Chapter 158

Early the next morning, I drive to my new job at the Hamilton campaign headquarters. One step inside the door, I stop, my eyes nearly bugging out at the sight before me.

The majority of the space is open, with round tables dotted here and there. A few offices are connected around the room, and a bathroom in the back. There seems to be a kitchen in the far corner.

It’s hard to tell because the place is in utter chaos.

There’s paperwork everywhere, even on the ground. Campaign signs are stacked up on one of the tables, so many high, that some have toppled down and people are just walking on them, rather than picking them up. There’s day-old coffee mugs littered about. Even from here, I can see the dishes in the sink in the kitchen are overflowing. As are the trashcans in two places in the room.

The people in their offices seem to be hard at work, typing at their computers, from what I can see. But the others, the volunteers, are just standing around the center space, chatting and laughing, drinking their coffees, some eating breakfast sandwiches.

None of them are organized. They aren’t actually doing any work.

Most of them are unpaid volunteers. With that in mind, I don’t want to lose my cool. But it’s clear in my predecessor’s absence, none of the work has been getting done. No one has stepped forward to take charge. Or, if they have, they haven’t been listened to.

A firm hand is what’s needed here. Not an unkind one. I won’t be a tyrant.

But some order definitely needs restored to this office.

I carry my box of binders and other things to one of the round tables. Finding enough clear space, I lift the box and then drop it down with a loud thud.

It startles most of the people in the room, who turn to look at me.

“I’m Esther Owens,” I say loudly. The remaining conversations in the room slowly dwindle down. “Your new campaign manager.”

As the volunteers look at me, I can see from their eager expressions that they are not bad people. The chaos hasn’t been borne from discontent, simply a lack of direction. It’s clear for me to see that everyone in this room is here because of their belief in Miles.

“We are all here for the same purpose,” I say. “To help Miles Hamilton become president.”

Some of them start to nod.

“We are going to have some order, here. I’m going to assign tasks. If you carry out those tasks, and we work together, I know we can someday soon see Representative Hamilton enter the White House.”

Some of the volunteers start to clap at my words. One person cheers.

One, nearer to me, huffs under her breath, “Finally. Someone who knows what they’re doing.”

It’s a nice compliment, especially because I’ve never done this before. I’m making it up as I go along.

Another volunteer near me asks, “Where do we start?”

I leave my box on the table, not caring about my own office at the moment, and start talking with the group. I ask what each person was assigned before, and then ask what they are most passionate about. Given their experience and their desires, I set them to tasks that I feel would be appropriate.

Many are assigned to canvas local areas, to speak with undecided voters to hopefully swing them to our cause. Others handle the table of phones, reaching out to potential donors to help meet our fundraising goals.

In elections, more money means more adds means more people potentially reached to sway their vote for Miles.

Others take the signs from the table to deliver them to supporters who have requested them.

A few stay behind to be more personal assistants to me and the other full-time employees at the office, helping us collect and file data, as well as set appointments and other clerical duties.

By lunchtime, I’m exhausted, but I have all the wheels of this machine greased up again. People are excited and determined. They know what they are set to do.

The chaos has given way to order.

Finally, I take my box of things and enter the office that’s assigned to me.

It’s a simple room with a desk and a file cabinet. A computer sits on the desk, with a printer attached. An older campaign poster of Miles’s hangs on the wall.

Moving behind the desk, I place my box on top of it, then start weeding through. The first thing I do is place a photo of Iris, Violet, and I on the desk beside my computer. They are ever my biggest motivators. The rest of the box is office supplies and a few knick-knacks.

I finish unboxing, and then eat my lunch. IT comes and helps me set up my computer. Just as the tech person leaves, Miles enters the campaign headquarters. He greets everyone, then comes straight to my office and stands in my doorway.

“Are you responsible for this?” he asks, hitching his thumb behind him.

“For what?”

“For everything being so smooth… People are actually working.”

“They’re passionate,” I say. “They just needed a little direction.”

“Which you gave to them.” He says it like he’s impressed.

I can’t deny it, and I’m not sure I want to anyway, even to be humble. Instead, I just keep my mouth shut.

He just smiles at me. “It’s good, seeing you here. I knew you’d be great at the job.”

“I just started,” I tell him.

“Already a vast improvement.”

Miles enters my office more fully, closing the door behind him.

I stand up from where I’ve been sitting behind my desk. “Miles…” I say, a warning in my voice.

“It’s perfectly acceptable for the candidate to have private meetings with his campaign manager,” Miles says. His smile turns into a smirk as he ambles closer to me. “I imagine we’ll have quite a few of these in the future. Every day, if possible. I’ll always need my daily briefings.”

I roll my eyes at him, even as I come around the desk to meet him. “At some point, we will actually need to discuss your campaign. You did hire me for an actual job.”

“There’s time enough for that,” Miles says. “Later.”

Inches away from me, he leans in. Towering above me, he gazes down at me with hooded eyes. I’m lost in the depths of his blue eyes.

I can’t believe I’m here with him. We still have to be secretive, but I’m otherwise allowed to have this. Allowed to have him.

I can reach up my hand and place it on his chest. I can feel the quick tempo of his heartbeat under my palm. And no one will stop me.

There’s no guilt. No other person waiting in the wings to worry about.

Miles and I have to stay to the shadows, but there, we can simply exist.

Gently, he closes the distance and presses his lips to mine. I hum against his mouth as I grip at his shoulders, tugging him closer.

He smiles wide enough to break our kiss. “A man could get used to this.”

“Good,” I tell him, and press up onto my toes to chase his mouth.

His arms wrap around me. I open my mouth, ready to deepen the kiss.

A knock sounds at the door, and in reflex, Miles and I jump apart.