Double trouble (2 page)

"My base of operations will always be the district that elects me," Matt replied at once. "Whether I'm serving in the Pennsylvania state senate or the U.S. Congress, my intentions and my priorities will always focus on my constituents."

"Oh, that's good!" Kayla said admiringly. "Very good. You didn't even miss a beat. And nothing pleases voters more than the notion that the candidate is theirs and eager to serve them."

Matt's smile dissolved. "You sound like one of those creepy political handlers who makes a living reinventing people who run for office."

Uh-oh. Kayla tensed. ''You don't approve of hiring media consultants or political handlers? They can be quite effective and helpful to both candidates and elected officials," she added nervously.

She should know; she was one, though she hoped she didn't qualify as "creepy." Nor did she "reinvent" p)eople. The way she saw it, she helped qualified candidates enhance their natural assets and assisted them in how to best present their message to the voters. And since opening her own consulting agency two years ago, she had steadfastly refused to take on anyone she wouldn't vote for, regardless of the financial incentive.

"What an image consultant actually does is make a pile of money giving lessons on how to hoodwink the public," Matt countered scornfully. "I hold that slick army of consultants, pollsters and media advisers largely responsible for the mess politics is in today. Voters don't trust their elected officials and no wonder, with those money-grubbing charlatans turning candidates into unctuous, media-slick phonies who are all form and no substance."

"I agree with you on some points," Kayla said quietly. She'd left the well-known wizardry of Dillon and Ward Consulting Associates because she was disillusioned and disgusted by their lack of ethics. In her own agency she could provide a service without chicanery.

"You should agree with me on every point when it comes to opposing those slick vultures." Matt wasn't ready to let the subject drop. Like all Minteers, he enjoyed a good argument and was just revving up. "Let's dissect what I said earlier. If, as you said, I didn't miss a beat, it's not because I've been rehearsing some pretty words written for me by a smooth operator with a degree in marketing and a feel for advertising. It's because I know my own mind and I speak it. And I also know my priorities, which are exactly that— priorities—not crowd-pleasing notions."

'*If there were more politicians like you, the so-called image consultants would cease to exist," Kayla said wryly.

**And what a blessing that would be!"

*'Then again, the most unflinchingly frank politicians often end up needing a media consultant more than anyone else," Kayla couldn't resist pointing out to him. "These days, no one in public life can afford to be too outspoken. You Ve be^ in a relatively sheltered pohtical climate—a favorite native son in the majority party in local and state poUtics. Things change on the national level. It's entirely different."

"Honey, I could be running for president and I still wouldn't hire a media guru."

Kayla's eyes widened in horror. "Never, never call a woman *honey.' It's practically instant political death."

"I wasn't being sexist." Matt scowled. "I was being... ironic."

"You're too blunt to be ironic. Anyway, irony is difficuh to convey. It usually doesn't work in print and can be misinterpreted on the air."

"So if you were an image consultant, you'd steer your clients away from irony and outspokenness?" Matt shook his head. "Maybe you'd better stick to lobbying for PITA, Kristina. Your image and media advice is pretty lame."

Kayla thought of her paying clients; if they shared Matt Minteer's opinion, her business would be pretty lame. Which wasn't the case at all; she was making a comfortable living in a field that fascinated her. And she had the strangest need to share some of that with this disapproving stranger, Matt Minteer.

"Before you write off media consultants altogether, consider this," she injected earnestly. "Pohtical neophytes need advice on how to break the deadlock of incumbency, and a consultant can provide honest assistance there. Sometimes newcomers need to bone up on such basics as grammar and

diction and the fine points of etiquette, and a good media coach can provide—"

''Media coach!" Matt hooted. *'Give me a break! Coaches are for football or basketball or hockey teams."

*'But the same principle applies," argued Kayla. ''Media coaches give guidance and instruction, just like coaches do for sports teams. Not everyone is bom knowing how to act, dress and talk before the cameras."

Matt shrugged. "All you have to do is to be yourself on and off camera," he said simply. "What's so hard about that?"

