The Successor by Stephen Frey Read Free Book Online Page A

with him, she knew that was coming next. It had played out exactly the same way last time she’d come to Washington, right here on this same couch. The same way it did every time. It was so predictable, but she couldn’t resist him. She hadn’t said it back yet, but she loved him, too.
    “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
    “You do?”
    “Of course. You think I’ll never leave my wife.” He wrapped his fingers around hers again. “You think I’m just giving you lip service. Well, I’m not,” he continued before she could say anything. “I’m going to make it happen.”
    She wanted that so badly.
God,
she wanted it. And she’d do anything to get it—almost.
    “Let me ask you a question,” Dorsey said, picking up his bourbon and water off the coffee table. He’d been forced to make a separate trip to the bar in the next room for each of their drinks because he walked with a cane. “What do you think of Christian Gillette?”
    She didn’t have to think about her answer for long. “He’s one of the most capable men I’ve ever known. All the hype about him isn’t really hype. He’s that good.” She’d been expecting that question from Dorsey for a while. “I have a lot of respect for him.”
    “But I thought he screwed you a couple of years ago. On that Ohio deal. Almost cratered your career with your board of directors, right?”
    Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. “Maybe.”
    “Then how come you like him so much?”
    Her expression soured. “I didn’t say I
liked
him, I said I
respected
him. There’s a difference. A
big
difference.”
    Dorsey nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
    “Oh?” She gazed at him over the rim of the glass poised beneath her lips. “Why?”
    He took another sip of his Jack Daniel’s. “Because I want your help with something. Something very important. Something that involves Gillette.”
             
    CHRISTIAN TAPPED the table as he waited for the other person to come on the line. Typically, he didn’t put up with this. Didn’t take a call from someone’s secretary, then wait around while the other person took his time coming to the phone. He didn’t do that to others, didn’t like it done to him. But this was different.
    “Hello.”
    Christian sat up in the chair. “Hello.”
    “Chris, is that you?”
    Christian hesitated. “Yes, it is, Mr. President.”
    “Well, how the hell are you?”
    “I’m fine, sir.”
    “Glad to hear it.” There was a short pause. “I need an answer about that thing we talked about last week, Chris. Sorry to be so direct, but I’ve got the president of Brazil waiting on me downstairs. First time tonight we’ve had a chance to talk privately.” There was another brief silence. “So, you going to help me out?”



5
    May
    CHRISTIAN GAZED out at the Catoctin Mountains from a screened-in porch of Camp David’s main lodge. It was a warm, crystal-clear, late-spring afternoon, and the trees blanketing the rolling hills of western Maryland were bursting with blossoms and new leaves—a lighter green than they would be after they were fully grown in.
    “Can I offer you something to drink? A beer, maybe? I’d have one with you, but it’s probably not a good idea.”
    “That damn nuke thing, huh?” Christian asked.
    President Jesse Wood grinned. “Yup. You’d have to worry about it, too, if you’d been my running mate. One good reason to be glad you
aren’t
the vice president.”
    “Hey, I’ve got my own issues.”
    “I know you do,” Wood agreed, gesturing toward a Secret Service agent standing by the door, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Mr. Gillette will have a bottled water. It’s been a while and I forgot. He doesn’t drink alcohol.”
    “Yes, sir.” The agent disappeared inside.
    Wood glanced back at Christian. “I know you’re a busy man, Chris. Probably almost as busy as I am.”
    As chairman of Everest Capital, Christian had a lot on his plate. The Manhattan-based