Page 60 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Fitz stripped off his jacket, tossed it on the couch, making Derek flinch. “We don’t need to talk damage control. You’ve been supposedly doing it since yesterday. Be a man of action, not words.”
“The thing is, people don’t want to talk to me. They want to hear from you.”
“Tough. You’re my campaign manager. This was a campaign, ah, incident. So—manage it.” He didn’t want to hear excuses. After all, this was precisely the reason his dad had saddled Fitz with his toadie. Spinning the facts was supposed to be Derek’s wheelhouse.
Fitz yanked open the bottom file cabinet drawer where he’d stowed his gym bag. Derek could stay and watch him change, or he could spit it out and get the hell out.
Derek stood. Came right up to the edge of the desk, shot his cuffs with all the self-importance of Al Capone. “People want an accounting of every campaign promise you made, from both runs, and which ones are still unacted upon.”
As they should. Frankly, Fitz was disappointed he hadn’t done it himself prior to kicking off the campaign. He pulled out his cleats, let them clatter noisily to the floor. “Give it to them.”
While he didn’t scuttle away, the immediate hunch to his shoulders and several-step retreat made it clear that Derek was horrified by the demand. “I…I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Talk about the wrong thing to say. Fitz was over Derek only being willing to pursue his own agenda…or Preston Montgomery’s. “A solid, oh, ninety-four percent of those promises were things you dreamed up, things you slid into speeches after I’d okayed the draft. Ah, didn’t think I noticed, did you? Things you swore would get people fired up about voting for me.” Fitz yanked his tie from its knot and hurled it across the room. The breeze probably ruffled Derek’s hair. “Things you never researched or strategized to see if they were actually viable.”
“That’s…that’s not my job,” he blustered. “I do what it takes to get you elected. You’re responsible for the four years that go by afterward.”
Fitz sat hard and started unlacing his shoes, but he only did one before he let his arms dangle between his knees. It was pointless. Derek wouldn’t change. He certainly wouldn’t change his allegiance to Fitz rather than his father. People like Derek always followed the money. Probably not a chance in hell he’d admit his errors, which wouldn’t solve the current crisis, regardless.
Hallie was in the race for mayor because she believed, deep down, that she could do a better job than the current mayor.
Fitz needed to believe that he could do the best job as mayor. That despite his last name, he’d do right by the town.
That started here and now.
“You know what? You’re right. This is at least partly my fault. I was a kid, a newbie the first time around. Doesn’t excuse me letting you pull the same crap the second time. I took the easy way, fell in line.”
“And it got you elected.” Derek picked up the nameplate that spelled out his title. The one that had been sitting on the desk, without interruption, for a good hundred-plus years. He waggled it in the air between them.
“No one ran against me!” Fitz thundered. “I could’ve run on the basis that we should start a herd of alpacas and use them as therapy animals, and I would’ve gotten voted in. Making promises that can’t be fulfilled, or that I have no freaking idea of how to implement, is wrong. I won’t do it anymore.”
“You have to.” Earnestness poured off the man like sweat off a marathoner at mile twenty-five. “Ms. Scott isn’t real competition, but she might pull over enough voters who think they’re pranking you to make the results look bad. You don’t need to start your next term under that cloud.”
It was obvious that Fitz’s point had space-shuttled right over the man’s head. “Or she could win.”
A half laugh choked off into a gasp. “I won’t let that happen.”
Not you’re the best mayor, so obviously the people will elect you.
Not a pep talk version: you can dig deep and make sure that your passion for this town shines through and the voters will do their thing accordingly.
No. To Derek, it was simply that a Montgomery had to win, whatever the cost. No matter if Hallie turned out to be a combo of Churchill and Roosevelt who mayored for a few terms then ended up being the first female president in a landslide.
Fitz was done with his attitude. Done with the way he supported the legacy and not the man trying to live it. “You won’t have a choice, Derek. You’re fired.”
Silence filled the office. Fine with Fitz. He’d said all he’d intended. So, he took off his shoes and swapped into white socks. And then, prominently, put his shorts on the desk, topped off by his jock. That ought to send Derek running.
The nameplate slid from his hand. Its metal edge probably put a nick in the old desk. “You can’t fire me. I don’t work for you.”
“And right there’s the problem. I need a campaign manager who listens to me, whose sole agenda is getting me reelected. Not propping up the vaunted legendary status of the Montgomery family. Not leaping to attention every time my father snaps his fingers.”
“We’ll just see about that.”
“I’m putting out a press release tomorrow saying that you’ve stepped down from the campaign. Anything you do on your own time is up to you, if anyone will listen. The key thing is that I’m not listening to you anymore.” Then he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt.
Derek all but leaped to the door. “You’ll regret this.”
“I doubt it. But if I do? That won’t be your concern. Your vote, however, would still be welcome.” And Fitz flashed his signature campaign smile.
