Читать книгу The Marriage Campaign - Michele Dunaway - Страница 10

Eight years later

That was the thing about funerals. You had to attend, and they were the absolute most inappropriate places to meet men. Which was why Lisa was trying hard to avoid staring at that tall, handsome guy across the way. After all, he’d started staring at her first.

Worse, he hadn’t let up.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” As the chaplain standing by the open grave droned on, Lisa Jean Meyer decided that she hated attending funerals, hated them even more than celebrating birthdays.

Birthdays made you feel old. Funerals made you feel mortal, as if you had too many things left to do and no time in which to do them. It didn’t matter if the burial was for someone you really didn’t know that well, as this one was, for funerals simply had a way of reminding you that you were about to turn thirty this year—and worse, that you were still single, with nary a promising prospect in sight, including that annoying hot guy standing behind the crowd on the other side of the grave.

He stood taller than those in the four rows in front of him, and his six-foot-plus height gave Lisa an excellent view of a head full of dark, silky hair. His eyes were a deep brown color, and when she glanced at him again, he held her gaze for the tiniest second before blinking and casually looking away. Despite the brevity of the connection, the encounter had left her with the oddest tingle, as if he were somehow familiar to her.

But that was impossible. She didn’t know anyone in St. Louis under the age of forty, aside from her coworkers. With her promotion to Herb’s lead fund-raiser formalized last week, Lisa had recently transferred from Jefferson City, and as soon as the November election was over, she’d be going back to the state capital. Of course, she hoped that would be with Herb’s gubernatorial victory.

Right now family duty called, and Lisa put the handsome mourner and the odd sense of déjà vu out of her mind. Dating and handsome men did not rate a spot in her top five priorities. The funeral had served as an unwelcome reminder that she seriously needed to spend more time with her parents, beyond required family holidays. Unfortunately her career often interfered with any good intentions: even now, her phone vibrated in her right pocket. Her career was priority number one.

Lisa sighed and tightened her arm around her petite mother’s shoulders. Funerals, no matter for whom, were depressing. “It’s okay,” Lisa whispered as her aunt’s cousin was lowered into the cold, hard ground.

A sharp wind swirled the leaves at her feet before climbing to toy with Lisa’s hair, causing her to shiver. The gust tore some of the blond strands loose from the chignon, and Lisa used her free hand to wipe the wayward locks away from her eyes. Her glove instead further damaged the stylist’s updo.

It was hard to believe that Easter had been the previous weekend, for spring had somehow missed St. Louis. Although the April fifteenth final-frost date had also come and gone, this year the trees were late in bringing forth green buds, and a last-minute freeze had decapitated the tulips and crocuses, leaving them wilting around the gray headstones. The north wind again whipped underneath the tent erected for the burial, and the ensuing chill penetrated Lisa’s skin despite the heavy black wool coat and tan leather gloves she wore.

“How are you holding up?” her mother asked. Blue eyes, so like Lisa’s own, reflected maternal concern.

Lisa stamped her feet slightly to keep the blood circulating. Her designer pumps did little to block the cold. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you and Dad. I didn’t really know the man.”

“Well, you haven’t seen him since you were five,” her mother said as the minister mercifully ended the service. After everyone gave a relieved amen, Lisa’s mother added, “I hate that our family is drifting apart. We only seem to get together for weddings and funerals. Hopefully this is the last of the latter.”

“A double amen to that. Come on,” Lisa said, anxious to escape the cemetery. Now that the event was over and her family duties fulfilled, she had a fund-raising dinner that desperately required her attention. She led her mother away from the grave site and toward the line of cars snaking along the crushed gravel lane.

“So, will you be coming to Jud’s house?” her mother asked, mentioning Lisa’s uncle on her dad’s side. “He and Shelia are hosting the family lunch. Everyone would love to see you.”

Lisa shook her head. “I can’t.”

Disappointment etched her mother’s features and laced her tone. “Oh. You’re working.”

“I’m always working,” Lisa stressed, for truer words had never been spoken. Because from the very moment she’d stepped into high school and won her campaign for freshman class secretary, Lisa Meyer could be described in one word: driven. She’d risen through the popularity ranks, delivered on her campaign promises and exited her senior year as class president and year-book editor.

