A Conflict of Interest, Barbara Dunlop's book is set in modern times. The
storyline could be happening today. The story revolves
around the newly elected President of the United States, his
staff and a secret that is revealed at one of his election
dinners.
The one item that really caught my attention was that Cass
Cranshaw is from Wisconsin.
Since I live in Wisconsin, it kept me interested in this
character. She is one of the PR people for the president
and she is trying not to get involved with TV talk show
host Max Gray who will do anything to get a story.
Barbara Dunlop's writing is great. She gets you hooked from
the start and you keep reading because you want to find out
what happens with these character's lives. The only thing
that I didn't care for is one of the story lines was not
answered by the end of the book. I really would have
liked to find out if this story line had a good or bad
ending. Perhaps she is writing another book that will
answer these remaining questions.
Cass and Max have their up and downs in first trying to stay
away from each other and then trying to stay together.
Will they succeed? We also meet Cass's sister Gillian who
owns her own business and butts into Cass's relationship.
However, she does this to help her sister, not hurt her. We
also meet Jake, he is Max's photographer who gets duped into
helping Gillian with her antics in trying to help Cass and
Max.
Barbara does introduce several other characters in this
book. But we only learn a little bit about them and not
much more. I would have liked to have a little more
knowledge of these characters. Again, maybe Barbara is
writing a sequel to this book. I guess we will have to wait
and see.
I would read another oneof Ms. Dunlop's books, without hesitation.
More than once, White House PR specialist Cara Cranshaw has
considered that
reporter Max Gray might want her only because he can't have
her. Given their
work, a relationship is dicey—and impossible now that the
president has taken
office.
For Max, their relationship may be a lark, a fling—maybe
she's just another
woman in the long line that forms a part of his bachelor
lifestyle. But for her,
what they have is different. She's all but given him her
heart. And now she is
having his baby.
Excerpt
Inauguration night in Washington DC, and Cara Cranshaw
had to choose between her President and her lover. One
strode triumphantly though the arches of the Worthington
Hotel ballroom to the uplifting strains of Hail to the
Chief and the cheers of eight–hundred
well–wishers. The other stared boldly at her from
across the ballroom, a shock of unruly, dark hair curling
across his forehead, his bowtie slightly askew, and his
eyes telegraphing the message that he wanted her naked.
For the moment, it was investigative reporter Max Gray
who held her attention. Despite her resolve to turn the
page on their relationship, she couldn't tear her gaze from
his, nor could she stop her hand from reflexively moving to
her abdomen. But Max was off limits now that Ted Morrow had
been sworn in as President.
"Ladies and gentlemen," cried the Master of Ceremonies
above the music and enthusiastic clapping that was
spreading like a wave across the hall. "The President of
the United States." His voice rang from the microphone on
stage at the opposite end of the massive,
high–ceilinged room.
The cheers grew to a roar. The band's volume increased.
And the crowd shifted, obviously separating to form a
pathway in front of President Morrow. Cara automatically
moved with them, but she couldn't tear her gaze from Max.
He took a few steps backward on the other side of the
divide.
She schooled her features, struggling to transmit her
resolve. She couldn't let him see the confusion and alarm
she'd been feeling since her doctors visit this afternoon.
Resolve, she ruthlessly reminded herself, not hesitation
and definitely not fear.
Sandy was a junior staffer in the White House Press
Office where Cara worked as a public relations specialist.
While Cara was moving from ball to ball tonight with the
President's entourage, Sandy was stationed here as liaison
at the American News Service event.
"Only by a few minutes," Cara shouted back, her gaze
still holding on Max.
Resolve, she repeated to herself. The unexpected
pregnancy might have tipped her world on its axis, but it
didn't change her job tonight. And it didn't alter her
responsibility to the President.
"I was hoping the President would get here a little
early," Sandy continued, her voice still raised. "We have a
last minute addition to the speaker lineup."
Cara twisted her head, Sandy's words instantly breaking
Max's psychological hold on her. "Say again?"
"Another speaker."
"You can't do that."
"It's done," said Sandy.
"Well, undo it."
The speakers, especially those at the events less than
friendly to the President, had been vetted weeks in
advance. American News Service was no friend of President
Morrow, but their ball was a tradition, so he'd had no
choice but to show up.
