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Josh looked at the screen left up on his computer, at the banner across the t
op of the website, the first thing people would see when they visited, designed in Clara’s hand, brought to life from a sketch Naomi had rescued from among a hundred destined for the trash. Shameless, the letters growing out of the earth like fresh blooms.
He could do this for them.
Even if Clara had broken his heart. Even if she continued to baffle him, continued to infuriate him with how much she made him want her. If she wanted to go to war with a porn monolith, well, the least he could do was ride in beside her.
Josh grabbed his backpack, hunting for a nondescript black flash drive he’d taken to keeping on hand. He’d been adding to it sporadically for months now. Even with the stakes raised, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the guts to do anything with it, but holding it, knowing he had it, made breathing a little easier. No matter what the next few weeks held, Josh had underestimated Black Hat for the last time.
chapter thirty-two
CLARA WINCED AS Toni Granger exited the stage of the local L.A. County Baptist Church.
This was the third public campaign appearance she and Jill had attended in the last two weeks, and the trend was clear. Toni would need a miracle to defend her position against her brash super PAC–funded opponent with his big mouth and even bigger promises.
“She got bulldozed.” Jill agreed with Clara’s assessment of their client’s performance at the Candidates’ Forum. “He made her look soft on crime.” She took a sip from a paper cup of instant coffee, courtesy of the event’s meager refreshment table.
Earlier this week, supporters of her opponent had released a nasty attack ad, going for the jugular. The crowd today had obviously seen it. They’d practically eaten out of her opponent’s hand while he fired off out-of-context statistics about Toni’s conviction record.
“She’s a reform candidate,” Clara said, shifting her weight to the opposite leg and trying to stick up for Toni. “She’s trying to correct the criminal justice system of mass incarceration.”
Clara’s feet throbbed inside her heels. Josh had been in the living room this morning when she got ready for the event. He’d lain on the sofa, eating frozen waffles, right next to where she’d left her preferred pair of work shoes. She’d been avoiding him for three nights. Ever since she got back from her lackluster date with the dentist. A date she hadn’t even wanted in the first place. Clara had spent the whole picnic thinking about Josh. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Last night she’d woken up saying his name into her pillow.
She needed to get over her roommate, and fast. He’d made it crystal clear that anything more than sex between them was off the table after she’d humiliated him at the movies. Too bad her heart couldn’t separate lust from love as easily.
Still, she wished she hadn’t chickened out and had rescued her shoes. Sometime in the last hour, her toes had gone numb.
“The material we gave her wasn’t bold enough.” The longer Clara worked for Toni, the more she admired her. The public servant worked a truly thankless job, trying to fight for equality and justice. Clara noticed that not a single event went by without some old white man coming up to Toni and trying to explain her own job to her.
“Bold makes her nervous.” Jill chucked the coffee into a nearby trash can. “Come on, she’ll want to debrief.” Her aunt led the way to the lobby of the church where the current district attorney glad-handed potential voters.
Toni’s eyes found Jill over the head of an elderly churchgoer, and their client nodded subtly toward the holding room they’d prepped in before the event, a clear signal that Jill and Clara should wait there for her to join them.
Clara’s stomach sank. Toni had the same I’m not mad, just disappointed look as Clara’s mother.
A few minutes later, their client joined them in the room, closing the door behind her and shutting out the din of the crowd. She held a manila folder under her arm.
“Should I get Tricia if we’re going to talk about altering the communications strategy?” Jill asked, referring to the Granger campaign’s chief of staff and rising from the folding chair she’d been sitting in.
“No,” Toni said. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
Clara had spent countless hours observing, asking questions—some more welcome than others—and learning everything she could about her client. She knew that the beautiful slate gray suit Toni wore today used to belong to her mother. And that Toni only wore her current shade of crimson lipstick when she needed courage. She dressed for battle today. Maybe this really is the end.
“Clara, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” The DA’s voice held an unfamiliar rasp.
Clara looked up from her notebook, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Jill?”
“I’m sure.”
Jill gave Clara a nod of encouragement as she gracefully exited the small room.
“Clara,” Toni began, taking the seat Jill had vacated. “We’ve worked together closely over these past few months. I like you. You’re smart and you’re hardworking and you’re not afraid to ask for help when you don’t know what to do.”
“Thank you,” Clara said, flattered, but something about the way Toni’s voice died off at the end of her last sentence set off a warning signal.
The DA looked out the small window in the room to where friends and families lingered, talking between their cars, unwilling to say good-bye. When her eyes returned to Clara, her gaze was troubled.
“I know my campaign is on its last gasp. I’ve seen the polling numbers. I pay your aunt and everyone else on my campaign team to pretend it’s not that bad, but you’re not so good at hiding it. I can see in your eyes that you know I don’t have a lot of choices left if I want to keep my job. That’s why I wanted to ask you—what would you tell me to do if I found out someone working on my campaign was involved in an activity that could prove inflammatory in the wrong hands?”
