Backdoor Scandal

Kenzie Taylor grips the phone tighter. "Yeah, he's flying in Tuesday. Reporter says she's already on her way over." The associate's warning hangs in the air - stay sharp - but the line goes dead right as knuckles rap the door. She hangs up and moves fast, heels clicking. Opens it. Serena Blair stands there, nothing like the buttoned-up women Kenzie expected - shirt riding low, that swagger in her hips that screams trouble. Kenzie's hand freezes mid-reach. One second too long before she stretches out a firm shake and forces the smile. "Come on in." Serena unpacks her recorder like she owns the desk already. Kenzie sits straighter, ready to feed her canned lines about funding and futures. But the questions slide sideways fast - too direct, too hungry. Kenzie's stomach drops. She thinks she hears the closet door creak: her preference for women, dragged into daylight for the cameras. Wrong call. Serena's mouth twists around a single word: anal. The secret that would bury the campaign in mud and morals hearings. "There's one way this stays buried," Serena says, leaning in. "You fuck me, I write nice." Kenzie stares, pulse hammering behind her eyes. The clock ticks. Finally, she nods. "Fine. But you write the piece." Serena's grin says she just bought the election. "Last thing this race needs," she murmurs as she slides closer, "is a backdoor scandal."