Chapter 195

The next morning, the results are clear. Miles’s poll numbers are already starting to dive. Pundits debate back and forth, but the general consensus is that Edward won the debate. To many, Miles’s outburst was unwarranted and a sign of his youth and inexperience.

The mood at campaign headquarters is grim. But I’m no one is giving up yet.

There’s still a few months in this election, and that’s enough time to turn things around. It’s not over until it’s over.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when I start my day.

Three phone calls later, I’m starting to feel the pressure.

I’ve called three different news outlets to try to arrange interviews to help improve Miles’s reputation, but none of my usual channels seem open to the idea.

“If he comes on here,” one of my contacts admits, “He’s going to be grilled about that comment.”

“He can defend himself,” I say. “He just needs a platform.”

“You don’t understand,” my contact tells me. “Whatever he says will be spun against him.”

“Miles is still a presidential candidate,” I say to a different contact, one who refused me outright. “He deserves to have his voice heard.”

“He’s not Edward,” that contact tells me. “Edward Zimmer is the only one the public wants to see. If we interview Miles, we’d lose viewers. People would click off. Sorry, Esther.”

“Thanks, anyway.”

I make a few more calls, but they are all more or less the same.

One contact even tells me, “You can’t guarantee he won’t say ‘fuck’ on live tv, so we can’t guarantee him a spot.”

Slightly disheartened, I call the last on my list. I don’t want to ask favors of my friends at Harbingers, but if no one lets Miles speak, we really are in a worse hole than I thought.

So I pick up the phone and call Kimberly.

“I thought I might hear from you,” she says, after a quick greeting. “Is every other place stonewalling you?”

“Miles has become a pariah,” I say. “It’s almost like people think he’s contagious or something. They insist he will ruin their ratings, at the very least.”

“It’s not just that,” Kimberly says. “Miles is unpopular, but… there are orders coming down from the top.”

“Even Hugo?”

“This is bigger than Hugo,” she says.

“The Whisperers…” I say in a breath.

“There are orders not to interview Miles. In text, it is for the reasons you mentioned, but between the lines, you and I know something bigger is going on here,” Kimberly says. “Miles gave them the perfect cover last night to more openly work against him. You have to reel him in, Esther. Or it’s only going to get worse.”

“He was defending me…”

“I know that, and I know why. But most people don’t. All they see is an aggressive young kid cussing out a beloved pillar of the community. And the Whisperers will continue to push that narrative.”

I swallow thickly, knowing she’s right. “Does that mean you won’t book Miles either?”

Kimberly is quiet for a moment. Then she sighs and says, “Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Kim.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

We hang up.

Even with Kimberly’s promise to help, I still feel defeated. What good are all my contacts if I can’t utilize them? I feel like my hands are tied, and all because Miles wanted to defend me. He shouldn’t be punished because of his affection for me.

Even if it did make him swear on live television.

Needing a boost of that Miles charm, I leave my office and knock on the door to his.

“Come in,” he calls.

Inside, Miles sits behind his desk, looking at his computer. The television on the wall of the office is clicked on, showing one of the news networks as they go over the debate, but audio is muted.

“Miles,” I say, as I come closer.

Before I said his name, Miles’s face was pulled tight with tension. The moment he realizes it’s me, his entire demeanor relaxes more. As he looks at me, a smile breaks out on his face.

“Esther, it’s good to see you.”

We’ve already seen each other this morning, but… well, I suppose I understand. I’ve had a hard morning too. Seeing Miles is the breath of fresh air I needed.

He rises from his desk and comes around to me. At once, I fall into his waiting arms and for a time, we simply exist, holding each other.

Against him as I am, I can feel the tension in his body, which he tried to so hard to hide with his smile.

I don’t doubt I helped lifted his spirits somewhat, just like he lifted mine. But that doesn’t mean that his worry has totally disappeared. Mine hasn’t either.

“I still don’t regret it,” Miles says. With my face against his chest, I can’t see his expression. I can hear the certainty in his voice though. “The news organizations and the people online are all calling for me to apologize. Even my dad thinks I should. But I won’t. I refuse to. That bastard deserves far worse than what I said.”

“I agree,” I say, “But for the sake of the campaign…”

“I’m not a hypocrite, Esther. Even if the public doesn’t understand. I’m not going to apologize to that bastard when I know I’m right. He should go fuck himself.”

With a sigh, I lift my head. “Maybe if you apologized to the public, then. Promise you won’t lose your temper like that again…”

“I’m not sure I can promise that. Not when he’s involved.”

“Miles, you have to. If you want to have any hope of winning this election…”

“The presidency is important to me.” Miles looks deeply into my eyes, and in the blue depths of his own, I can see the focus and determination that helps me believe in him so much. “But so are you, Esther. I made a vow to protect you, and I will.”

When he says things like that, it makes me weak in the knees. I’ve never had anyone be on my side as much as Miles is. Not ever, in my entire life.

Miles lifts a hand and cups my cheek. I lean into the warmth of his palm.

He starts to angle downwards, as if coming in for a kiss. But then something on the television catches his eye and he freezes.

“Miles?”

Without any more warning, he steps away from me and grabs the remote off of one of the end tables beside the couch. He clicks on the sound.

“Esther Owens is the one truly running the Miles Hamilton campaign,” says an eerie female voice. “What do we truly know about her? Recently divorced, tied up in scandal after scandal. A woman with a mysterious past… Doesn’t this nation deserve better?”

An unflattering photo of my face, mid-speaking, appears on the screen. I look angry, but that’s only because I was concentrating, explaining a point.

“Esther Owens. Bad for Miles Hamilton. Bad for America…” The voice adds quickly, “Paid for by Citizens for Edward Zimmer.”

This is an attack ad… for me?