Unfinished Business Read Online Free Page A

wouldn’t hurt.”
    â€œThere you go,” Chase continued, feeding off the woman’s excitement. “It’s a natural platform. You talk about education, budget priorities, the progress of the war—”
    â€œHow not to handle protesters,” Mark added caustically. “Knock it off, you two. Those Sunday show hosts will eat me alive.”
    â€œNo, they won’t.” Bitsi tossed her sleek, white-blonde hair so that the ends caressed her sharp chin for an instant. The hair was one of her best features: thick and shiny, cut and curled toward her chin so that it softened the hard edges of her face. “They love you, and you know it.” She laughed. “The camera loves you. The hosts love you. You’re clever and witty and well-informed, too,” she gushed. “What’s not to love?” She nodded toward the glass. “You just drink your water. I’ll take care of everything.”
    Mark sighed. “I told you, Bitsi. I’m not thirsty.”
    â€œDrink it anyway,” she said quickly, and before he could respond, she’d crossed the room and was showing them her too-slim figure, concealed in a pantsuit of dark, conservative fabric. “As for the Sunday shows, I’ll get on the phone now.”
    â€œBut the woman, the protester—” Mark began.
    â€œDon’t worry about her.” Chase fluttered his fingers, dismissing the encounter. “You came out smelling like a rose. Defending the rights of children, smaller, more-efficient government and the right to free speech.”
    â€œCouldn’t have scripted anything better,” Bitsi chimed in, wetting her lips with her tongue. She always wore the same red, red lipstick shade and agenerous dose of the same dusky perfume to cover the side effects of her cigarette habit. Smoking in this federal building was strictly prohibited, but Mark knew the second Bitsi hit the open air there would be a Light 100 in her hand. He’d seen her chain smoke a whole pack in the course of single hour’s debate when she was nervous. Come to think of it, he’d seen Chase eat a foot-long submarine sandwich in about the same amount of time.
    His friends. Mark studied them dispassionately. He’d known Chase since childhood and Bitsi since law school and neither of them had changed much. Chase was always so laid back and relaxed it was easy to ignore the razor-sharp brain at work behind his calm exterior. You underestimated him at your peril, Mark knew. And Bitsi could best be described by a single word: intense. Chase liked to say the woman was missing a critical on/off switch. Mark would have liked to see the man alive who could excite Bitsi as much as a discussion about Mark’s career.
    They were absolutely dedicated to him. Sometimes a little too dedicated.
    â€œYou didn’t script it, did you?” he asked, pinioning Bitsi with his firmest no-nonsense glare. “Because that would be—”
    â€œOf course not, Mark!” A hurt look appeared in her blue eyes, as her blonde head bobbled in the negative. “I want you to get as much exposure as you can, I want people to already know who you are when you get ready to make the ‘big run.’ But I would never script anything like that…”
    Mark shook his head, his thoughts snagged for a moment.
    The big run.
    President.
    President Newman.
    He had to admit, he liked the sound of it. He liked the idea of it. But it wasn’t time to allow it to pervade his every waking thought. Like that woman with her tight “Bomb” T-shirt and her shouted arguments seemed to be doing.
    He zeroed in on Bitsi again. The woman was a lawyer, too. She knew the difference a single word could make.
    â€œSo you didn’t script it. But you didn’t hire her, did you?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œErica Johnson.” When the name didn’t appear to register in the woman’s short-term memory, he