Melinda Curtis - The Best-Kept Secret

“Rosie?” Hudson appeared next to their table with a practiced, easy grin. Heaven forbid he show too many teeth. “I thought that was you. And then you waved and—”

“I did not wave at you.” Rosie glared at Hudson. “Did you think I was asking you to join us?” No one could be that obtuse.

“May I?” Hudson greeted Roger, shook his hand and sat beside Rosie, ignoring the look she gave him and nodding his head toward the awestruck woman at the next table. “The place is packed.”

“We’re having a private conversation,” Roger said, his brows pitching downward.

Hudson pointed at the two of them. “I’m not interrupting something romantic, am I?”

“No!” Rosie felt like jabbing an elbow in Hudson’s rib cage.

“Good. Just pretend I’m not here. I need to check e-mail anyway.” With that, Hudson pulled out his BlackBerry and started scrolling through his messages.

Where was that waiter?

ROGER LOWERED HIS VOICE. “The lady wants you to leave.”

“Given your track record, I prefer to stay. The lady needs protection.” From both Roger and her own mistaken impressions. Hud leaned back in his chair and put his arm across the top of Rosie’s chair. Somewhere between his office and Plouf she’d become someone who believed in him, however reluctant that belief might be, and he’d started thinking of her as Rosie.

“Gentlemen, please.” But Rosie only stared at Hud and bobbed her head in the direction of the door, freeing another wayward curl in her effort to get rid of him.

If Rosie wasn’t going to willingly give him a second chance, Hud had no choice but to create his own opportunities. “I hear you’re interested in running for mayor, Roger. I’m curious. What would you put on your agenda?”

“Agenda?” The other man frowned.

Thank you, Roger, for making this easy. “What issues would take priority for you? Education? Health care? Transportation?”

Roger shrugged. “They all seem important to me. Doesn’t the city have a lot of programs in place already?”

“Yes, we do.” Hud smiled and brought his head closer to Rosie’s because he knew it would annoy Roger. “There are several great programs in San Francisco. The problem is red tape. People don’t know how to get the help they need or they can’t work their way through the bureaucratic paper trail.”

“Like you know what’s going on in San Francisco,” Roger sulked.

“I know that with the most attractive health care and services programs around we attract more than our fair share of homeless.” Hud sensed Rosie’s appraising gaze upon him and hoped she realized how passionate he was about serving his community. “And that our city is overly dependent upon tourism. Our infrastructure is strained and the new bay bridge still won’t be large enough to handle all the traffic during rush hour.”

“What? Are you applying for the mayor’s job?” Roger snapped. Then he looked from Hud to Rosie and swore. “You are!”

“That’s enough,” Rosie interjected.

Hud shrugged. “I’d like to think I can make the city a better place.”

“That’s bull.” Roger shook his head. “No one can change a thing. The best you can do is ride shotgun and hope for no earthquakes or terrorist attacks.”

“I think you’re wrong.” And now, hopefully, Rosie would, too.

“You’re not going to impress her with that.” Roger’s voice turned sour. “Politicians are realists. Aren’t they?”

“I think,” Rosie said after looking the two of them over, “things have gotten out of hand here and—”

“You should go,” Hud told Roger, moving his hand closer to Rosie’s shoulder with a grin.

Roger stood. “Don’t make any hasty decisions about Hudson. Everyone knows he’s a quitter.” Tossing his napkin on the table, Roger left.

Hud didn’t realize he’d gripped Rosie’s shoulder until she loosened his fingers from her jacket. “Please tell me that more people wanted to go to dinner with me than with that pompous jerk,” he said.

The waiter placed a glass of white wine in front of her while Rosie scooted her chair away from his. “I have never seen such a childish display in my life,” she said finally. “You barge in here—”

“Pull out your charts.”

“Sit down in the midst of what is clearly a business meeting—”

“Or I’ll do it for you.”

“And bully Roger into leaving.”

She was breathing heavy and so was Hud. He hadn’t experienced a good fight in a long time. He was angry and frustrated and trying not to be desperate. But what was most surprising was how alive Rosie DeWitt made him feel, how he wanted to twine his fingers through her long springy curls while they sparred. Hud could tell from the intensity of her glare that she felt the same way. Adversaries sometimes made the best lovers. Not that pursuing a relationship with his campaign manager would help Hud’s image. He’d learned over the last few years that short-term attraction distracted him from his long-term goals. But that didn’t mean Hud couldn’t use this spark between them to his advantage.

Hud grinned. “I can wait all day.” Because he was going to get Rosie’s endorsement for mayor if he had to follow her home.

“PERHAPS I SHOULD CALL HUD.” Vivian fiddled with the stem of her wineglass as she sat across from Walter in one of San Francisco’s most exclusive restaurants.

Walter put his chin on his hand and studied her intently, much the way he’d been doing all through lunch, as if he’d just met her and was trying to figure her out. “Why? He’s a grown man.”

“I know, but I want him to be happy.”

“After age eighteen, they have to be in charge of finding their own happiness. I think I told you as much twenty years ago.”

Vivian attempted a smile. “I didn’t listen then, either.” She’d spoiled Samuel because Hamilton had been so hard on Hud. It had taken Samuel a long time to grow up, but eventually he had, going so far as to receive a graduate degree from Berkeley before joining the army. When he was killed in Afghanistan, Vivian was glad she’d made his short life so special.

“Adversity builds character,” Walter pointed out, reaching for her hand. He was so supportive, always there when she needed him. A decade ago Walter had stood by her side when Hamilton passed away from complications created by his diabetes. He’d helped Hud see her through the loss of Samuel nearly five years later and had been one of the few people who didn’t disappear when things went sour for Hud in the Senate. When she’d called earlier in the week to discuss Hud’s options, Walter had been the one to suggest Rosie and she’d readily agreed, knowing he’d use Vivian’s name to smooth things over for Hud.

With her hand enveloped in Walter’s larger one, Vivian felt safe. “We’ve had enough adversity in our lives. Hud doesn’t need any more.”

“Hudson is young enough to weather a few more storms.” Walter stroked his thumb across the back of her hand, sending an almost forgotten thrill skittering across her skin. “You’re the one I want to see happy.”

She tried to ease her hand back, but Walter only held on tighter. If she had any sense, she’d think her old friend was making a move on her. But Vivian knew better. She was nearing sixty-five with skin that had lost its elasticity and body parts that drooped. Powerful men like Walter pursued young, nubile bodies.

Vivian patted Walter’s hand and gently extricated herself, because she knew what he wanted even if he seemed not to at the moment. “I am happy.”

With a significant glance at his empty hand, Walter’s dark eyebrows went up a centimeter or two. They both knew that was a fib. She’d spent the last two years moping around her office and home. A change of subject was in order.