Something Real
Page 39
“You’re staring,” Grace says under her breath.
“I’m watching,” I whisper. “Like everyone else here.”
“We are watching. You are mooning. Interesting how you and Sam disappeared at the same time yesterday. Something you want to tell me?”
“He, um, wanted some advice about a surprise for Sabrina.”
“Uh-huh.” Grace quirks a brow, but she’s a good enough friend not to point out that I’m a shitty liar.
The room quiets, and I know before I turn around that Governor Guy has walked in. We all turn to face her.
“Look at you!” she calls across the small sea of volunteers. “Making a difference one phone call at a time!” The volunteers and staffers all cheer, and the governor turns her gaze to me. “Would you follow me, Liz?”
My pulse kicks up a notch. Is this about what happened yesterday? Does someone know about Sam and me? Did they tell her?
Since I started here, I’ve been worried that Christine would learn the real reason Mr. Bradshaw recommended me for the position, and the rare times she does acknowledge my existence I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But now I’m sleeping with her daughter’s fiancé and I’m not just waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’m waiting for the whole damn shoe store. Of course, Christine knows better than anyone that Sam and Sabrina’s story is a lie.
I nod and follow her out of the room and to her office.
“You can close that door,” she says when we step inside.
“Okay.” I shut the door behind me and paste on my best “I’m here to help” face. “What can I do for you?”
“Have a seat.” She lowers herself into her chair and offers me an apologetic smile as I follow her lead. “How are you holding up?”
“What do you mean?”
She straightens the papers on her desk. “You and Sam were together before you moved here to take this job. How are you handling the media blitz on his private affair with my daughter?”
Private affair with you, you mean. Not that I have the balls to say that. “I . . . well . . .” I swallow hard because the numbness that has served me so well today is faltering, and I want to cry. Why is it that I can take one hit after another and stand strong, but the second someone shows me an ounce of compassion, I lose my shit?
“Oh, Liz. I didn’t realize you still had feelings for him. I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. It’s safer than speaking.
“Well, I apologize on Sabrina’s behalf. I know she wouldn’t have wanted you to find out like this. But I’m sure you understand why they were so quiet about their relationship.”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You don’t need to stand around and watch the man you once loved pick out a ring for his fiancée on national television. Go home, or go shopping. Something to get your mind off everything.”
I shake my head. “This week might be one of the most important for the campaign.”
She holds up her hand. “You don’t have to prove your work ethic to me. I’ve seen it.”
I’m not sure when. She’s rarely ever here. “We’re back up in the polls,” I say. “I want to help—”
“Take the day. It’s not an offer; it’s an order. We’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It’s clear Christine isn’t the hugging kind, but I’m not sure if I should shake her hand or just leave, so I nod and make my way out the door.
* * *
When I hit the sidewalk outside of headquarters, Connor’s leaning against the building.
“Liz.” He stands. “Can we talk?”
I nod slowly and close the door behind me. “Is everything okay?”
He falls into step beside me and drags a hand through his mop of blond hair. He looks tired. Red eyes, pale skin, and sagging shoulders. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Della’s threatening divorce.”
“Okay.” I wrap my arms around my middle and throw a glance back toward headquarters. I don’t like to imagine what Sam would think of this conversation. Last time Della left Connor, Connor talked me into going home with him. That’s not a mistake I intend on making again, even if I was tempted. “But why are you here, Connor?”
He flinches. “There was a time that we were good enough friends to talk when one of us had a broken heart.”
“That was before you took me home with you and convinced me you and Della were through.” I put it out there as a challenge.
He holds up a hand. “I’m not here to fight. Honestly, I’m not even here about Della. I’m here to warn you.” His voice is low, dramatically ominous.
“Warn me? About what?”
“I don’t want to see you hurt. Whatever you might think of me, I care about you. A lot. And I hate seeing you be so reckless.”
“I don’t understand what you think might hurt me.”
He looks to headquarters then back to me. “You don’t want to fuck with Sabrina. You think Della is possessive, but you’ve never seen Sabrina in action.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you at Sam’s on Monday night.”
My steps falter but I force myself to keep moving forward. “I didn’t stay with him. I went to his house to drop something off.” Stupidest possible excuse. Why would I park my car at Brady’s and walk to Sam’s? Why would I drop off anything to him at that hour?