She’d had a bit of a rude awakening in college, discovering that she might not have the qualities required to be a big-league politician. Facing failure in the arena she loved, she’d found the next best thing and become a political fund-raiser and campaign coordinator extraordinaire.

After all, someone had to run the behind-the-scenes operations, and there she’d found her niche. Now her goal was seeing Herbert Usher elected the next governor of Missouri.

“You should be at the post-funeral lunch,” her mother chided gently. “Your father’s side of the family will all be there.”

From the corner of her eye Lisa caught a glimpse of the tall, handsome man who’d been staring. He cut an impressive figure as he strode diagonally across the field toward the end of the row of cars. The crowd that had braved the weather had been thick, a solid tribute to her family.

“Mom, I did try to pencil in the family lunch, but I’ve got some important conference calls to make as soon as I get back to the hotel. Tonight’s a major fund-raiser, my first since I’ve arrived in town. And I’ll have to see if someone at the salon has time to fix my hair.”

As if proving her point, the wind again tore at her head, loosening more strands. When she’d made the appointment and planned out her day so that she could work in the funeral service, she hadn’t factored in the dreary weather Mother Nature might provide. Lisa was at least grateful it wasn’t raining, taking more time out of a day she wished had twenty-six hours to it.

“When does your work ever let up?” her mother asked. “Never,” Lisa said honestly, readying herself for the forthcoming parental dissatisfaction. “Until the August primary, I’ll be on call nonstop. And after we win that, I’ll be even busier until we win the November election. After that, I might be able to sleep.”

Her mother’s lips puckered. “We haven’t seen you in ages, and seeing you at funerals isn’t quality time. You missed celebrating Easter. While I love seeing Andy and the kids, just having your brother’s family around isn’t enough. Will we at least see you for your birthday?”

“Oh, Mom, please. Of course you’ll see me before that,” Lisa said, acknowledging her mother’s sarcasm. Lisa wasn’t turning thirty until early November, right after the national election. “Tell you what—how about I stop by this Saturday? Herb’s in Kansas City and Bradley’s overseeing.”

“That’s my daughter, the nonstop career woman.” His duties finished, her father came up and embraced her in a warm hug. While her mother didn’t like Lisa’s long hours, at least her former-military father understood her desire to prove herself. He’d been a dedicated career man himself, often spending long hours away from home and his family.

“I see that Herb’s ahead in the polls. How’s the campaign going?” her father asked.

“We can always use more money.”

Her father laughed, but instead of joining him, Lisa pulled her vibrating BlackBerry from her pocket and accepted the call. “This is Lisa.” She listened to Herb for a moment. “I’ll be there in forty minutes. I’m leaving now.”

“He even phones you at a funeral?” Her mother’s censure was evident as Lisa ended the call.

Lisa sighed, the sound lost in the late-April wind. Louise Meyer had stayed home and raised five children, often alone, as Lisa’s father had been away on Air Force business. Lisa had never been sure what her father’s specific job was, but she’d grown up a military brat whose father often didn’t arrive home for dinner and sometimes not even to sleep. Her mother had held down the home front, and having never worked outside of the house, her mother often didn’t understand Lisa’s lofty ambitions or why, as the baby of the family, Lisa drove herself so hard.

“Mom, I had my phone set on vibrate. My clients must be able to reach me at all times. Tonight’s event is the first that I’ve been responsible for here in St. Louis. Entirely my baby.”

Her mother’s sour expression didn’t change. “I’d rather you have real babies. You’re twenty-nine. I’d like some grandchildren before I get too old to play with them.”

Lisa gritted her teeth. Three of her siblings had planted themselves between one and two hours away from St. Louis. Andy, the only son who was close—just across the river in Fairview Heights—had wiggled out of the funeral because of a sick child. As for children, her mother was a grandmother ten times over already.

Andy had provided three of those. While children were a someday goal of Lisa’s, having a family of her own was not an immediate possibility with her travel schedule. And, of course, she needed a man first. Like that one she’d seen earlier…

Time for a tactical retreat. “I love both of you,” Lisa said, hugging each of her parents. “We’ll try for this weekend, okay? Right now I have to go.”

In fact, all around, car engines had roared to life, the mufflers spewing visible exhaust into the frigid air.

