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“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your father was stubborn, and once he had an idea to do something, no one could stand in his way.” Rausch adjusts the sleeves of his dress shirt. “If you think I was pulling the strings, you are mistaken.”
“I’m not running for office,” I say quickly, but I can’t get over the fact that Rausch would actually have confidence in me to take office, even if it might be for his own benefit.
“Assaulting a U.S. Senator is not something that goes away easily,” he starts again, just when I thought we had exhausted that subject. “Was it because of her?”
“You seem to know everything that goes on around Washington, so you tell me.” Rausch wouldn’t ask a question that he doesn’t already know the answer to.
“She’s a liability, Darren, a liability in a red dress, and in a town like this, everyone will know exactly what she is,” Rausch glowers.
I wave him off. “Who do you think her clients were?”
“Jesus, Darren,” he laments. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
“Was Langley…”
I stand up and place my hands on the desk while I look at him and say, “That fuck, Langley laid a hand on her, and you think it’s her fault.” I shake my head and laugh.
“She fucks men for money,” he says in an unfeeling tone. “Do you want everyone to respect her just because she’s your wife? If that’s the case, you’re even more naive than I gave you credit for,” he laughs.
“She wouldn’t have a profession if it weren’t for men like Langley,” I retort, “so don’t lay the blame on her.”
“Didn’t you pay her for sex?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Shame sits heavy in my gut at the thought of it, but I don’t have to explain myself to Rausch. I could say it was the coke and the whiskey, but I knew exactly what I was doing. Sometimes I feel as though I’m on autopilot to do the wrong thing.
I school my face to erase any emotion, sitting back down. “Does it even matter? I have no interest in being a politician,” I remark.
“It seems politicians and lawyers are beneath you,” he says, relaxing his jaw. “So tell me, is your noble profession to save girls with daddy issues? Because I’d say you’re excelling.” His patronizing tone causes me to grate my teeth.
“Maybe I’ll get business cards printed,” I snipe with an attitude.
Rausch lets out a frustrated breath of air and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do you plan on doing with your life, Darren? Fucking that girl you call your wife will expire when the contract is up, and you’ll have to find something else to occupy your time.” His lips are pressed tightly together, waiting for my response.
My hand rests against my thigh, my pointer finger gently tapping against my pants to distract me. Through gritted teeth, I declare, “Not be a life-sucking lawyer, that’s for sure.”
Rausch laughs, causing his suit to wrinkle under the rumble of his chest.
“Do you know how hard it was for your father to sit back and watch you flush your life down the drain?” he asks, but I know he’s not expecting an answer. “All the times he sent me to bail you out of jail or call in a favor, risking everything he built for you?” He gestures in my direction.
“You graduated from Yale to be a Senator’s errand boy. Your parents must be so proud,” I say defiantly.
“You graduated from Georgetown law, and you’re sitting on the other side of this desk,” he plants the pad of his finger against the dark grained wood, “so you don’t get to make judgements about me. In fact, Darren, you can thank me for the fact that your inheritance tax isn’t higher,” he says with satisfaction, calling out the Bill my father helped pass in Congress.
I stare at him, making an unimpressed noise.
“Do you need me to sing the song How A Bill Becomes a Law?” he asks in a condescending tone, and I curse under my breath.
“If all your accomplishments are to make the rich richer, then I hope you sleep soundly at night while the other ninety-nine percent doesn’t,” I retort, realizing I sound a bit like Evangeline, worrying about the homeless. Jesus fuck, she’s in my head.
Rausch laughs, his blue eyes lighting up with amusement. “He who sleeps in glass houses…” Rausch reaches into his desk and pulls out a manilla envelope, sliding it across the desk towards me.
“This is why you came, isn’t it?” he asks.
I stare at the envelope and then back up at him without taking it. “What’s this?”
“You did hold up your part of the bargain with the charity fundraiser,” he nods. “I always follow through on my promises.”
