“Matt. Charlotte. Unless you’d still like to go by Charlie.”
“God, no! Are you dead-set on embarrassing me today?”
“Not really. Though I can’t deny I find the pink on your cheeks quite charming.”
His lips curve sensually, and there’s a flutter in my stomach when he winks at me.
I shyly glance down, and I realize that the hard little points of my nipples are popping out against my dress.
Mortified, I lift my arms to fold them in front of me, but not before I catch his eyes noticing too. He slowly lifts his gaze to mine, his expression revealing nothing as he pulls his attention back to the crowded group.
“I should get going. But I won’t say goodbye.” He raises one sleek eyebrow in meaning. Pushing his chair back and standing to his full height.
His words leave me confused. I can’t manage to answer quickly enough, so he simply smiles at me and leaves me to ponder them the rest of the night.
I have no idea how long my mother and I stay there, really, but I know exactly three times that I glanced in Matt’s direction, he turned to meet my gaze—as if he has some sort of radar or simply sensed me watching him.
My stomach went crazy each of those times, and I jerked my eyes away.
When we’re ready to leave, my mother takes the time to say her goodbyes. I consider grabbing Matt’s attention to wish him good luck before heading out, I just really wish that we hadn’t been interrupted when we were and that we’d been able to talk some more. But he is busy when I search for him through the crowd, and I don’t want to interrupt. As I follow my mother to the door, one of her old congressman friends stops to say goodbye to us both. I smile and nod, and past his shoulder, I see Matt’s eyes meet mine and realize he’d been watching me leave.
He smiles at me, and cants his head in the barest of nods, and there’s something about that smile and that nod that fills me with an odd sense of anticipation.
For what, I just don’t know.
I ride in the back of the town car with my mother, sort of unable to stop replaying the things Matt said to me when he came over. Sort of hating the fact that I still can’t control the things he brings out in me. “He’s going to win,” my mother says softly.
“Do you think so?” I ask her.
The wanting for him to win suddenly hits me with so much force, it almost overwhelms me. Sitting there talking with him, I sensed a genuine quality in him and a strength that makes you want to cling to it. Which is silly, really, but don’t you want a strong president? You want someone who can keep his head in a crisis, someone confident, and someone real.
“Well, his announcement caused quite a stir. But the Democrats and the Republicans won’t let go of the presidency that easily,” my mother says, and I press my lips together.
As I start to get out of the car, my mother says, “Charlotte, you know how much I hate you living alone here …”
“Mom,” I groan, shaking my head with a chiding frown, then wave her off and shut the door behind me.
That night is not the first time in the past eleven years that I dream about Matt Hamilton again, but it’s the first one where the guy in the dream looks exactly like he did tonight.
6
THE NEXT MORNING
Charlotte
I’m still thinking about the previous evening as I head to Women of the World. I’ve been working with my mother since I was eighteen, winging both my studies in Georgetown and social service hours here. I help run the organization and my days are usually a combination of fundraising, job hunting, and supportive talks with the women we take under our wing. I’ve just gotten off a phone call when a tall man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair appears at my office door and knocks.
“Hi, Charlotte. Good morning.” He speaks with the familiarity of old friends.
I recognize his face, but I can’t pinpoint where I know him from.
“Benton Carlisle …” He extends his hand, which I promptly shake. “Unfortunately we didn’t get the chance to be introduced last night. I’m Matt Hamilton’s campaign manager.”
My heart skips, regardless of me wanting it to or not. “Oh, of course—Mr. Carlisle, I’m sorry. I haven’t had coffee yet. Please, sit down.”
“I won’t be staying long. I’m simply here on behalf of Matt.”
“Matt?” I question.
“Yes. He wants to formally extend you an invitation to join his campaign.”
If seeing Matt’s campaign manager in my office wasn’t shock enough, this certainly is.
“I …”
“He told me you were the first in line to help and he’d hate to refuse his first offer.”
My eyes widen. “Mr. Carlisle—”
He laughs. “I admit I was taken aback. Most of our recruits have experience, something which you have nothing of. And yet here I am, first thing in the morning.” He looks at me as if wondering what I did to deserve this and I don’t like his possible assumptions.
“I agree that I have no experience. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline.”
“Fair enough.”