“I’m watching,” I whisper. “Like everyone else here.”
“We are watching. You are mooning. Interesting how you and Sam disappeared at the same time yesterday. Something you want to tell me?”
“He, um, wanted some advice about a surprise for Sabrina.”
“Uh-huh.” Grace quirks a brow, but she’s a good enough friend not to point out that I’m a shitty liar.
The room quiets, and I know before I turn around that Governor Guy has walked in. We all turn to face her.
“Look at you!” she calls across the small sea of volunteers. “Making a difference one phone call at a time!” The volunteers and staffers all cheer, and the governor turns her gaze to me. “Would you follow me, Liz?”
My pulse kicks up a notch. Is this about what happened yesterday? Does someone know about Sam and me? Did they tell her?
Since I started here, I’ve been worried that Christine would learn the real reason Mr. Bradshaw recommended me for the position, and the rare times she does acknowledge my existence I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But now I’m sleeping with her daughter’s fiancé and I’m not just waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’m waiting for the whole damn shoe store. Of course, Christine knows better than anyone that Sam and Sabrina’s story is a lie.
I nod and follow her out of the room and to her office.
“You can close that door,” she says when we step inside.
“Okay.” I shut the door behind me and paste on my best “I’m here to help” face. “What can I do for you?”
“Have a seat.” She lowers herself into her chair and offers me an apologetic smile as I follow her lead. “How are you holding up?”
“What do you mean?”
She straightens the papers on her desk. “You and Sam were together before you moved here to take this job. How are you handling the media blitz on his private affair with my daughter?”
Private affair with you, you mean. Not that I have the balls to say that. “I . . . well . . .” I swallow hard because the numbness that has served me so well today is faltering, and I want to cry. Why is it that I can take one hit after another and stand strong, but the second someone shows me an ounce of compassion, I lose my shit?
“Oh, Liz. I didn’t realize you still had feelings for him. I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. It’s safer than speaking.
“Well, I apologize on Sabrina’s behalf. I know she wouldn’t have wanted you to find out like this. But I’m sure you understand why they were so quiet about their relationship.”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You don’t need to stand around and watch the man you once loved pick out a ring for his fiancée on national television. Go home, or go shopping. Something to get your mind off everything.”
I shake my head. “This week might be one of the most important for the campaign.”
She holds up her hand. “You don’t have to prove your work ethic to me. I’ve seen it.”
I’m not sure when. She’s rarely ever here. “We’re back up in the polls,” I say. “I want to help—”
“Take the day. It’s not an offer; it’s an order. We’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It’s clear Christine isn’t the hugging kind, but I’m not sure if I should shake her hand or just leave, so I nod and make my way out the door.
* * *
When I hit the sidewalk outside of headquarters, Connor’s leaning against the building.
“Liz.” He stands. “Can we talk?”
I nod slowly and close the door behind me. “Is everything okay?”
He falls into step beside me and drags a hand through his mop of blond hair. He looks tired. Red eyes, pale skin, and sagging shoulders. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Della’s threatening divorce.”
“Okay.” I wrap my arms around my middle and throw a glance back toward headquarters. I don’t like to imagine what Sam would think of this conversation. Last time Della left Connor, Connor talked me into going home with him. That’s not a mistake I intend on making again, even if I was tempted. “But why are you here, Connor?”
He flinches. “There was a time that we were good enough friends to talk when one of us had a broken heart.”
“That was before you took me home with you and convinced me you and Della were through.” I put it out there as a challenge.
He holds up a hand. “I’m not here to fight. Honestly, I’m not even here about Della. I’m here to warn you.” His voice is low, dramatically ominous.
“Warn me? About what?”
“I don’t want to see you hurt. Whatever you might think of me, I care about you. A lot. And I hate seeing you be so reckless.”
“I don’t understand what you think might hurt me.”
He looks to headquarters then back to me. “You don’t want to fuck with Sabrina. You think Della is possessive, but you’ve never seen Sabrina in action.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you at Sam’s on Monday night.”
My steps falter but I force myself to keep moving forward. “I didn’t stay with him. I went to his house to drop something off.” Stupidest possible excuse. Why would I park my car at Brady’s and walk to Sam’s? Why would I drop off anything to him at that hour?
