The Marriage Agenda(8)

"Take a picture then. Put it on Instagram."

"Instagram?"

"It's a photo-sharing site," he said mildly, as if he thought she really hadn't a clue. "Are you ready for this dinner?"

"Not really. It's two-thousand dollars a plate. How does one prepare for that?"

"Being able to fasten your shirt would be a damn fine start," he  muttered, then softened it with a grin. "Although the trouble is worth  it. How good are you with names?"

"I won't embarrass you."

"I'm not worried about that. You'll probably know most of the attendees  from your work with the paper. Remembering names of folks I've only met  in passing is my downfall, so maybe you can help me out? People love  when you address them personally. It's one of those dirty tricks  politicians use to appear likable."

"And all this time I just thought it was good manners."

He exaggerated clearing his throat. "Speaking of manners, I only have two shirts in my possession with their buttons intact."

"I might be doing you a favor. You'd probably win a lot of votes with those abs."

He stopped and cocked his head. "You know, you could be right. If  there's a demographic put off by my father's affair, it'll be-"

"Women?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "And I'm sure there's a man or two out there who  thinks he's a jackass. Maybe even one from our side of the aisle."

Politics reminded Chloe too much of the high school cafeteria-cliques,  gossip, and taking sides, which had nothing to do with principle. She  sighed. Knox wasn't like that, but how long would that last? Maintaining  alliances within opposing parties could pay off big … or it could bury  him. Either way, the chances of coming out unscathed were minimal. Knox  had grown up in the arena-he knew the odds. Unfortunately, after a few  years on staff at the Tribune, so did she. If he didn't win the  election, what would become of their marriage?

And why the hell did she care?

Her gaze touched on the prenup he'd had his attorney drop off. She'd had  exactly two minutes to look at it before Knox had hauled her back to  bed. Since he was currently preoccupied with having shirts with buttons,  now seemed a safe enough time to dig in.

He barely glanced up when she dragged on his latest wrecked shirt and  crossed the suite to pick up the document. "Two years," he said.         

     



 

"What?"

"You're locked in for two years."

In the warmth of sexual afterglow, two years didn't seem nearly long  enough. So what if he didn't love her? He was gainfully employed, and  the sex was incredible. There were worse things. Besides, she hadn't  exactly turned down any prospects to accept his proposal. Except Jeff.

Knox adjusted his tie in a mirror, watching her reflection. "If you  choose to leave thereafter, you'll get alimony. The numbers are all in  there."

She flipped through a couple pages, not really seeing anything. "And the fate of your balls if you cheat on me?"

She hoped the notion ridiculous enough to draw a smile, but he didn't  flinch. "You get four times the alimony if I admit to an affair or you  otherwise have proof of one."

Just peachy. She dropped the papers on the table, where they landed with a loud smack. "Take it out."

Now he froze. "Take what out?"

"Heaven forbid you abstain from bending your secretary over your shiny desk just so you can avoid paying quadruple."

"The only way anyone will be bent over my desk is if you show up at the office naked under a trench coat."

"Fine. Take out the clause."

He turned from the mirror. And stared.

"I don't want to wonder if the reason I haven't caught you having an  affair is because you don't want to pay the price," she explained. "In  fact, I don't want your alimony at all."

"That clause is there to protect you," he said. Only it sounded a lot more like "Don't be stupid."

"Then rewrite it. Ditch the two years. Alimony effective immediately but  only if you ask me to leave." Which was a probability if she nailed Rex  to the wall. Maybe he's not guilty. The thought gave her an inkling of  relief, but wasn't that what she wanted? A chance to prove wrongdoing  and derail the sale of her grandma's farm?

He frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I get that this is never going to be a real relationship," she said,  enjoying a little too much the way her words made him wince, even though  she was also torn. "But I don't need to extort fidelity via a prenup."

He sighed. "Okay. I'll call my attorney. Is there anything else I need to address?"

"As soon as I have an attorney review it," she said sweetly, "I'll let you know."

 …

For a two-thousand-dollar plate, it was surprisingly empty. Chloe looked  at Knox, who was watching her with a hint of a goofy grin. Playing  lovesick for the press? She didn't know and didn't much care. She was  too busy remembering to keep her left hand under the table. She was far  enough out of her element without flashing that gargantuan trio of  diamonds.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He leaned so close, his lips grazed her ear when he spoke.

"There are eight green beans on this plate," she murmured so only he could hear.

"And tenderloin," he pointed out.

Sure. The long beans were artfully arranged teepee style so as to almost entirely cover the beef. "That's your argument?"

"And potatoes."

Three of them, bite-size. Seasoned with parsley, or something that  looked like it. She glanced up. Their tablemates-two senators, a  gazillionaire benefactor, and their respective wives-were lost in their  own conversation and not paying her and Knox any mind. "We're going out  for tacos after this," she murmured to Knox. "Cheap ones."

He looked down at his tux and back to the elegant blue evening gown she wore. "Like this?"

"Use the drive-through."

"Like this?"

He looked so stricken she almost laughed. "Okay, order in if you want.  But if you pay more than five dollars for my taco, you'll be wearing  it."

Across the table, one of the senators mentioned Rex's name, putting an  end to whatever argument Knox might have prepared. All heads swiveled in  their direction.

"Where is Rex?" the other senator asked. "I heard he was on the list."

Chloe looked expectantly at Knox, curious how he'd handle what had no doubt become a tired subject.

"He's laying low," Knox said with an affable grin.

Honesty. The road less taken, to put it mildly.

"As long as his donation found its way," Senator Pierce said. He added a healthy dose of canned, boisterous laughter.

"That it did. I think he wanted to avoid distracting from the cause," Knox offered.

"As well as from your lovely bride-to-be," said the senator's wife,  Lucille. "I have to admit, my daughters were rather heartbroken to hear  you were off the market."         

     



 

Heat crept to Chloe's cheeks. He'd introduced her as his fiancee, though  to little fanfare. A few raised brows, perhaps, but in a room full of  A-lister celebrities, United States senators, and presidential cabinet  members, even Knox Hamilton could manage to avoid creating a stir-at  least outwardly. Chloe had caught a few whispers and had seen heads  swivel in their direction, but she'd merely smiled and moved on. As far  as she was out of her element, she wasn't going to miss the chance to  people watch.

Her job depended on it.

Unfortunately, aside from a bunch of posturing, there wasn't much to  see. Instead of gaining any valuable information, she spent a half hour  picking at the paltry contents of her plate, not because she needed  thirty minutes for a handful of food, but to keep pace with the rest of  the table. Just as the waiter cleared the plate, she caught sight of the  aforementioned Pierce daughters headed in the direction of the  restrooms. Curiosity got the better of her. "Please excuse me for a  moment," she said.

Knox stood immediately to help her with her chair. She smiled sweetly,  ignoring the questions in his eyes, and wound her way across the room.  The diamonds on her left hand glinted like the rotating spotlights car  dealerships hauled in for holiday-weekend sales. The stares she earned  made her want to crawl under any one of those lavish tables, but when  she caught sight of a waiter with a dessert platter-chocolate mousse-she  changed her mind.

The hallway through which the Pierce daughters had disappeared held a  number of doors, which somewhat deflated Chloe's chances of running into  them in the ladies' room. She didn't want to talk so much as she wanted  to listen, but when she entered, she found her chances for either were  naught. She also found the restroom to be larger than her apartment and  appointed with nicer furniture than any she'd ever seen, save for that  in the hotel. The plush sofa was several feet away from the nearest  stall, but she made a vow to stay away from it anyway. Toilets were germ  volcanoes, and that upholstery was probably dusted with evidence of  every flush since its arrival.