Kayla regarded him with a mixture of exasperation and awe. He was clearly a natural, whose honesty and self-confidence precluded the need for "coaching." How did she explain that there were others, well-intentioned but less confident, inspired but not inspiring, who really did need extra help? It seemed futile, so she tried another tack. For reasons she didn't stop to ponder, it was imperative that she convince him that she was not creepy, slick or greedy.

"A good, independent consultant can also keep incumbent politicians from becoming too complacent and out of touch with their constituency. Sometimes, the consultant is the only one who dares speak the truth to politicians who are surrounded by sycophants who 'yes' them to death."

"Politicians are not always surrounded by fawning yes-men," Matt protested. "I won't tolerate anyone on my staff who doesn't have the guts or the brains to disagree with me.

"Then you're an exception to the rule. To be honest with you, my opinion of most poUticians mirrors yours of image consultants. But unlike you, I, at least, will acknowledge that there are exceptions."

Matt arched his dark brows. "You're very outspoken. I'm accustomed to schmoozing and smooth smiles from lobbyists, not straight talk."

Kayla shifted uncomfortably. "So you don't approve of political consultants or lobbyists?"

Matt frowned at the edge in her voice and blamed himself for it. Couldn't he hold a simple conversation with an attractive woman without sounding off on something? His younger sister Anne Marie's voice echoed suddenly in his head: "Lighten up, Matt. Can't you make small talk without deUvering a lecture on good and evil, according to the gospel of Saint Matthew Minteer?"

His eyes swept over Kristina McClure. Her beautiful, appealing smile had faded. He wondered if it was too late to make amends, then decided to try anyway.

He smiled at her, the famous Minteer smile, which effortlessly won both hearts and votes. "Let's bury the hatchet and move on to something else. Like what a maverick politician and a straight-shooting lobbyist can find to agree upon."

"That has a Wild West ring to it," Kayla said dryly. "Odd choice of metaphor for a Pennsylvania politician."

"You think I should work in something about iron and coke and coal and steel?" He was pleased that she was smiling again. And though he was aware that their dialogue bordered on fhTting—flirting/ at a political event!—-he couldn't resist taking the next logical step.

"How do you feel about dessert? Not as a metaphor, the real thing," he added quickly. "Let's skip the dessert they'll be serving here tonight—it's a tasteless rubbery pudding falsely labeled chocolate mousse, an insult to both chocolate lovers and mousse lovers everywhere. We'll go over to Rillo's for some of their homemade ice cream. How about it, Kristina?"

He was asking her out! Kayla didn't hesitate for a moment. "I'd love to."

Later, she could fret about the foolish chance she was taking, going out with a politician while she was in the guise of Kristina. And not just any politician, but one who con-

demned her livelihood. But for now she was acting on impulse—a rarity for her—and loving it.

**Come up to the head table as soon as the speeches are finished," said Matt. His deep blue eyes were gleaming. '*Then we'll steal away." ,

Kayla felt giddy. He made it sound so darkly exciting, as; if they were headed for a secret, romantic rendezvous rather than simply going out for ice cream. "Yes," she said husk-ily.

He caught his breath, she caught hers and they gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment before the retiring congressman approached Matt and enjoined him to take his seat at the head table.

Matt turned his head once as he and the congressman made their way through the crowd. He saw that she was still watching him. She looked as dazed and dazzled as he was, and he felt immensely gratified that the attraction was mutual. He smiled, and even though she was halfway across the room from him, she smiled, too. An intimate, answering smile that connected them and promised so much.

Kayla felt a warm sweet glow stirring within her. She felt lighthearted and sensual and free, so far removed from her normal self that the everyday Kayla—that practical working grind—would have been suspicious of the sudden strange transformation.

But she was a different person tonight, a playful, happy' Kayla who could think of nothing but Matt Minteer. Why,, she was in love, Kayla decided as she sipped the white winei the waiter had just poured into her glass. Though she^ thought it happened only in songs, movies and books, it had happened to her. She had fallen in love at first sight.

And from the smoldering, sexy looks Matt kept sending her way, she was deliciously certain that he had fallen for her, too.