“This weekend,” her mother emphasized. “Pencil or type us into that thing, whatever you do with it. Oh, look at that line of cars leaving. Mike, we must get to Jud and Shelia’s before everyone else.”

Her mother took her husband’s arm and faced her daughter once more. “Lisa, I’m serious about this weekend. Don’t be a stranger. We left Warrensburg and moved across the state so we could be closer to our family. Now that you’re living here until at least November, that includes you.”

“I’ll try to make more time. I’ll see you Saturday. Promise.” Lisa hugged her parents again and then headed to her car, a used upscale Lexus that she often chauffeured clients in.

While the car warmed up, she blocked out six hours for her parents on Saturday and entered the information into the BlackBerry’s calendar. She placed the device on the passenger seat and shifted the car into drive.

There was a slight gap between a Lincoln Town Car and the black Porsche following it, and Lisa eased her way into the opening. She glanced in the rearview mirror, and her hand stilled as she began a thank-you wave. Him.

The guy who’d been across the grave site stared back at her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. His black-gloved fingers drummed rapid-fire on the steering wheel as he waited for her to accelerate. The moment seemed to stretch, and Lisa realized the Town Car had moved.

She turned her gaze forward, took a deep breath and stepped on the gas pedal. She had better things to do than stress over some man she’d never see again, no matter how handsome he was or even if she really did know him somehow. During the funeral, she had missed ten calls, several of which she had to return the minute her family obligations were finished. Other calls were from her best friends, Cecile and Joann. Those could wait, as they often did. Amazing how once you left college, even though you remained friends, you became too busy to see each other as much. What used to be long daily conversations shifted into weekly ten-minute chats, if that.

The BlackBerry also registered that Lisa had new e-mails, meaning it was going to be a long afternoon. She made a left onto Highway 44, deliberately refusing to watch the Porsche disappear in the opposite direction.

“YOU DO REALIZE THAT if you don’t leave, you’re going to be late. Oh, and Alanna’s called three times now.”

The disapproving voice of his fifty-year-old secretary resounded in his executive office, and Mark Smith glanced up from the purchase proposal he’d been reading. Carla stood in the doorway, just as she had any other day during the past five years. The only difference now was that her arms were crossed and she’d lowered her reading glasses so that they hung around her neck by a chain. She arched an eyebrow. “You heard me about Alanna?”

He’d heard her. What bothered him was the first thing she’d said.

“I’m late?” he parroted, running a hand through his dark brown hair as if the motion could make him remember exactly what he was late for. Just because he was turning the ripe age of thirty in June didn’t mean his brain cells had already stopped functioning. Thirty was the new twenty, forty the new thirty—or so the ads and magazines claimed.

Heck, he still was height-weight proportional thanks to a healthy diet-and-exercise regime, had a full head of hair thanks to great genetics and had a ninety-nine-percent punctuality record thanks to his meticulousness.

Mark admitted to being anal about little things like timeliness and he’d even managed to arrive at the funeral this morning on time, not that he’d wanted to be there in the first place. With the responsibility of selling his family’s die manufacturing company resting solely on his shoulders since his father’s heart attack, Mark had a lot of purchase proposals to read and he was falling behind.

“You’re going to be late for the fund-raising dinner,” his secretary prodded gently, her expression a tad concerned that Mark hadn’t clued in yet.

“Oh—” Mark bit off the expletive that threatened.

The dinner! He hated political events. Whereas his father loved politics and once toyed with running for state senate, Mark avoided anything to do with politics like the plague. Like a good citizen, he voted, but that was about it. He’d wiggled out of half a dozen dinners his father had invited him to attend over the years, and finally his father had stopped asking.

But as the new president of Smith Manufacturing—an interim position until the company was sold—Mark knew his responsibilities. He’d fulfill them, as he’d been raised to do and always had—just as he’d done by attending the funeral of one of his father’s business associates this morning. This time Mark’s mother was sick, and even though the doctor said it was only a spring virus, Mark’s dad had felt it best to stay home with her. The conversation this morning had been quick.

Mark stood and grabbed his leather trench coat.

The drive from Chesterfield to the Millennium Hotel wouldn’t take but twenty-five minutes, tops. As he accelerated the Porsche onto Highway 40, he glanced at the dashboard.

