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When I looked up, his gaze was locked on my face, his brows drawn tight, as if trying to read small print along my forehead. I would not make the mistake of taking that to be a look of concern.
I cleared my throat, a burst of pain ricocheting through my chest like a spiked boomerang. This man clearly thought something very specific about me. I just couldn’t figure out if being part of a lie hurt more when it was done behind my back, or face-to-face.
Either way, the pain in my sternum and the thought of losing something with this man before I’d ever gained it hurt more than I liked. But that didn’t matter now. At least I could salvage Paige’s job, my career, and Lauren’s memory.
Emptiness clawed its way up my spine, but I pushed it down. Like I always did. Skyscrapers and open fields didn’t compare to how small I felt sitting before Roman Reese, governor of New York.
Paige had told me that when dealing with any kind of offer, get it on paper. I lifted my chin and with all the courage I had, looked him dead in the eye.
“I’m going to need something in writing.”
He smirked and pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket. “This,” he said, writing on the white cloth napkin, “is all the documentation you get.”
He tossed it across the table to me. Staring at the cloth, I read the words written in bold black ink:
You consider my interests and I’ll consider yours.
“What happens between us is private. Everything. Always. You breathe a word of our discussion tonight to anyone, I’ll pull my generous offer and crush your request for funding before it even sees the light of day. Do you understand?”
Swallowing hard, I glanced up from the napkin and nodded. It was no secret that politicians played t
heir hands close to the vest, but the warning in Roman’s voice and the fierceness in his eyes hammered home the notion.
“You have twenty-four hours to give me an answer, Miss Underwood.”
Chapter Three
Hi, Mom.” Pressing my cell against my ear, I walked from the bus stop to my office building. Between the fall breeze and the other commuters, it wasn’t an ideal time to talk, but this was the first time my mother had actually answered the phone after five failed attempts I’d made, so I’d take what I could get.
“Hello, Amy.” Her voice was low and kind of soft. It would have been soothing if not for the bitter undertone that always seemed to lace it.
“How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.” I wove through the crowd and turned down another street. The brick building that housed New Beginnings was only a few more blocks up. Though the center I wanted to build would be in Arbor Hill, near my home, New Beginnings was located in West Albany.
“I’m alright.”
I nodded, wondering for a moment if the line had gone dead, but a quick check of the phone screen showed that all was fine. It was my mother’s silence that was real.
“I’m good too. On my way to work. Things are really moving along.”
“Did you build that counseling center you’ve been talking about?” My mother always called it a “counseling center.” While yes, there would be counseling and prevention services, she never acknowledged what it would really be—what Lauren had needed—a rehab facility.
“Not yet, but it’s looking really good that I’ll get the funding, and hopefully get it up and running in the near future.”
“What does near future mean? Tomorrow?”
My lungs hurt from both the chilly autumn air and my mother’s even chillier voice. The jostling of the passersby wasn’t helping either. “No, not that soon. These things take time.”
If I’d thought the silence on the line was bad, the exasperated sigh my mother gave was worse. Like nothing I was doing mattered or could make a difference.
“You should have taken her to the hospital, Amy,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear despite the bustling.
Every time I talked to my mother, I expected the conversation to somehow bring joy or happiness. But prying warm feelings from her was impossible. Because instead of making an effort to care about anything other than Lauren’s death, she always took time to once again remind me of my fault in the matter.
“You knew she was…” My mother trailed off, unable to say what came next. The truth.
“Using,” I mumbled. “Lauren was using.” Yes, I had known.
That night flashed through my mind. Lauren had been prescription popping for a couple of months. I hadn’t known how bad it was. Our parents were out of town for the weekend when Lauren called me to come get her from a party. I went. And when she begged me to not tell Mom and Dad, I agreed. She was my big sister, the strong one, and I loved her.
