took.
“Mr. Maitland?” The rabbity woman behind the desk on the third floor of the Lassiter campaign office spoke into her headset. “She says she’s a ‘Mrs. Kenna Wilkes,’ insists she has an appointment.” The woman turned pages in a spiral notebook. “But there are no appointments on the daily.”
Today Kenna was all soft curls and wispy tendrils. Under her trench coat, a demure pink sweater set and a not-so-demure black pencil skirt that stopped just north of her knees. She figured Maitland would appreciate her expensive boots. Any man loved high heels. Oh, yes. She could wait.
“He’s not answering, Mrs. Wilkes. Mr. Maitland doesn’t see anyone without a—”
The door behind the secretary’s desk swung open.
Standing in the doorway, a pudgy, middle-aged guy in a rumpled off-the-rack suit held out a hand, gesturing Kenna toward him.
“She’s fine, Deenie.” The man crossed in front of the secretary, eyes only for Kenna. “Mrs. Wilkes. The governor said you’d be arriving today. Welcome. I’m Rory Maitland.”
Kenna watched him look her up and down. “Delighted, Mr. Maitland.”
“Deenie, this is Mrs. Wilkes, a—” Maitland paused, as if searching for the right words. He rubbed a hand across what was left of his hair. “—a special friend of Governor Lassiter. She’s volunteered to help on the campaign. And the governor has asked us to make her feel at home. Mrs. Wilkes, this is Deenie.” He pointed to the nameplate on her desk: DENISE BAYLISS .
“Oh, please call me Kenna,” she said. Flicking a glance at Maitland, she targeted the receptionist with a dazzling smile. “I cannot wait to get started. I hope you’ll help me?”
“Help you? Get started?” Deenie turned to Maitland, questioning. Back to Kenna. Then back to Maitland. “Get started with what?”
Kenna touched a newly French-manicured fingernail to her single strand of pearls. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought Governor Lassiter had promised I could—”
Maitland interrupted. “And the governor would be delighted if you could start today. How about trying the welcome desk, downstairs in the main lobby? Sit right up front. Meet everyone who comes in.”
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Kenna said. “The welcome desk sounds lovely.”
“The welcome desk is not as easy as it looks, Mr. Maitland.” Deenie was frowning.
“You know what, Denise? I’ll just take her downstairs myself,” Maitland said. Case closed. “I’d like to get Mrs. Wilkes in place before everyone gets back from the rally.”
Maitland approached the door to the corridor. He turned to Kenna. “Ready? You’ll be the first person everyone sees when they arrive at campaign headquarters. Hope you don’t mind being the new girl.”
The new girl? That was one way of putting it. “Actually,” she said, “I’d love to run over to that rally first. See it all firsthand? Then come back later?”
She looked at Maitland expectantly. Deenie must be beyond confused.
“Wonderful.” He beamed, as if Kenna had the most brilliant idea ever. “In fact, here’s an idea. I’ll walk over to the Esplanade with you.”
Maitland gestured Kenna through the door, then turned back to the secretary.
“Mrs. Wilkes will be back after the rally.” He stabbed a stubby finger toward the girl, now barricaded behind her desk. “Remember, Deenie, the governor says we’re to give her anything she needs.”
9
“Hey! You two. Ya don’t see the ropes?” The cop, a tank in sunglasses, waved off Kiernan and Jane, shepherding them away from the Esplanade stage. “This is as far as the both of you go.”
Clutching her tote bag under one arm, Jane was banged and buffeted by Lassiter supporters grabbing their chance for an up-close moment with their political choice. They’d pushed themselves against the metal-stanchioned rope line, where a row of officers in blue, arms linked, stood between them and the huge wooden platform. A lofty half dome, intricately
“Mr. Maitland?” The rabbity woman behind the desk on the third floor of the Lassiter campaign office spoke into her headset. “She says she’s a ‘Mrs. Kenna Wilkes,’ insists she has an appointment.” The woman turned pages in a spiral notebook. “But there are no appointments on the daily.”
Today Kenna was all soft curls and wispy tendrils. Under her trench coat, a demure pink sweater set and a not-so-demure black pencil skirt that stopped just north of her knees. She figured Maitland would appreciate her expensive boots. Any man loved high heels. Oh, yes. She could wait.
“He’s not answering, Mrs. Wilkes. Mr. Maitland doesn’t see anyone without a—”
The door behind the secretary’s desk swung open.
Standing in the doorway, a pudgy, middle-aged guy in a rumpled off-the-rack suit held out a hand, gesturing Kenna toward him.
“She’s fine, Deenie.” The man crossed in front of the secretary, eyes only for Kenna. “Mrs. Wilkes. The governor said you’d be arriving today. Welcome. I’m Rory Maitland.”
Kenna watched him look her up and down. “Delighted, Mr. Maitland.”
“Deenie, this is Mrs. Wilkes, a—” Maitland paused, as if searching for the right words. He rubbed a hand across what was left of his hair. “—a special friend of Governor Lassiter. She’s volunteered to help on the campaign. And the governor has asked us to make her feel at home. Mrs. Wilkes, this is Deenie.” He pointed to the nameplate on her desk: DENISE BAYLISS .
“Oh, please call me Kenna,” she said. Flicking a glance at Maitland, she targeted the receptionist with a dazzling smile. “I cannot wait to get started. I hope you’ll help me?”
“Help you? Get started?” Deenie turned to Maitland, questioning. Back to Kenna. Then back to Maitland. “Get started with what?”
Kenna touched a newly French-manicured fingernail to her single strand of pearls. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought Governor Lassiter had promised I could—”
Maitland interrupted. “And the governor would be delighted if you could start today. How about trying the welcome desk, downstairs in the main lobby? Sit right up front. Meet everyone who comes in.”
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Kenna said. “The welcome desk sounds lovely.”
“The welcome desk is not as easy as it looks, Mr. Maitland.” Deenie was frowning.
“You know what, Denise? I’ll just take her downstairs myself,” Maitland said. Case closed. “I’d like to get Mrs. Wilkes in place before everyone gets back from the rally.”
Maitland approached the door to the corridor. He turned to Kenna. “Ready? You’ll be the first person everyone sees when they arrive at campaign headquarters. Hope you don’t mind being the new girl.”
The new girl? That was one way of putting it. “Actually,” she said, “I’d love to run over to that rally first. See it all firsthand? Then come back later?”
She looked at Maitland expectantly. Deenie must be beyond confused.
“Wonderful.” He beamed, as if Kenna had the most brilliant idea ever. “In fact, here’s an idea. I’ll walk over to the Esplanade with you.”
Maitland gestured Kenna through the door, then turned back to the secretary.
“Mrs. Wilkes will be back after the rally.” He stabbed a stubby finger toward the girl, now barricaded behind her desk. “Remember, Deenie, the governor says we’re to give her anything she needs.”
9
“Hey! You two. Ya don’t see the ropes?” The cop, a tank in sunglasses, waved off Kiernan and Jane, shepherding them away from the Esplanade stage. “This is as far as the both of you go.”
Clutching her tote bag under one arm, Jane was banged and buffeted by Lassiter supporters grabbing their chance for an up-close moment with their political choice. They’d pushed themselves against the metal-stanchioned rope line, where a row of officers in blue, arms linked, stood between them and the huge wooden platform. A lofty half dome, intricately
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