He’d only be about five minutes late, if at all. The wind blew, beating against the Porsche as the car crept over the posted speed limit. The day seemed as if it belonged more in January than in April, and Mark resented for a moment having to attend. Although, what else did he have to do? His relationship with Alanna was over; he’d broken it off last week. She’d become too clingy, too simpering, as was still evident in her repeated phone calls to his office. Three months of dating did not constitute a relationship. His secretary, Carla, was a saint for putting up with the nonsense.

As for Mark, when a man came within reach of hitting thirty, his thoughts did turn to marriage. He wanted his own Mrs. Right, whoever she might be. Definitely not Alanna. Nor any of the other women he’d dated over the past few years. He’d rather be a bachelor than make “death do us part” vows with the wrong woman.

Maybe that’s why he seemed to run through girlfriends like water. Dating was like shopping. When a guy went to the store, he found what he wanted and bought it. If not, he left. Mark wasn’t a big believer in wasting time. Wrong woman—nice to meet you, but goodbye.

However, he admitted he was ready to settle down, which was why he was out there searching. His fraternal twin sister Joann had three kids already, and Mark had none. He liked kids and wanted a houseful, but only after marrying the right woman. If he found her. When he did, he wouldn’t let her go.

Mark lifted his foot off the accelerator, slowing the expensive sports car to only five miles above the speed limit. Just six more miles and he’d be there, amongst the people jockeying for position, for political favors, for a slice of power that, in the end, was meaningless. Mark shivered despite the climate-controlled air. Joann’s friend Lisa had always loved politics.

Lisa. Mark frowned. Joann had attended the University of Missouri and become best friends with her three Rho Sigma Gamma pledge sisters. Nicknamed the Roses, all four had been inseparable until graduation. After that, life had gotten in the way. Oh, they kept in close touch and still maintained confidences, but seeing one another was hard to do when you lived in different towns and had different obligations.

That girl at the funeral today had reminded Mark of Lisa. Same blond hair, same overall build. Attractive. But he hadn’t seen Lisa since Joann’s wedding eight years ago, when Lisa had disappeared and stood him up. His best friend Caleb’s girlfriend had gotten sick, and Mark had walked her outside to get some air. By the time he’d found Caleb and passed off the sick girlfriend, it had been well past the time Mark was to meet Lisa. She hadn’t waited, and after a fruitless search, Mark had gone to bed alone.

And since Lisa had been from Warrensburg, on the other side of the state, he doubted that had been her freezing at the cemetery. For a second he wondered if she was married and made a mental note to ask Joann.

Mark whipped the car onto the Broadway exit ramp. Almost there. Mark braked and shook off the melancholy. Duty called.

“LET’S HOPE THERE WILL be some single men here tonight.”

Upon hearing Andrea Bentrup’s announcement, Lisa looked heavenward, studied the pattern on the hotel ballroom ceiling and mentally counted to ten. Unlike her twenty-two-year-old area assistant whom she’d been working with for the past week, Lisa had been around the political block a dozen more times than the wide-eyed, idealistic, nonstop romantic standing in front of her. Love and politics did not mix. Ever.

Lisa plastered on a businesslike expression and faced Andrea. Hiring her hadn’t been Lisa’s idea last November; Herb had traded political favors with Andrea’s father, a very influential party member. Except for her rabid wishes to settle down and marry, Andrea did a decent job. She was a natural social butterfly who easily made everyone comfortable.

“Well, Andrea, you’re free to hope, but don’t hold your breath. Political fund-raisers aren’t the place to find single men. Besides, our job isn’t about finding a husband but helping Herb win the election.”

Andrea’s skin turned the color of her hair, a light shade of red. “Oh, please don’t think I’m saying that I don’t want to help Herb win the election. But at least some of these guys have to be going stag and, darn it, I don’t want to work all my life.”

“No one does. It’s called retirement,” Lisa said flatly.

“I’m only doing this job until I settle down,” Andrea proclaimed. She wobbled a little on the two-inch heels she’d worn to bring her almost to Lisa’s five-eight height. Lisa had to admit that Andrea was cute, which hopefully for some man made up for her singular desire to be wed.

“Just make sure you have all the place cards in the correct spots,” Lisa said as she turned her attention back to her own tasks. She’d been idealistic once—leave college, find the right job, find the right man and live happily ever after. The day of graduation she’d toasted to her future, sharing a bottle of champagne with her three best friends in the world. They’d held their glasses high, proclaimed they weren’t going to settle for anything until they had the proverbial brass ring tight in their grasps.

