Unlike last night, standing there in front of the police station that let me down, I felt like I had taken my power back from the men who tried to hurt me and make me retreat. The only thing I felt like I was missing was seeing Cannon in the crowd, although I’m sure he probably caught some of my speech on his phone, which was part of the plan when he met Bailey. Still, it’s not the same as seeing his face in the crowd.
Everyone is excited and talkative on the way back to the office, congratulating me and telling me they were floored by the way I had the press hanging on to my every word. I’m not sure about all that.
All I know is that once I walked back into my office and took a seat behind the desk, it finally hit me that this is all real. I’m actually running a campaign now. The phone out front is ringing like crazy, which I hope means that we’ve got supporters calling in.
I’m still in a state of shock when I hear the front door open and then Cannon’s voice asking if I’m in my office. I get to my feet to go and meet him, to find out what happened with Bailey. The two of us are both in such a hurry that we collide right inside the doorway of my office.
“Shit, sorry!” Cannon says with a chuckle as his arms wrap around my waist to keep me upright. My face is practically smashed into his chest when my hands grab the first thing they touch – the open sides of his cut. His familiar clean scent mixed with the leather and his rich smelling cologne hits me even harder than his actual body. And since we’re already so close, halfway there, I make a split-second decision to lift my arms to his shoulders to hug him.
His large frame tenses against me for a moment before his palms on my back pull me tighter. I love the way it feels to be surrounded and protected by this hard strength, more than I probably should.
“You were amazing,” he whispers next to my ear, his lips almost brushing my check when he leans in and inhales deeply. I know exactly what he’s referring to, but his smooth velvety voice makes it sound like something else entirely, something he would say after a night in his bed.
Goosebumps race down my arms so fast I shiver from just that quick thought before I force myself to take a step back, putting space between our bodies, even if my own is incredibly disappointed. I feel a blush warming my cheeks and turn away, walking back to my chair.
“So, how did it go with Bailey?” I ask once I’m safely behind the desk. Cannon’s still near the doorway, a safe distance away where I can’t touch him or drown in his cologne.
Cannon clears his throat and then comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk, sprawling in his usual manly way. “He was stunned,” he says, his gaze lowered to the stack of folders and papers spread in front of me.
“Stunned?” I repeat, wanting to know more.
“I think Roman was too,” he says with a grin as he finally lifts his dazzling, blue eyes to mine.
“What do you mean?”
“They both underestimated you. I think I did too,” he explains, sounding incredibly serious all of a sudden. “Anyway, we warned him to stay away; he threatened to have us arrested for trespassing, and then he waddled back inside angry as fuck after he heard your speech.”
“Good,” I reply with a sigh.
“Looked like you had a good turnout,” Cannon remarks. “You made the headlines on all the local news station sites, the newspaper, and you were even trending on Twitter.”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief. “I didn’t know about Twitter.”
“Congrats, you finally got the attention you deserved, and people are seeing you as an actual contender,” Cannon says. “Now what happens?”
“Well, now we try to get the money flowing and start shooting some videos and photos for advertising.”
“Which brings me to the idea the Kings had at our meeting earlier,” Cannon says.
“Let’s hear it.”
He arches one dark blond eyebrow and says, “Keep an open mind. Our people, our friends and family and…supporters are all just normal folks. They’re not rich and classy like the people you’re used to.”
I open my mouth to object to that wrong assessment when Cannon holds up his palm to stop me.
“Let me finish, then you can bitch about it,” he says. “Since Mardi Gras is coming up, one of the guys suggested that be the theme. Winston wants to do a custom Harley raffle. And there was also some mention of us giving out beads. Really, it would be a party with food and drinks, everyone twenty-one and up, music, people hanging out and having fun while you dazzle them with all you have to offer.”
When he finally stops talking, his fingers are clutching the armrest on the chair as if he’s bracing himself for a fight. And while it isn’t an idea I would’ve gone with on my own, I can see how it could be fun and attract plenty of people. Besides, I know Cannon is trying to help and so are the Savage Kings. I don’t want to put him in the middle of any arguments.
“That sounds…great,” I tell him.
“Great?” he repeats. “Did you say great?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You hate it.” He makes it a comment and not a question.
“No, I think it’s a great idea, which is what I just said.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“No. Why? Do you?” I ask him.
“No.”
“Well, you’re the only biker I know. So, if you think the people you associate with will have fun, then I’m all for it.”
“You mean have fun and raise you a shit ton of money?”
“The more money, the better, of course,” I
