Read Online Campaigning for Christopher by Katy Regnery - Free Book Online
Authors: Katy Regnery
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don’t appear to be drinking that particular pitcher of Kool-Aid.”
Christopher nodded, feeling marginally better.
“But Chris,” said Lori gravely, “you need to know. Your numbers . . .”
“Yeah?”
“They’ve tanked overnight.”
Christopher blinked at her, the words reverberating in his head like gunfire. Rat-tat-tat. Tanked. Rat-tat-tat. Overnight.
“Interestingly enough, it’s Duncan Cavanaugh’s comment yesterday on Good Day, Philly that keeps being recycled.”
“Which comment in particular?” Christopher bit out.
Lori grimaced. “I counted over a hundred different memes of you reimagined as the spokesperson for Killarney’s. I think that’s why the alcoholism angle is holding on so tight. A picture says a thousand words.” She shrugged. “That said? You’ve got national attention now. If there’s any way we can possibly turn this around, you’ve got a far larger audience than you had before.”
“So now I’m nationally notorious, instead of regionally loved,” said Christopher in a tight voice.
“No press is bad press?” asked Lori with a hopeful wince.
“Unless you’re a politician,” said Preston. “Then the bad feels like a crucifixion.”
Simon, who’d been outside speaking with the assembled journalists, slipped back into the campaign headquarters, looking troubled. Deeply, terribly troubled. Christopher, who was still seated in front of Elise, stood up, giving his campaign manager a concerned look.
“Si?”
“Chris,” he said, like he was out of breath, his eyes wild.
Suddenly the crowd outside got louder, and Christopher could hear the wolf pack of journalists shouting questions at someone.
“Who’s out there?” Christopher asked, heading for the shaded windows that flanked the door, and pulling the blinds aside. But the angle was wrong—he couldn’t see what was going on.
“Now, Chris, you have to listen to me for one second.”
Christopher turned to Simon, his voice cracking like a whip as he asked, “Who the fuck is out there?”
The crazy thing was he already knew. He knew in his gut that it was her. He knew it in the absolute way that he was certain of his name or his blood type or the color of his eyes. She was here. She was standing just on the other side of that door.
“Can you have an open mind?” pleaded Simon, reaching for the doorknob.
“Don’t you dare let that—” Christopher watched in horror as Simon opened the door and the black-haired witch from Saturday night slipped quickly into the room with her head down. “— fucking bitch into my space!”
She straightened her spine and raised her chin, her deep black eyes nailing him from two feet away.
“Too late,” she said. “I’m already here.”
Chapter 5
If being called a fucking bitch wasn’t enough, Julianne saw Christopher Winslow actually lunging at her, and it was only because the short bald man named Simon jumped between them that Christopher didn’t get a piece of her.
“Fucking mercenary!” he cried, held back by two other men, who had rushed to the front of the office almost as soon as Julianne ducked through the door. “Crooked, rotten, drug-dealing whore . . .” He struggled against the men holding him. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”
They let go of his shoulders, stepping back but standing by, as Christopher raked both hands through his coiffed hair, messing it up, and stared at her like he wished her fates far worse than death.
“Get the hell out of my office,” he growled, his tone lethal.
And Julianne considered it. To her great shame, she considered running away. It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? So much easier to run away than make amends.
Your eyes are like the night sky. The universe. The heavens and a million stars.
She reminded herself that he knew how to speak gently, how to smile warmly, how to touch tenderly. But most of all, she reminded herself that she deserved his rage.
She swallowed back her fear and
Christopher nodded, feeling marginally better.
“But Chris,” said Lori gravely, “you need to know. Your numbers . . .”
“Yeah?”
“They’ve tanked overnight.”
Christopher blinked at her, the words reverberating in his head like gunfire. Rat-tat-tat. Tanked. Rat-tat-tat. Overnight.
“Interestingly enough, it’s Duncan Cavanaugh’s comment yesterday on Good Day, Philly that keeps being recycled.”
“Which comment in particular?” Christopher bit out.
Lori grimaced. “I counted over a hundred different memes of you reimagined as the spokesperson for Killarney’s. I think that’s why the alcoholism angle is holding on so tight. A picture says a thousand words.” She shrugged. “That said? You’ve got national attention now. If there’s any way we can possibly turn this around, you’ve got a far larger audience than you had before.”
“So now I’m nationally notorious, instead of regionally loved,” said Christopher in a tight voice.
“No press is bad press?” asked Lori with a hopeful wince.
“Unless you’re a politician,” said Preston. “Then the bad feels like a crucifixion.”
Simon, who’d been outside speaking with the assembled journalists, slipped back into the campaign headquarters, looking troubled. Deeply, terribly troubled. Christopher, who was still seated in front of Elise, stood up, giving his campaign manager a concerned look.
“Si?”
“Chris,” he said, like he was out of breath, his eyes wild.
Suddenly the crowd outside got louder, and Christopher could hear the wolf pack of journalists shouting questions at someone.
“Who’s out there?” Christopher asked, heading for the shaded windows that flanked the door, and pulling the blinds aside. But the angle was wrong—he couldn’t see what was going on.
“Now, Chris, you have to listen to me for one second.”
Christopher turned to Simon, his voice cracking like a whip as he asked, “Who the fuck is out there?”
The crazy thing was he already knew. He knew in his gut that it was her. He knew it in the absolute way that he was certain of his name or his blood type or the color of his eyes. She was here. She was standing just on the other side of that door.
“Can you have an open mind?” pleaded Simon, reaching for the doorknob.
“Don’t you dare let that—” Christopher watched in horror as Simon opened the door and the black-haired witch from Saturday night slipped quickly into the room with her head down. “— fucking bitch into my space!”
She straightened her spine and raised her chin, her deep black eyes nailing him from two feet away.
“Too late,” she said. “I’m already here.”
Chapter 5
If being called a fucking bitch wasn’t enough, Julianne saw Christopher Winslow actually lunging at her, and it was only because the short bald man named Simon jumped between them that Christopher didn’t get a piece of her.
“Fucking mercenary!” he cried, held back by two other men, who had rushed to the front of the office almost as soon as Julianne ducked through the door. “Crooked, rotten, drug-dealing whore . . .” He struggled against the men holding him. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”
They let go of his shoulders, stepping back but standing by, as Christopher raked both hands through his coiffed hair, messing it up, and stared at her like he wished her fates far worse than death.
“Get the hell out of my office,” he growled, his tone lethal.
And Julianne considered it. To her great shame, she considered running away. It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? So much easier to run away than make amends.
Your eyes are like the night sky. The universe. The heavens and a million stars.
She reminded herself that he knew how to speak gently, how to smile warmly, how to touch tenderly. But most of all, she reminded herself that she deserved his rage.
She swallowed back her fear and
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