Page 11 of The Politician Bidder

“Ihave! I left voicemails. I texted. I even used emojis!”

“Did you?” she asks, blinking. “Which ones?”

“Heart eyes. And... pizza.”

“Wow,” she breathes. “I’ve never seen you use so much as a smiley face.”

But none of it worked.

So now I’m pacing my office like a man with nothing left to lose.

Because I’ve done all the careful, strategic things. I followed the road map. Played the game. Got the votes. Kept the image.

And I still lost her. Again.

Unless...

“Beth,” I say slowly, a plan hatching in my mind. “I think it’s time for a grand gesture.” I tell her my plan.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “It could be political suicide.”

I nod solemnly. “She’s worth it.

It’snearlysunsetwhenI arrive outside the Youth Focused Tennessee office. The sky is painted in streaks of orange and purple, the humid air thick with the smell of hot asphalt.

I called in a few favors today. Made some calls. Pulled some strings. Arranged something Poppy can’t ignore.

A protest march.

The block is packed—dozens of people, maybe more—holding handmade signs that bob and wave in the sticky evening breeze.

"Policy is Protection."

"Kids Deserve More Than Promises."

"Stop the School-to-Prison Pipeline!"

"We Believe in Poppy Prine."

I swallow hard and step up onto the low concrete ledge in front of the building, clipboard in one hand, a small portable megaphone in the other.

I spot her almost immediately.

Poppy steps out of the front door, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her dark eyes are wary, suspicious. A lock of hair has escaped her messy bun, curling against her cheek. She looks fierce.And so fucking beautiful.

My throat dries up, but I force myself to raise the megaphone and speak.

“I know this is dramatic,” I say. “But I needed you to hear me.”

The crowd hushes almost instantly, waiting to hear what I have to say.

“I’ve got two years left in my term,” I continue, my voice finding its strength. “And I’ll serve them well. I owe that to the good people of Tennessee.”

A few murmurs ripple through the crowd.

“But after that... I’m done. No more campaigns. No more chasing the next office. No presidential run. No dream bigger than the one that’s standing right in front of me.”

I find her eyes again. She’s not blinking. Barely breathing.

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