I search the room until I find Burton Colson again. The billionaire CEO ran for mayor of the town where he grew up, winning easily. Rumors of his probable gubernatorial bid have been circulating for the last two years. He put an end to the speculation last week when he officially announced his candidacy. I could predict everything about this man—where he’d have gone to college, the woman he’d marry, the causes he’d choose to lobby. I even got his mistress right. His wife’s a brunette. I called him for a redheaded sidepiece. Pictures from her early life show mousy brown, but a bottle turned her red, so I win on a technicality.

What can I say? That Allen gut. I got it.

But there are things I couldn’t possibly know about him. That’s the dirty laundry Piers is sorting through now. These days, a mistress isn’t enough to derail a campaign. The public is too jaded to allow something as minor as a mistress to keep otherwise good leaders out of office. And generally, I agree. When the world’s on fire, give me a competent leader who knows what the hell she’s doing over the chick who never cheated on her partner, but couldn’t lead me out of a paper bag. Character does count for something, though, and as Colson’s opposition, it’s my job to expose…possibly exploit…his weaknesses. I doubt there’s anything that could completely disqualify him, but there’s certainly something that could turn votes our way.

Or Mateo’s way, rather, since he still hasn’t hired me.

But he will.

Unless the man sitting with him right now, a few tables over, has anything to say about it. Anthony Rodderick and I grew up in this business together. We graduated around the same time. Started working in politics right out of college. Did the same grunt work to pay our dues. Now we both run political firms and vie for some of the same big fish candidates.

I drift from conversation to conversation, working my way closer to Congressman Ruiz’s table. Anthony never leaves his side. I should not be angling to see Mateo Ruiz. He knows what I can do. My resume speaks for itself, or at least it should. He’s worried that Lennix is gone and I can’t manage on my own? I’ve been doubted at every turn, and I always pull through. I just elected a president. If he’ll give me the chance, I’ll deliver this state to him. Skulking around ballrooms, positioning myself for his consideration, hoping I can “accidentally” run into him—this is not a good look. And if this was a game of chess, this would not be my move.