He eyes me warily, as if gauging whether I’ll make a scene if he says no. “Uh, sure. Just as soon as I finish everything I need to do here.”
My stomach sinks. I want to resolve thisnow. My grand gesture is burning a hole in my nonexistent pocket. “What do you mean?”
“I have a bunch of people I need to talk to tonight. Speaking of which, I need to get back to it. Why don’t I plan on—”
“Mackenzie, there you are!” A voice booms behind me and I jolt. A partially balding man in spectacles sidles up and claps Ben on the back, and I nearly growl in frustration. I’m so hopped-up on adrenaline, I could rip this guy’s head off.
As if he can feel my ire, the man turns to me. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Bill Laughlin. And you are?” He gives me an overly friendly look, his eyes flicking down my chest and back up.
Ben subtly shifts between us, partially blocking me with his body. “Kate, Bill is Senator Hammond’s chief of staff. My boss.” His eyes bore into mine, and I receive his silent message loud and clear:Be discreet.“Bill, this is a colleague and friend of mine, Kate Adams. She’s one of Carol Warner’s staffers,” he explains, and I detect a note of warning in his tone.
Colleague. Friend.The words slice through me like a knife, stem to stern. So this is what it feels like to be publicly forsworn. It’s unexpectedly devastating.
I do my best to disguise my distress and reach out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Bill. You guys look busy, so I’ll leave you to it.”
I start to edge away and Ben brushes my hand. “I’ll find you later?”
“Sure.”
Well, that didn’t quite go according to plan, but he didn’t slam the door in my face, at least. I decide to take it as a victory. All part of my new optimistic mindset, visualizing positive outcomes.Thanks, Mom.
I take a page out of Ben’s book and spend the next hour glad-handing my way around the room. Though making small talk isn’t my favorite part of the job, I find that swapping stories of celebrity encounters provides the perfect icebreaker for every member and staffer I need to touch base with tonight. After all, who doesn’t want to brag that they just stood behind George Clooney getting a drink or heard Tina Fey tell a dirty joke?
But no matter where I travel in the room, I can’t seem to stop tracking Ben like a tagged shark. Every cell in my body is attuned to him, no matter how hard I try to concentrate on the person standing in front of me. Eventually, I quit trying, grab a water, and head for a table where Stephen, Tessa, Luke, John, and some of our other friends have congregated.
“Hey, guys,” I say, slipping my heels off briefly and groaning in relief. “What am I missing over here?”
“Oh, not much, just talking about how nauseating it is to watch the never-ending victory laps our Republican friends insist on taking,” Tessa says.
“They have no shame,” Luke agrees.
“Midterms, guys, midterms,” John reminds everyone, tireless cheerleader that he is.
I’m barely able to suppress my eye roll, suddenly sotiredof this endless disparagement and petty hostility. In fact, I’m tired of everything: my friends, this job, the judgment and vilification that go along with it. Tired even of my own prejudices. Is this what I’ve sounded like these past few years? Is this what I sound like toBen?
“Aren’t you guyssickof this?” I say suddenly, and a bunch of heads swivel toward me. “It feels like all we ever talk about. All we everthinkabout. So they’re doing things differently than we would. Does that really make them theenemy?”
There’s a beat of silence as they eye each other. “Kate, honey, I thinkyou need a drink,” Tessa says, holding out her glass. “Here, have some of my champagne.”
“I don’t need a drink. I just need to feel like I’m not part of some adult version ofMean Girls,” I mutter.
Right then I notice Marcus approaching our table and, ignoring the nonplussed looks on my friends’ faces, step forward to greet him. He surprises me by wrapping me in a tight hug.
“How are you?” he asks in a low voice when he pulls back. “I was hoping I’d run into you tonight.”
“I’m okay,” I answer hesitantly. While I never asked Ben outright if he’d told Marcus about us, it’s obvious from the sympathetic way he’s looking at me that he knowssomething. I hang on to him for an extra beat, feeling closer to him than to any of my so-called friends back at that table.
“Just okay, huh? Sounds like someone else I know.” At my uneasy expression, he pats my arm. “Don’t worry, I know how to be discreet. And you don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to lend an ear if you need one.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched by his kindness. “It’s been... a rough week.”
“It’s been a rough week for those of us who have to work with grumpy, miserable assholes, too.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “What about you? No date tonight?” I ask, anxious to change the subject.
He shrugs. “I have a few irons in the fire.”
“Afew? How many ladies do you string along at one time?”
