics. If she makes another wrong decision, my entire election could be at stake. And there's no way I can concentrate on winning an election when I'm worried about my daughter."

  He lifted his hands and leaned over. "You're my last hope. I'm asking you, not as an employee but as a friend. Please help me."

  Her bullshit meter remained eerily silent. There was nothing but the simple plea of a father who needed help and had no one else to trust. She remembered what it felt like to watch her family dragged through the mud of the media: the consistent nervousness of being in the spotlight, the fear of failures being discovered and exploited in the latest gossip column for all to laugh at.

  The memories tugged at her. When Henry Thrush announced his desire to run for Congress, her mother had embraced every aspect of political life. She became the perfect wife, standing by his side, guiding Mia in the careful steps a political candidate's family needed to take to win. They were so proud--and though her father was an underdog, his impassioned speeches showed a truth within his words his opposition just didn't have. The polls got closer, and Mia was ready to watch her father head to DC.

  Until the scandal.

  An interview popped up where a woman claimed to have slept with her father on a regular basis. She had no proof. No photos or gifts or receipts to show the world, but it hadn't mattered. The scent of ruin was in the air, and the public became greedy for more.

  Overnight, Mia watched her family get torn apart and their marriage suddenly questioned. The woman told of hotel trysts and deviant sexual images. Suddenly, her classmates tortured and teased her, mercilessly mocking her family. Her father's opponent whipped up crowds to outrage, tearing his campaign to pieces, until the election was over before it had even been run. Her mother left, not believing her father's vehement claims of innocence. Mia became the casualty of political war, and she learned that the truth sometimes didn't matter, and it didn't set you free.

  Because the truth could be manipulated.

  After the election, it was proven the woman had lied, paid off by nameless strangers the new congressman swore he didn't know. The story broke and peaked in twenty-four hours before being buried in the middle of the occasional paper or magazine. Her mother ended up returning, both of them desperate to salvage the torn shreds of their once-strong marriage.

  Mia knew they tried. She knew they loved each other. There had just been so much to get past that had changed them both. After a year, they ended up parting ways. Her mom remarried and moved out to California. Henry Thrush settled in a small town, practiced law, and never entered the political arena or public eye again.

  But, oh, how she burned for justice.

  She wanted to show the good that could be done by being on the correct side of the public-relations campaign. She vowed to avenge her father by backing her own candidate to office and making sure he or she won.

  Jonathan Lake was her shot at winning. At finally putting those memories aside and starting new. Lake was the face of her father--a man who was good and wanted to enter the political field for what he could bring and change and be. Not for power or sex or money.

  He needed to win the election at al
l costs. How could she forgive herself if a disaster occurred with his daughter because she'd refused his request?

  At least she understood what the girl was going through.

  Jonathan's voice ripped her out of her reverie. "Mia? Will you help me?"

  Mia closed her eyes in defeat.

  Crap.

  She was so screwed.

  Chapter Three

  "Ethan, I need your help."

  He turned. His sister, Harper, stood behind him, studying the newly sanded wall that had once been stained by water leaks. Her short, dark-brown hair framed her face and screamed no-nonsense, and her skin had already turned a warm, brown color from the sun. Those sea-green eyes were just as direct and startling as he remembered. Why did she get the Black Irish gene while he and Ophelia were stuck as gingers? She was tall like their father, hovering near six feet. The students had bullied her at school, calling her an ugly Amazon, and the girls formed a hate club, spending their days gleefully torturing her. He watched his once-joyous little sister slowly lose her zest for life, folding into herself until her only friends were the horses at the stables. His family had all tried to help, but everything they did backfired, pushing her further into her own world, where she was safe.

  Now she was a powerhouse, leaving that once shy, isolated girl behind. But Ethan knew the past left permanent scars most couldn't see.

  She wore her usual outfit of old jeans, high riding boots, and a faded baby-blue T-shirt. Ethan bet she had one T-shirt and one pair of jeans for every day of the week. His sister was as low maintenance with her wardrobe as she was high maintenance with her causes.

  "Hey, Harp. What's up?"

  "The place looks great. You've really turned the bungalow into a home these past few weeks."

  "Most of it was an easy fix. Now that I got the roof patched, the walls can get a new paint job."

  "It doesn't smell anymore."

  He laughed. "Just some good old-fashioned elbow grease. Just like--"

  "Mom used to say," she finished, a rare smile curving her lips. Ethan poked at the wound, but time had finally lessened the sting of his mother's absence. From his sister's face, it looked like she felt the same way. His mother's Irish blood had given them all a fierce loyalty to family, stoicism to get through hard times, and a deep love of land. He knew his mother had been hurt when he announced he needed to leave, but his sisters had risen to leadership and seemed to be happy about where their paths had led. He'd never thanked them, though. Never told them how he appreciated their support, allowing him the freedom to do something else without the guilt.