He reached to the nightstand and checked his watch. Seven in the morning. Getting a late start.

When was the last time he had slept in? He couldn’t recall. A campaign conference call was in thirty minutes, but that could be done from bed. Mostly he listened while his re-election team discussed the campaign stops, polling, and focus groups.

If something interested him, he would pipe up. But the logistics of campaign work numbed his mind. Let him do his day job, then he’d be happy. But that’s not how elections were won. There were fundraisers to attend, commercials to shoot, messaging to try.

Just thinking about the call bored him, but he had to get up and figure out what he should do about clothes. Didn’t plan this very well, McIntyre. His suit and shirt were strewn across the room. Wrinkles weren’t a good look for a man hounded and photographed on the campaign trail.

He grabbed his phone and touched the screen. Too many e-mails and text messages to count. Shit. He’d forgotten that Murphy was e-mailing over the Maxwell file. He clicked the e-mail open and downloaded the picture. No one he recognized. The file didn’t share any new information either.

Asher looked at Jenny. She snoozed quietly. Looked so innocent, though last night had proved that wrong. He would’ve whistled if he didn’t have to explain why. The woman’s sizzle was almost too much. Almost. But he’d take it. He smiled. Yeah, he’d take it every minute of the day.

He scrolled through the rest of his e-mails. Campaign team, more campaign team. More scrolling. A lot of e-mails overnight. Then again, he hadn’t checked his e-mail since he’d jumped off the train. There was an e-mail from Molly, subject line, “Heads up.” Nope, not in the mood for bad news. It could wait. Scrolling through more e-mail, finally, press clips.

Typical headlines. News on his opponent. News on the poll numbers. Typical. Everything that would be addressed on the conference call—well, whoa. What was, “McIntyre and Mystery Brunette”? Jenny. Guess Ricky hadn’t gotten all the pictures taken care of.

That was also what Molly had probably e-mailed him about. His sister was sure to have press clips and a Google Alert set up to track his name.

He clicked the link open and scanned. Nothing overly interesting. A cell phone-snapped picture and references to Jenny’s attractiveness and reluctance to leave.

He bet the “reluctance to leave” line would be fodder for gossip blogs and that his campaign team would say things like they should jump in front of the problem. Maybe issue a statement that Asher McIntyre respected women. The reactions sometimes were worse than just explaining the truth. His girl didn’t want to leave the party in her honor, but some people had been dicks and ruined the night for her. Glad I made it better, though.

He chuckled, taking it more in stride than he should, then leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “We’ve been ousted.”