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“Did anyone offer you a drink?” Caroline said as she swept in.
I jumped. “Everyone,” I said. “You have very thorough staff.”
“Well, don’t let them know that or I might have to give them a raise. Now,” Caroline sat down on her side of the desk and shot me a level look. “How are you doing?”
“Good!” I said, too brightly. “Fine. I’m fine.”
“Zilla headed home?”
How did she know that?
“Yesterday. And, before you ask, I’m fine with it.”
Caroline gave me a long look that seemed doubtful. And I felt a strange and sudden spark of anger. I’d been watched for months now. Years. I didn’t like it. Never liked it.
“You summoned me,” I said. “Why am I here, Caroline?”
Caroline blinked at my tone and then flipped open a file.
“We’re doing a charity fundraiser in two weeks, and we’re going to give a posthumous award to the senator,” Caroline said.
“All right,” I said. Those sorts of things happened all the time. In Jim’s office were stacks of framed letters and plaques from different charities honoring him as some kind of hero. “What do you need me for?”
“We need you there so we can present you with the award.”
I started to shake my head. No. Nope. I didn’t need to do that anymore. Jim was gone. My life as the smiling clapping wife in Vera Wang was over. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but it wasn’t going to be that anymore.
“It’s been months,” Caroline said.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You are the face of his legacy. He had business ventures and legal obligations, and they’re yours now.”
“No.” I shook my head again. “They’re not. I’m his widow. That’s all.”
She tilted her head, and I sighed, sensing what was coming. “What do you want, Poppy?”
A hot dog. I just want a hot dog.
“Not . . . business ventures and legal obligations,” I said. I didn’t want to be the face of his legacy. I wanted a million miles between myself and him. I was going to change my name back to my maiden name. Dye my hair.
“What about the foundation?” She lifted her eyebrows, and I felt a tug. Old dreams that had been squished and pushed aside and forgotten. But I had no idea if I wanted those dreams anymore. I’d been so young. Twenty years old, fresh-faced and convinced I could help. Fresh-faced and hopeful.
God, I’d been so hopeful. The kind of hopeful that was just hollow now.
“There will be press at the fundraiser. It will be good for our company and good for the senator’s foundation . . . which, I will remind you, is yours now. And you can do what you want with it. But the fundraiser will give you options. And I would think . . . options might appeal to you.”
I stiffened, unable to look at her, but terribly aware of her looking at me. Was she saying the thing we never said? That I want options now because the senator stripped me of them?
Was she pitying me? Manipulating me?
Was I being distrustful because that was all I knew how to be now?
I shook off the thoughts and smiled.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” my dear friend and mentor lit right up. “I knew I could count on you.”
I sat up straighter, trying to manage the strange nausea in my stomach.
“I’ll have Justin send over the details. Do you want him to write a few remarks for you?”
“About the senator?” I asked. What in the world would I say about him?
Once, he broke my finger at the dinner table. One minute I was handing him a plate, the next he’d snapped my pinky finger back until it popped.
“That would be great,” I said and stood up. “Have Justin send me everything I need.”
“You’re not going to stay for lunch?”
“No, actually. I’ve got another engagement for lunch.”
“With who?” Caroline asked. She asked like she was surprised. Like it was impossible I had friends. And she wasn’t wrong, but I was allowed to have some dignity.
“Just a friend from college,” I lied and picked up my purse. “I’ll look forward to Justin’s notes.”
I left her office, aware of her concern chasing me out the door. Justin sat at his desk in her outer sanctum, and I gave him my breeziest smile. “I look forward to seeing you at the fundraiser!”
“Let me—” he said, standing up from his desk.
“I’m good. Take care.” I pushed the button, and the elevator opened as if it had been waiting for me. Which, since it was Caroline’s private elevator, it probably had been.
I heard one of the other doors open as I stepped inside, leaning back against the glass and marble. The low murmur of voices as the doors began to slide shut.
“She’s leaving?” asked a brogue that made me stand up straight. Was that . . .?