Two

^^I've never had such a good time at a poUtical fundraiser," Kay la exclaimed to her nine dinner partners seated at the circular table. Though they had all been strangers when they'd sat down to dinner—only two had even a nodding acquaintance with Kristina—by the time the bad dessert was being served, Kay la felt as if they were all longtime friends.

During dinner they exchanged jokes, quips and stories, responding to even the niost feeble attempts at humor with roars of appreciative laughter. And their table wasn't the only one to erupt with periodic bursts of hilarity throughout the evening. Everybody appeared to be having a wonderful time. Laughter and conviviality pervaded the ballroom, erasing inhibitions and enveloping them all in a happy glow.

It seemed perfectly natural when everybody at one of the tables began to sing, despite the absence of a band. Who needed instrumental accompaniment on a night like this? It

wasn't long before everybody was singing, including the powers-that-be at the head table. If some didn't know the words, it didn't seem to matter. People simply made up their own lyrics. Kayla's table joined in the songfest and she was i right with them, singing vigorously along to a fractured = medley of show tunes.

When the waiter served the dessert, a glutinous concoction bearing a poor resemblance to any chocolate mousse she'd ever seen, she grinned, remembering Matt's description. And his invitation.

''I'm passing on this," she announced, pushing the dish aside. *'I was invited to have dessert later at... at..." She couldn't remember exactly where. ''Some place that serves homemade ice cream."

Her dinner companions laughed uproariously. At this. point, any time that anyone said anything at all, the instantaneous response was peals of laughter.

''Going out for ice cream, hmm? Sounds like a hot date to me," said a jolly, fortyish, state representative from central Pennsylvania. "Who's the lucky guy, Kristina?"

A hot date for ice cream? Kay la chuckled, amused. But they'd all become such good pals, even if they did call her by her sister's nam^e she saw no reason not to confide the "lucky guy's" identity. She playfully inclined her head toward the head table. "He's up there," she told them.

"Since all the men but one sitting at that table are very much married, you must be going out with the lone bachelor of the group," said another lobbyist, a young woman about her age. "Matt?"

"Minteer?" echoed the man across the table from Kayla. "That Matt?"

"That Matt," affirmed Kayla, sending the entire table into gales of laughter over the rhyme.

"I don't believe you," teased one of the state representatives. "Minteer doesn't date lobbyists. If you're really his date, prove it. Go up to him and sit on his lap." A loud dis-

pute immediately broke out among her companions. Half believed Kayla, the other half insisted she should prove her claim. Kayla was in such a good mood, she decided to indulge them.

"I'll go over to his table to say hello but I won't sit on his lap," she said, rising to her feet. Strangely, the room seemed to lurch and she swayed, clutching the edge of the table for support. 'Tor a moment there I felt as if I were drunk," she murmured, shaking her head. ''But that's impossible. I've only had one glass of wine."

"You had at least two or three glasses of water, though," observed the person sitting next to her. "Gotta watch that stuff."

Again, everyone laughed heartily and Kayla trekked off, amid smiles and cheers. It didn't occur to her to feel shy or unwelcome at the head table. Everybody in this room was so friendly that Kayla felt at home with them all.

Her reception at the head table was welcoming. "Hello, beautiful lady," chirped the state party chairman. "Would you like to join us?"

Matt rose to his feet as Kayla approached him. His heart was pounding, and he felt as eager and taut with anticipation as a boy picking up his dream date for the prom. Taking both her hands in his felt perfectly natural to him. "Hello again," he said softly.

She smiled warmly, her heart in her eyes. "Hi." They gazed raptly at each other. Another round of singing broke out and Kayla chuckled. "You know, usually these political affairs are deadly dull but this is the most fun I've had in ages."

"Hey, we Pennsylvanians know how to party," boasted the lieutenant governor and the rest of the people at the head table cheered their agreement.

"I guess I'd better go back to my table now," Kayla told Matt. "Some of my friends didn't believe that you and I are going out for dessert tonight and asked me to prove it by

coming over to your table and talking to you. A few wanted even more definitive proof."