Power Players

By Scudder James Jr

Jeffrey knows the underbelly of Washington, DC, well. Once homeless, he’s now the director of a massive coalition of shelters. The last person he’s interested in meeting is wealth consultant Derek T. Hinsdale III, another slick-talking, privileged jerk. Jeffrey has had enough of those.

But Derek’s latest project could impact Jeffrey’s organization—with a multimillion-dollar gift awarded at a special dinner and ceremony. Jeffrey and Derek seem so different, but in their convictions, they find common ground, and the heat they call up in each other can’t be ignored. Can they salvage a disastrous evening and a painful reminder of Jeffrey’s past?

States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Oct 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644055670

Book preview

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

By Scudder James Jr

Visit Dreamspinner Press

Copyright

Power Players

By Scudder James Jr

Jeffrey knows the underbelly of Washington, DC, well. Once homeless, he’s now the director of a massive coalition of shelters. The last person he’s interested in meeting is wealth consultant Derek T. Hinsdale III, another slick-talking, privileged jerk. Jeffrey has had enough of those.

But Derek’s latest project could impact Jeffrey’s organization—with a multimillion-dollar gift awarded at a special dinner and ceremony. Jeffrey and Derek seem so different, but in their convictions, they find common ground, and the heat they call up in each other can’t be ignored. Can they salvage a disastrous evening and a painful reminder of Jeffrey’s past?

States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

To figuring out our legacy, however we define it.

Acknowledgments

I WOULD like to thank my editor, Dawn Johnson and her team of Jack, Pat, and Mark for helping make Power Players be its best. Thank you, cover designer Brooke Albrecht.

As always, I’m grateful to the guy I met in history class and later married. Dreams come true.

Chapter One

WHERE I grew up wasn’t the toughest of DC’s tough, but twenty years ago, violence had been my fear, not gentrification. When Mom died it sucked, until I left at age fifteen, never wanting to see my father or Columbia Heights again. Eddie changed all that. He taught me love. No, he wasn’t my first boyfriend. Not exactly, well, no, not a­­t all because his heart and all that always belonged to the ladies, but eventually he introduced me to other guys who liked guys the same way I did. In truth, he introduced me to myself. And to the future. When I was a homeless fifteen-year-old, he introduced me to his family, and I shared a room with him for the rest of high school. He also introduced me to people who helped get me to college, and he taught me how to give back. Seriously, he saved me. I could say Eddie knew what was best for me. So why, decades later, was he trying to introduce me to exactly the sort of guy he knew I hated to be around?

Derek T. Hinsdale III? Just the name, and Eddie should have known better. Slick DC wealth consultant? What the hell was a wealth consultant anyway? Clearly a job for a clueless guy who thought being surrounded by money was normal. Who cared if he bankrolled some of the best political and philanthropic causes? Who cared if the work he supported impacted not just DC but the whole country? Yes, I’d seen his name on donor lists, and yes, he supported good work and could be a good guy, but I wasn’t interested in someone from the stratosphere. There were enough guys around. Couldn’t Eddie have suggested someone who breathed my kind of air? How could he not understand that Derek Hinsdale was not someone I wanted to be set up with?

It’s fine, if you don’t want to romance the guy—despite the fact that your best friend, who knows you better than anyone else in the world, thinks that you and Derek would be perfect together. You’re both dynamic, committed to the city, and get shit done. Jeffrey, I know this deep in my soul. Haven’t you learned by now to listen to me? The waitress placed a bottle of maple syrup between us. It was our weekly Tuesday breakfast. At least be practical and let me introduce you to him. He could become a supporter of your coalition.

It’s not my coalition. It’s the city’s. Let him be a supporter if he actually cares about people without housing. My guess is the wealth consultant would freak if he ever met the people we help.

Eddie did his self-assured smile-and-nod. Why do I think you guys would be perfect for each other? Thank you for asking. You both have big hearts and big dreams and blast through things that get in your way. You are the best of DC without being the arrogant worst. My lady informs me that you’re both smoking hot. I can’t judge that myself, so I’ll take Cassandra’s word for it.

Right now, all I know is that this Derek person is getting in the way of a good breakfast and a good conversation. He sounds like another rich guy working on his white guilt.

Jeffrey, bro—

"Oh, man. You just called me bro? You so want me to pay attention to you."

"Mom calls you her other son. I can call you bro in a specific, nongeneralized way, said Eddie. Bro. There was an article about Derek in Washingtonian. Did you read it?"

No.

Not even after I forwarded it you to?

Not even after you asked me to. I smiled and drenched my pancakes in syrup.

Bro—

Some people get all racist on me. They say I got out of a shitty childhood and homelessness because I was one of the few white ones around. We both know that’s not true. One, Columbia Heights may have been mostly black, but there were other white people in the neighborhood. You remember Dad’s idiot best friend, who ODed in our kitchen, and Mrs. Norcott, who supplied me with beer when I was twelve. I straightened my fork and knife, and the position of my plate on the placemat, but didn’t start eating.

Not everything was shitty. Eddie took a big bite of french toast.

You lived in a house two blocks away. My apartment building sucked, but that’s not the point. We all know the only reason I survived as a homeless fifteen-year-old was you and your family. My whiteness didn’t save me. You did.

And I’m black.

Oh shit! I never noticed.

"What does this