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Chapter 4
“Will you let me know?” Jordan cast his eyes over his parents’ meticulously groomed backyard. Just a day after the wedding, it looked unscathed.
The silence on the other end of the line churned his stomach. “Sharon?”
“I will. I hired someone to cover my PR and she thinks that, however this turns out, we shouldn’t be in any kind of contact. But I promised to let you know, and I will. To be honest, mostly because I’m pretty sure that—”
“Dana Brin, is it? That’s who you hired and you disclosed this to her?”
“I didn’t have to. She put two and two together. You’re not the only one in this city who’s capable of sniffing shitstorms before they occur and take preventive actions.”
He wasn’t the only one, but he was one of the best. So sought after that he could afford not to be a regular member on anyone’s staff and have the luxury of choosing his projects and legislators. He strove to take on those whose goals somehow reminded him of why he had entered this game in the first place—to do good. Or, at least try to in a system that hid cynicism under every stone and favored personal agendas over most things. Too many years in, he ceased to believe there was anything genuinely good left anymore. In anyone. Including himself.
He expelled a breath. “Preventive actions? Like spreading the word that you fired me because I under-delivered? I quit, Sharon. You didn’t fire me. I got you every vote you needed to pass your bill because I believed in it. And, although it wasn’t part of my job description, my work is the only reason the media still has no inkling that you and Phil were separated.”
“I know all that, Jordan, and I thank you for everything. That rumor, I believe, is of Dana’s doing; it didn’t come from me.”
“Don’t try that on me. Dana wouldn’t have done it without your blessing.” There were no colleagues in that city. Only competitors. And he had known Dana Brin years ago … in every sense.
“Jordan, if either one of us wants a future here, then …”
Then we shouldn’t have had that one-night stand when you were separated, he wanted to say but didn’t. It hadn’t even been a one-night. Ten minutes was more like it. Brief and hollow. Zero feelings. He didn’t say that, either.
“Don’t invent lies. Say nothing if you don’t have anything better to say,” he said, instead. “That’s my professional advice.”
“Anyway, I’ll let you know, because I know you won’t use it against me, however this turns out. I trust you. I wouldn’t be holding this conversation otherwise, knowing you could record it. I know it’s not your style. You don’t operate like that. Hell, this is why I hired you in the first place. I wanted fair and clean.” She snickered at her own words. “Jordan, I wouldn’t worry if I were you. I don’t think that it’s really … and if it is, then it’s my problem. Dana thinks I can use it as leverage—garner sympathy and affiliation with working mothers. It’s our best shot.”
Jordan took a deep breath as he strolled to the end of the backyard and stopped by the large oak tree that had served as a canopy over a bar just the day before. The sun rays infiltrated through the foliage and warmed his skin while the words chilled his blood.
He should be used to this. He had heard such words, such calculated motives before. Hell, hehad advised for or against the utilization of things that shouldn’t be part of the political game yet had been cynically capitalized on, nonetheless. He had become one of those people—the type he had sworn he would never be.
He looked over at the house where his parents, and Luke and Libby, and his sister and her husband were having wedding leftovers for lunch. “Does Phil know?”
“Of course not.”
Of course not. The spouse, married or separated, was always last to know. Too many times he had been the one guarding the truth so it wouldn’t harm the professional aspirations of the people he advised. He had known everyone’s dirtiest secrets—what they did, who they did—and now he was someone’s dirty secret.
His years in D.C. felt like a landslide, and this was a new low.
“Just let me know. And, Sharon, if it is, I’ll decide if it’s a problem for me or not, okay?” When no reply came, he muttered, “Take care,” then hung up.
His cell phone buzzed in his hand.
“Came with an Uber to pick up my car. You here?”
He didn’t recognize the number, but the text clarified who it was.
Jordan rubbed a hand over his nape. He didn’t mind meeting old friends. He remained in touch with most of them, the very few who were still in Riviera View and those who had left. Avery Miles was not one of them. None of the girls whom he might have hooked up with in high school were among his friends. In fact, he hadn’t thought that those girls, now women in their early forties, would remember him.
“If you’re ignoring me, it’s rude. I’m an old friend,” another text appeared.
Sighing, he circled the house to the front. Avery stood next to her car beyond the lawn.
She waved. “Hey.”
“Hey. I have to head back inside,” he said as soon as he reached her. “We’re having a post-wedding family lunch.”
“My son’s still over at my ex’s.”
