Twenty-Two
Without introduction, Chase stepped onto the stage in the conference room. A hush fell over the invited members of the press, and he squinted against the hot lights over the podium.
Pen had advised him on how to handle questions about Mimi. She’d reminded him again on the Post-It note attached to his speech that arrived by courier just twenty minutes ago. Red ink decorated the edges of the notes—his changes—including the X he’d drawn over Pen’s Post-it note suggestion. His sister-in-law wasn’t going to like what he’d say, but he’d ignored advice before to cater to his own gut call.
Today was one of those days.
“Thank you for coming out today at my office’s request,” he started. Cameras flashed and pens were set at the ready on notepads. “As you’re aware, I’ve been recently accused of involvement with a woman who has ties to environmentalist groups. Groups that stand against entities like Ferguson Oil. I was involved with this woman ten years ago, over a summer spent in Bigfork, Montana. Our relationship predated my political career, and though she’d vocalized her distaste for my family’s industry at the time, she didn’t hold it against me.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the memory of when he’d broken the news. Miriam had looked politely appalled, and then resigned. She’d rolled her eyes and said something to the effect of Good thing I love you.
Chase folded his notes and set them aside. The rest of what he had to say wasn’t going to be read from his prepared speech.
“A good friend of mine dispensed some valuable advice recently. The kind of advice you don’t want to hear, but he tells you anyway.”
Emmett was keeping an eye on the crowd, but Chase made out the slightest half smile on his friend’s profile.
“He told me I was too careful.” Chase pulled in a breath of pure will. Admitting he was wrong had never been a strength. “My friend was right. I am careful. Service has long been my role. My function. As the first-born son of the Fergusons, my destiny is to serve my family and my voters and our shared business. I can’t afford to serve myself. Or...” The next vulnerable admission required a brief pause before he decided to hell with it. “Or my heart.”
Gasps rose in the crowd, one notably from his mother who just entered the room. Good. She, especially, needed to hear this.
“As the slander continues from my opponent’s team, I’m faced with my past and the unfair way it’s being portrayed. I don’t care what dirt you find on me from that summer ten years ago. I only care about how you treat Miriam Andrix.”
He paused to let that sink in as his sister slipped in behind his mother. Then he focused on the crowd of reporters in the front row who eagerly scribbled onto notepads or pecked notes into their phones. Cameras with bright lights closed in to capture his face during this truth-telling debacle—something Penelope Ferguson would reprimand him for, he was sure.
He held up the papers he’d set aside. “This speech would have me confessing that I was young and foolish years ago. That I followed my heart and not my head, and as a result became entangled with a woman who wasn’t destined to become my future. I’ve always known who to serve, and in what order. My family. The great city of Dallas. My family’s business. Breaking things off with Miriam was the right thing to do for my career and for her. I never wanted her to have to deal with scrutiny. I never wanted her under the microscope with me. It’s what I signed up for, and nothing she would ever ask for. I’ve long been in the habit of protecting the ones I love.”
Quiet whisperings rose but fell silent again when he continued.
“Miriam Andrix has a big heart and a strong will.” He allowed a smile when he pictured her stubbornly standing her ground. “For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been hell-bent on saving the world. An admirable feat since most of us downgrade to simply saving ourselves. I’m not here to admit I was a foolish youth. I’m here to make a request. When I left Bigfork, Montana, I left Miriam to her life and she let me return to mine. Leave her alone. It’s past time to refocus the campaign on me and what I can do for our city.”
He nodded that he was through and reporters shot out of their seats. Many waved, most called his name.
“Yes, Donna.” He pointed at the older gray-haired woman in the second row.
“Mr. Mayor, welcome home. What’s the first order of business?”
“You mean besides spending my first day back with you fine people?” He grinned and soft laughter rolled over the crowd. “I’ll be in my office, my sights set on Dallas and winning the reelection.”
Canned but charming answers were always the best choices.
He pointed at a young intern for the city paper. “Bobby.”
“Uh, yes, Mr. Mayor. Will you retaliate against your opponent for trying to slander your good name?”
“We always take the high road, Bobby. You know this.”
“Fiona.” He pointed at a middle-aged blonde woman.
“Mr. Mayor, will you be returning to Bigfork any time soon?”
“I own a house there, so I’m sure I will return. How soon isn’t something I’m comfortable sharing with you yet.” He capped that answer with a smile and pointed to a white-haired man. “Tom.”
“Mr. Mayor, we’ve heard you say in the past that the oil industry...”
And so the questions went, the focus back where it should be: on Chase’s company and his position as one of the leaders of the city. Just like he’d asked, and they paid him that respect. After a few more answers, he concluded the conference.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”