Rook (Political Royalty Book 2) by Evelyn Adams Page B

but he hired Pellman to handle his speech writing. It looks like he’s reading off the teleprompter—for the moment at least.”
    “Nice,” said Shep, feeling the thinnest thread of apprehension wind through him. “He’s managed to attach a negative connotation to the word farming and pull in illegal immigration at the same time.” Immigration had been a complicated problem for agriculture for years. Americans wanted cheap food, but precious few of them were willing to do the backbreaking work required to get it to their tables. Immigrant labor—not always legal—was the only way some crops got harvested. Maybe the publisher wasn’t as crazy as he appeared. Either that or he’d finally put his money to good use and hired people to help him craft a message and stay on it.
    “Meanwhile, a whole generation of welfare females,” Estevan said, managing to make the word sound distasteful, “are popping out baby after baby while they steal the money of hardworking Americans.”
    “How much do you want to bet that wasn’t on the teleprompter?” asked Travis as Haven shushed him.
    “She gets to stay home, watching cable TV while honest American mothers have to leave their babies to go back to work just to help keep a roof over their family’s heads. When I’m president, that will change.” He paused again, holding his place until everyone hung on his next word. Shep had to admit the guy had a flair for working an audience. “On day one, my very first day in the Oval Office, I plan to put in place legislation that will end the cycle of handouts and put more money back in the pockets of hardworking Americans.” He held his hands up, clearly expecting applause. He must have forgotten he was speaking to the press and not to fans at one of his rallies. He lowered his hands and gripped the podium for a second before turning and walking off camera without taking any questions.
    “Well, that was a cluster fuck,” said Justin.
    Shep saw Abby wince and felt bad for her. Everything had to be so controlled on the campaign it was hard to tighten up the language behind closed doors. He thought in some ways it was a release valve for all the things they wanted to say but couldn’t in public.
    “There were so many things wrong with it; I’m not sure where to start,” said Travis. “He didn’t even take questions, just walked off like he dropped the mic.”
    Justin snorted, but Haven turned to face them, her expression serious.
    “It won’t matter how much he got wrong if what he said resonates with people. They won’t care that he did it wrong if he’s giving voice to the things they secretly believe but are too nice to say. This one could grow legs.”
    “How do we respond?” Shep watched her, waiting for her to look at him. He was the candidate. She couldn’t ignore him when he asked her a direct question. And unlike him, she wouldn’t risk screwing up her job because of the stuff going on between them.
    She glanced at him, acknowledging him without letting her gaze meet his before turning her attention to Abby. “Do you think you could get the research guys to dig up some stories on families hurt after the housing crisis who had to turn to welfare or housing assistance to survive? Food stamp numbers would be particularly helpful. I’d like to be able to tie it all back to domestic hunger.” Abby nodded and Haven gave the other woman a genuine smile.
    He wanted her to smile at him like that again. He wanted to be able to concentrate on his campaign without spinning everything into how it related to things between him and Haven.
    “We don’t run from it. We paint a picture of people hurt by the previous administration’s policies and show how it ties into our core issues.” She squared her shoulders, clearly in command of the room and everyone in it. She was fucking fantastic—power, control with an instinct other campaigns could only wish for. “Justin, call the ad company we worked with in Virginia