But life wasn’t perfect. Brass rings tarnished.

Tori, the computer-science major in the group, had been ready to make Microsoft worry. She’d joined an upstart St. Louis–based computer company called Wright Solutions, where she’d fallen into a rut.

Cecile Duletsky had been determined to be Norman Lear, Sidney Sheldon or Aaron Spelling and develop television shows. She’d made it as far as working behind the scenes on a talk show.

And Joann, the woman with the promising television news anchor job ahead of her? Less than three months after graduation she’d learned that she was pregnant, married her college sweetheart and become a stay-at-home mom of three with a diploma that collected dust. Lisa had her suspicions that, while Joann was happy, she still had some regrets.

As for Lisa, she finally had the right job but hadn’t found the right man. Oh, she’d thought she had, until he’d broken it off and subsequently married. Politics was all about alliances, and Lisa had learned that particular lesson the hard way a little over a year ago.

And Bradley Wayne was still her boss. Although she’d branched out and formed her own company, until Herb’s campaign was over, she reported to Bradley.

She surveyed the ballroom again, her radar not sensing any current doom on the horizon. The fact that Professionals for Business Growth had endorsed Herb was excellent. While Herb was a shoo-in for winning the party primary in August, he then would have to defeat Anson Farmer. Even though Herb was ahead in the popularity polls, most analysts predicted that November’s gubernatorial election would be close.

But when Herb did win in November, he would become her most successful and highest placed political candidate ever. That feather in her cap would make the endless apartments and lack of permanent furniture worth it. She’d fill a position on his staff. Herb had further ambitions beyond reviving Missouri, and Lisa could picture him in the White House. She planned to do all his campaign fund-raising and ride his coattails all the way there.

“There you are.” Mrs. Herbert Usher—or Bunny, as she was known—swept into the hotel ballroom like a woman on a mission. At fifty-seven, Bunny had let her hair turn white and the locks waved around her ears. She reminded Lisa of a younger Barbara Bush. “Lisa, Herb’s speechwriter came down with a stomach bug and Herb’s not satisfied with tonight’s address. He wants you to fix it.”

That was Lisa, jack-of-all-trades. “Tell Herb not to panic, and as soon as I finish the final meeting with security, I’ll head up to the suite and do a quick rewrite. I also have some thank-you cards Herb needs to sign so that I can pass them out at the end of the evening.”

Bunny appeared relieved. “Wonderful. Between us girls, I’m late getting my hair done. Appearance is everything, especially with Anson Farmer’s young wife being a former model. The press fawns on her, salivating fools.”

“Everything will be fine,” Lisa said, touching her own hair to make sure that the redone style hadn’t budged. It would crush somewhat when she put the headset on, but that didn’t matter; being in touch with her crew was more important. Nothing would go wrong tonight—she wouldn’t let it. She’d climbed too far to fail now.

Two years ago, when Lisa had begun working for Bradley, Herb had used multiple political fund-raisers and campaign managers. In the past few weeks Herb had narrowed his focus to one fund-raiser—Lisa—and one campaign manager, Bradley Wayne, her ex. Technically Bradley was the boss, Lisa second in command. Lisa supervised four area assistants who were also technically self-employed: Andrea in St. Louis, Kelsey in Kansas City, Drew in Springfield and Duane in Jefferson City. Duane had taken Lisa’s place last week when Herb had promoted Lisa to oversee the entire state, at which time Lisa had relocated to campaign headquarters—St. Louis, Herb’s hometown.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” Lisa said, concentrating on the task at hand. “We’ll have no complications tonight. You’ll see.”

“That’s great,” Bunny said as she pulled out her cell phone and prepared to take flight. “I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes.”

The first complication Lisa faced came in the afternoon, when the hotel banquet staff made a substitution on the dinner menu. Thankfully she caught the problem early enough and handled the situation easily. The second issue was more difficult.

“Lisa, Larry Smith isn’t coming!” Andrea’s words blared into Lisa’s ear.

“Larry Smith?”

“Yes. I had him scheduled to pass the hat.”

