Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Maxim’s still staring at Glenn, who is oblivious, chatting with Polly, our deputy scheduler, about possible locations. Maxim still semi-glares at Glenn for another few seconds.
“I’m not saying we don’t connect with voters and give them a chance to ask questions,” Maxim says. “I’m saying I think we need to freshen the concept and make it more consistent with my brand, which is young, progressive, innovative. The words ‘town hall’ are about as innovative as running water.”
“What did you have in mind?” Glenn asks. Maxim still has the heat of a thousand suns in his eyes when he turns them on Glenn, but no one else seems to notice.
“What about pop-ups?” I ask. “Like policy pop-ups.”
“I love that.” Maxim proffers his fist for a bump across the table, very buddy buddy when only weeks ago we slept together every night and ate breakfast in bed each morning. “And if we’re strategic about it, we could do a bus from stop to stop. I offset every time I fly and make sure I’m carbon neutral, but that’s fine print. The average voter will just see me jetting all over the country in a private plane and wonder how it squares with my stance on climate change. I mean, I have to fly a lot, but whenever we can minimize, I think we should.”
“I love the bus idea,” Kimba says. “That feels kinda old school but also greener than the plane. Though I promise you I’m not riding a bus all the way to Cali, so you can forget that right now, Mr. Candidate.”
Maxim chuckles along with the rest of the team. We hash out a few more things and have some preliminary discussions about the first Democratic debate in June. Maxim’s at a disadvantage because he’s an independent, so he doesn’t get the visibility in the televised debates the Dems and Republicans sponsor. Fortunately, Maxim’s name is on everyone’s lips, and he has invitations from all the morning shows, late-night shows, political shows—you name it, and they want Maxim. Our strategy is to flip the disadvantage to a plus because while their stages are crowded with ten to fifteen candidates competing for mic time and tearing each other down in advance of the nomination, Maxim has platforms to himself with plenty of opportunity to articulate his vison uncontested and usually in a less formal setting, which suits him best.
Once the meeting breaks, Kimba and I start packing up and preparing to leave for our apartment. It’s almost been like college again, rooming together, but without the ramen noodles, frozen pizza, and sock on the door when Kimba gets lucky.
“Nix, could I have a minute?” Maxim asks, not looking up from his laptop.
Kimba and I share a cautious glance. He’s been great about keeping his hands to himself and, other than the occasional I love you thiiiis much stare, discreet.
“Uh, sure.” I wave Kimba on. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling knowingly. “See you at home.”
I’m the last one in the office, and it feels strange to be completely alone with Maxim after a month or so of always making sure someone is around. We’ve shared a few stolen kisses, but we’ve been too busy for much more. Maxim still has a business to run, even though he’s delegated as much as he can.
“Could you close the door?” he asks, his glance still glued to his screen.
“Uh, I’m not sure we should—”
“Close it.” His voice is commanding, like I haven’t heard in so long. My nipples respond immediately to the rough tone, beading up under my shirt as if he’s licked them with his tongue instead of his sharp words.
I take a seat across the conference room table and wait. He clicks for a minute or so more and then closes the laptop. “Sorry. Jin Lei doesn’t care about town halls or pop-ups. She wants me to get these Hong Kong investors off her back. She’s on her way.”
He stands abruptly, crosses over to the door I closed, and locks it.
“Doc,” I say, a warning in my voice. “We’ve done so well, and this is definitely not the place.”
“I hear you. We don’t have to Tuesday, but we need to talk.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“Glenn.” He slits his eyes. “He’s a problem.”
I release a relieved breath and a little laugh. “Gosh, you had me worried. How is Glenn a problem? He’s a great speechwriter, which you’d know if you’d actually stick to any of his speeches.”
“He’s into you.”
“You’re reading things that aren’t there. We’re friends. We’ve known each other a long time. This is our fifth campaign together.”
“He called you Nix.”
Which is apparently the equivalent of first base in Maxim’s calculus. “He doesn’t know. How would he know not to call me Nix?”
“Somehow, magically, no one else does when they hear me call you that. Only him. Only Glenn.”