Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Well, that’s good to know.” Owen laughs. “Did you hear that, Mill? This old guy polls well with millennials.”
A few of the team chuckle, but they’re also typing on their iPads and laptops, jotting notes, grabbing data. They’ve started tracking down leads before I’ve had to ask for them.
“Let’s invite them,” Kimba says, excitement sparking in her dark-brown eyes. “Students, community organizers, Instagram influencers, leaders from marginalized groups—all of them.”
“Yes!” I agree. Kimba and I basically share a brain, so I see where this could go. “Bus caravans.”
“By car, by train,” she picks up. “We send out invitations now to campus leaders, folks who volunteered for campaigns, all key figures in those crucial demographics. We don’t leave them with their faces pressed to the window.”
“Right,” I say. “We open the doors. Yes, I have a big house, but it’s your house, too. At least for tonight.”
Everyone laughs again, and the brief tension that had infiltrated the room flees completely. I pace, my brain like a beehive, every idea causing another and chasing that one until I’m buzzing with thoughts and I can’t get the words out fast enough.
“Not just a party to celebrate a New Year’s Eve,” I say, my voice climbing, “but a new era!”
“A new era’s eve party,” Kimba laughs, high-fiving me. “Ooooh! We’re cooking with hot grease now, honey.”
We continue spitballing ideas and assigning actionable items. It’s another hour before we break, but I feel much better about this soiree we’re throwing.
“Big plans for Thanksgiving, Lennix?” Millicent asks, gathering some of the dinner debris while the team packs up to go.
“Lennix doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” Maxim says from the other end of the table, his words quiet. He looks up from his iPad to meet my eyes. “Unless that’s changed?”
He and I stare at one another so long I feel other people noticing.
“No, I don’t celebrate,” I say.
Thanksgiving is one of those distinctly American traditions that has problematic origins for American Indians.
“I don’t begrudge other people celebrating,” I tell them, shrugging. “Even some from my tribe celebrate. It’s fine. I just don’t.” I smile to lighten the mood and my words. “But I do go home. My dad and I order pizza and watch parades and boring football games.”
Everyone laughs, keeps packing up and heading out. I’m still processing that Maxim knows I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. I must have forgotten we discussed it. I thought I remembered everything about that week.
“Maxim, Lennix,” Owen says. “Could you two hang for a minute?”
Maxim glances at the Richard Mille watch on his wrist. “I can give you twenty of them. Jin Lei has my car downstairs and a flight waiting.”
“You’re leaving DC?” I ask before I catch my damn tongue.
Maxim goes still in the middle of pulling on his leather jacket and glances up at me, one brow lifted.
“I mean,” I say hastily. “I just wondered in case we need anything or have questions.”
He pulls his jacket on and grabs his iPad from the table. “Kimba has my itinerary and knows how to get in touch with me.”
One of my conditions. He doesn’t say it, but the silent truth travels the length of the table.
“Yeah, I’ve been in contact with Jin Lei,” Kimba affirms, smiling. “I know how to find you.”
He smiles back with an ease that doesn’t exist between the two of us anymore. He hasn’t made any attempts to contact me. Everything I’ve heard of Maxim comes through Kimba or the gossip columns. There seems to be a report about him on DC’s social circuit every night. The latest morsel involved him kissing a Russian ambassador’s daughter. I’ve been convincing myself all week that I don’t care. He does think I’m with Wallace. Maybe he decided to give up?
And shouldn’t I be happy if he has?
“Well, my mama has started cooking Thanksgiving dinner,” Kimba says, rubbing her stomach. “I can already smell the turkey and dressing.”
“Oooh, and string bean casserole,” Howard groans.
“Mac and cheese,” Kimba bounces back as they leave the conference room.
“I’m gonna go check on the twins,” Millicent says. She pauses at the door and turns to me. “Thanks for not backing down in the meeting, Lennix. Some people blow smoke up my ass because of who I’m married to.”
“First of all, if I blew smoke up your ass,” I tell her, “it would be because of who you are, not your husband. And second of all, I got no smoke, lady.”
We exchange slow, genuine smiles. She nods and leaves the room.
“So what’s up, brother?” Maxim asks. “I got a plane to catch.”
“Where are you going?” Owen asks, frowning a little.
“Berlin, Prague, Stockholm,” Maxim says. “Then it gets fuzzy and you’ll have to ask Jin Lei.”
“When do you come back to the States?” Owen asks. “Will you be home for Christmas?”
Maxim’s face shutters. “You already know the answer to that, O. I’ll make sure to send the twins their gifts and—”