The Phoenix Candidate(65)

“To do what, Lauren? Sell out?”

She crosses her arms and snorts. I can’t help but imagine tiny puffs of smoke coming from her nose, like some impotent dragon, and the smile that tugs at my mouth incenses her.

“We had an understanding, Grace. I handpicked you and delivered you to one of the best media ops you’ve ever had. You should be grateful for that. You had one job: stick to the script and prove your loyalty. And you fucked it up.”

“Maybe I don’t see it that way.” I move behind my desk, to my position of power. “I’d say your loyalty test is bullshit, because once I realized who I’d be climbing into bed with if I joined your ticket, I wasn’t feeling all that loyal to you or your stupid script.” My voice rises with emphasis. “I’m loyal to my constituents, and my principles. Not to your campaign.”

Lauren’s lip curls as if I’ve just fed her some deliciously evil gossip. “What an interesting choice of words, Grace. Climbing into bed with someone. We should talk about who you’ve been shacking up with.”

“No. That has nothing to do with this.”

Lauren takes a couple of steps to the side, circling my desk, a predatory move that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand up. “You’ll find out soon that you’re wrong. Fucking Jared Rankin has everything to do with this election, and your ability to win it. He’s your kryptonite, Grace. You might think you want him now, but—”

I cut her off. “I don’t. It’s over, and he has nothing to do with me turning down Darrow. I just don’t like the way you work.”

“I don’t think you appreciate what’s about to happen, Grace. Jared’s going to ruin you.”

“How? He’s got nothing to use against me.”

Lauren smirks. She actually smirks, rocks back on her heels, and if this were a movie, she’d let out a full-on evil cackle. Instead, she simply counters, “But I do.”

Lauren takes another step around the side of my desk and alarm bells go off in my head. What does she have on me? What could she do to me?

“When I throw you to the wolves, Grace, just remember that Jared can’t save you,” Lauren hisses. “Don’t go crying to him that this isn’t fair. Don’t you fucking whine to the media about a double standard.”

“What did you do?”

“An eye for an eye, Grace. You accuse my husband of being less than honorable on national television, I repay the favor.”

“I’ve never been less than honorable,” I retort, outrage building in my voice. What the hell does she think she has on me? Whatever it is, it can’t be true.

“I think the American public would disagree. When I’m done with you, not even Jared will be able to salvage your reputation.”

I move quickly, scooting through the small space at the side of my desk opposite Lauren. I make quick strides to my inner office door and open it, raising my voice for the benefit of Trey. “This meeting is over, Mrs. Darrow. It looks like we won’t need to meet again.”

Lauren stalks toward me, as if she’s still making up her mind whether to physically hurt me. Instead, her tone is measured, like a teacher correcting an errant pupil. “When you see it, you’ll want to blame me. But you’ve got it wrong. Jared knew enough not to put you in that situation, and yet he did it anyway. He exposed you. Jared brought you down to the gutter, Grace. And you’re going to hate him for it.”





***





I close the door behind her and sit in stunned silence, unwilling to flip open my laptop, check my messages, or come back to reality.

I thought when the Conover opportunity dried up, and then when Jared ended things between us and told me to go to Darrow, that I was done. That I’d been tested past the limits of what one person can take in a day or a week or a couple of months.

Is that all it’s been? It feels like a lifetime and I’m reeling. With this last threat, I believe I’ve truly hit my limit. I can’t take anymore.

My desk phone blinks with unheard messages, my in-box groans under the weight of unread proposals, and my desk is stacked high with this morning’s papers—Shep Conover’s on the front page, but for the wrong reasons. His admission to the hospital is explained away as fatigue in the news story, but the headline, Candidate Conover Hospitalized, is lethal.

Now, more than ever, I want to see Aaron Darrow go down, but I don’t know if Shep’s up to the task.

I run my nails through my hair, scrubbing at my scalp, letting the tingle soothe me. I massage my temples, kick off my heels under my desk, and ultimately cross my arms on my desk, put my head down, and close my eyes.