“Shut up, Tamara.”
“Go to hell, Dick.”
They had ridden in silence for about five minutes before Richard said to Tamara, “You don’t need to say anything today. Just look supportive.”
Tamara had drained her glass. “Of course, darling. We both know how good I am at faking it.”
Now the three of them sat in the greenroom like cattle penned before slaughter, the seconds ticking by, and M.J. knew this was her last chance to stop the freak show.
“Linking your name to the girl is unnecessary. The FBI has solid leads now. They will find her without the endorsement of Congressman Richard Wahlman. Once she’s home you can quietly maintain custody and go on to have a lovely life with your daughter, without destroying everything you’ve worked for all these years.”
He stood and smoothed his shirt. “Neither of you can possibly understand where I’m coming from.” He turned his steady gaze toward M.J. “I know this will make things difficult for you professionally, which is something you clearly don’t deserve. You’ve always gone above and beyond. I appreciate that.”
On his way out the door, Richard stopped and gave her a stiff hug. It was the only time in eighteen years he’d touched her.
“Stop.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Richard, seriously. There’s something you need to know before you go on the air.”
A frantic voice echoed down the hallway. “Congressman and Mrs. Wahlman! We need you on the set!”
Richard was clearly irritated. “Your story will have to wait, M.J. Call me tomorrow.” He held out his hand to Tamara. “Darling?”
The power couple met up with the production assistant, who hurried them along to the sound tech. They were clipped with their lapel mics and ushered out onto the set.
M.J. hated him at that moment. Rage scalded the inside of her throat. Her brain felt like it was in danger of exploding. That idiot! There wasn’t enough money inside the beltway to pay for the kind of dedication she’d shown Richard Wahlman, but in the end it didn’t even matter to him. All he cared about was the kid.
Someday, he would learn to what lengths M.J. had gone on his behalf five years ago, and on that day he would completely lose his shit. Richard was so oblivious that he believed his perky little paramour quit her job and slipped out of town without a peep because she was homesick. How simpleminded could a man be?
M.J. told the pregnant girl that Richard insisted she have an abortion, and handed her six hundred dollars in an envelope. Next, M.J. made vague threats about how some young women in Washington who found themselves in her situation were never seen or heard from again. Oh, how Amanda cried. She threw the money back at M.J. and slammed her door. And she was gone the next day.
M.J. smiled to herself at the memory. When Richard found all this out, he would hate M.J. as much as she hated him. Funny how one little girl could flip the script like this.
She gathered her briefcase and headed for the TV studio’s back door. M.J. wasn’t sure what her next step would be. Maybe she’d take a week off. Start packing up her apartment. Or maybe she’d go somewhere—she hadn’t taken a real vacation since she got to Washington.
Her thoughts went to poor little Amanda McGuinness—just another exceptional girl who hit the Hill with big dreams and open legs. Surely she didn’t deserve what she got. M.J. had actually liked her. She was high-energy, cheerful, and the first in line to take on extra tasks. But what was done was done. There was no such thing as a do-over. And she regretted nothing. As everyone knew, the rules were different in Washington.