It was a tightly scripted appearance, with only thirty
minutes in the Worthington Ballroom. He arrived at
ten–forty–five, well ten–fifty–two
as it turned out, then he left at eleven–fifteen. The
Military Inaugural Ball was next on the schedule, and the
President had made it clear he wanted to be on time to
greet the troops.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Sandy. "Should I
tackle the guy when he steps up to the microphone?" Sarcasm
came through her raised voice.
"You should have solved it before it came to that."
Cara lifted her phone to contact her boss, White House
Press Secretary Lynn Larson.
"Don't you think I tried?"
"Obviously not hard enough. How could you give
permission to a new speaker?"
"They didn't ask," Sandy pointed out with a
frown. "Graham Boyle himself put Mitch Davis on the agenda
for a toast. Two minutes, they say, tops."
Mitch Davis was a star reporter for ANS. Graham Boyle
might be the billionaire owner of the network, and the
sponsor of this ball, but even he didn't get to dictate to
the President.
Cara couldn't help an errant glance at Max. As the most
popular investigative reporter at rival National Cable
News, her was a mover and shaker himself. He might have
some insight into what was up. But Cara couldn't ask him
about this or anything else to do with her job, not now and
not ever again.
Cara pressed a speed dial button for her boss.
It rang but then went to voicemail.
She hung up and tried again.
She could see that the President had arrived at the
head table, in front of and below the stage. He was
accepting the congratulations of the smart–dressed
guests. The men wore Savile Row tuxedos, while the woman
were draped in designers fabrics that shimmered under the
refracted light of several dozen, crystal chandeliers.
The MC, popular ANS talk show host David Batten
returned to the microphone. He offered a brief but hearty
welcome and congratulations to the President before handing
the microphone over to Graham Boyle. According to the
schedule, Graham had three minutes to speak. Then the
President would have one dance with the female Chair of a
local hospital charity and a second with Shelley Michaels,
another popular ANS celebrity. That was to be followed by
seven minutes at his table with ANS Board members, before
taking his leave.
Cara gave up on her cell phone and starting making her
way toward the stage. There was a staircase at either end,
nothing up the middle. So she knew she had a
fifty–fifty chance of stopping Mitch Davis before he
made it to the microphone. Too bad she wasn't a little
larger, a little brawnier, maybe a little more male.
Once again, her thoughts turned to Max. The man dodged
bullets in war–torn cities, scaled mountains to reach
rebel camps, and fought his way through crocodiles and
hippos for stories on the struggles of indigenous people.
If Max Gray didn't want a person up on stage, that person
was not getting up on stage. Too bad Cara would have to
rely on her wits.
Knowing it was a fifty–fifty chance, she chose
the stairs at stage right, wending her way through the
packed crowd.
Graham Boyle was waxing poetic about ANS's role in the
Presidential election. He'd taken a couple of jabs at
President Morrow's Alma Mater, and its unfortunate choice
of mascot given current relations with Brazil. But that was
all fair game.
Cara wished she was taller. At five feet five, she
couldn't see stairs to know if Mitch was waiting to go up
on the right–hand side. She regretted having gone for
the comfortable two inch heels instead of her flashy four
inch spikes that her sister Gillian had given her for
Christmas. She could have used the height.
"Where are you going?" It was Max's voice in her ear.
"None of your business," she retorted, attempting to
speed up and put some distance between them.
"You have that determined look in your eyes."
"Go away."
He tucked in close beside her. "Maybe I can help."
"Not now, Max." She was working. Why did he have to do
this to her?
"Your destination can't possibly be a State secret."
She relented. "I'm trying to get to the stage. Okay?
Are you happy?"
"Follow me." He stepped in front of her.
His six–feet–two–inch height and
broad shoulders made him an imposing figure. She supposed
it didn't hurt any that he was famous either. Last month,
he'd been voted one of the ten hottest men in DC. The
upshot was, he could move through a crowd far faster than
she could. Resigned, she stuck to his coattails.
Even with Max clearing the way, they eventually got
stuck behind a crowd of people.
"Why do you want to get to the stage?" he turned to ask
her.
"For the record," she responded. "I don't know any
State secrets. I don't have that kind of job."
"And since I'm not a foreign spy, we should be able to
carry on a conversation without compromising national
security."
An unmistakable voice came over the sound system. "Good
evening, Mr. President," drawled Mitch Davis.
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