“And he’s a no-show?” Lisa said into her headset, a twinge of panic constricting her chest. Now five-thirty, people had been entering the ballroom since five for the six o’clock dinner, and Lisa stood near the podium, once again double-checking that everything was ready for Herb’s arrival. She’d left this part of the event totally to Andrea.

“Yes, he’s a no-show,” Andrea repeated, her own panic evident. “He sent his son instead. What are we going to do? When I set this up weeks ago, I didn’t think this would happen.”

“It did,” Lisa said, her mind churning. Unlike Andrea, Lisa wasn’t a nervous newbie. Still, Lisa took a moment to berate herself. She’d had to train Duane and his staff or she’d have been in St. Louis earlier to supervise. And Andrea had assured her…. Lisa focused.

All problems had solutions—she just had to find them. She reviewed what she knew. Larry Smith was an old colleague of Herb’s and he was to make the first two-thousand-dollar donation and start “Pass the Hat.” While the fund-raising dinner brought in soft money from charging exorbitant meal prices, Pass the Hat was a fun event where the hard money was tossed in.

Tonight’s event had five hundred people who had spent five hundred per plate. If an average of one thousand dollars per guest was received, Herb would gain five hundred thousand in hard money for his campaign coffers. That had been the goal Lisa had set.

“You said he sent his son instead,” Lisa said.

“Yes,” Andrea answered. “Larry Smith was going to bring his wife. His son arrived by himself. Now there’s an empty space at that table.”

Empty spaces were not great but certainly livable.

“Calm down and let me think. Ambruster’s out, and so is Bennington,” Lisa said, naming some of Herb’s friends. They’d agreed to pass the hat at future events that were equally important, so she’d prefer not to use them now. Larry Smith was the vice president of Professionals for Business Growth, hence his suitability tonight. Perhaps all wasn’t lost if he’d sent a replacement.

“I want to talk to Larry Smith’s son,” Lisa said suddenly. “Maybe his father told him what’s going on. Where is he?”

“He’s the hot one by the door, talking to the woman with the silver hair and glittery red dress. You can’t miss him. I told you there’d be single guys here tonight.”

Lisa couldn’t care less about the younger Smith’s marital status. She trained her gaze across the wide expanse of the ballroom. Hot one by the door? Mere seconds elapsed before she located the man to whom Andrea referred. Even from across the room, his magnetism commanded. The guy defined tall, dark and handsome.

She could tell he wore custom tailoring, he was at least six feet tall and he had a full head of dark, silky hair. Her breath lodged in her throat as he laughed at something someone in the small circle surrounding him said. He reminded her of the man from the funeral.

No wonder Larry Smith’s son had such a multiage group of ladies crowding about. The man knew how to exude sex appeal. But none of that mattered to Lisa, not when her evening, her career and five hundred thousand dollars were at stake.

“I’ve spotted him,” Lisa told Andrea via the headset. “I’m making my way over there now.”

“I’ll handle him if you’d like,” Andrea said hopefully.

“I’ve got it,” Lisa commanded. “Hey, the St. Louis County executive is coming through the doorway.”

Andrea sighed her disappointment. “I’m on it.”

Lisa wove her way across the ballroom. Her target grew larger than life as she closed in, and she could see his hair wasn’t one solid color: the ballroom chandeliers illuminated natural highlights that lacked any hint of early gray.

Close-up, the man was even more impressive, with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Lisa predicted that under his perfectly pressed shirt there was probably a washboard stomach without an ounce of fat. Even from behind she could tell he was the entire package: the gorgeous, moneyed exterior and the type of male physique that, when naked, was every woman’s fantasy.

Lisa swallowed and reminded herself that, like this morning, she didn’t have time for fantasies or dalliances, even if the man was so gorgeous he made Tom Cruise and Colin Farrell look ugly.

Besides, she hadn’t had much appetite for a social life this past year. Concentrating on her career was much smarter than embarking on another futile search for a man. Lisa wasn’t a woman who had an issue with sleeping alone. This situation was nothing she couldn’t control. “Mr. Smith?”

He turned, leveling a dark brown gaze at her.

Lisa froze as her breath lodged in her throat.

Damn. How dare the fates be unkind? Come on, what were the odds? St. Louis had well over a million people. Smith was a common last name. Everyone called his dad Bud, not Larry. But the memory raced back, proving that eight years was not enough time. How dare it be…him.