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1
Friday
Nine days before the wedding
7:00 p.m.
"Go get 'em, tiger."
Brendan O’Brian acknowledged the comment with a smile. Walking three paces behind Senator Wilson, he strolled onto the raised platform at the front of the hotel ballroom. The crowd’s chatter hushed as Wilson tapped the mic.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to welcome you all here tonight,” the senator began, using the speech Brendan gave him. Friends, donors, and reporters filled the glittering room. “I couldn’t be more thrilled to celebrate the launch of my new book with you.”
The crowd clapped. As Wilson spoke, Brendan watched him manage their excitement like a tide. Those were his words the senator was using, his skills. Behind the scenes, he held the room’s emotions in his hands, and it was the best fucking feeling.
People weren’t easy to impress in Washington, DC. Brendan enjoyed pumping them up, but most of all, he savored the control.
Someday, it would be him giving the speeches.
Applause swelled when the senator finished. Exiting the platform to mingle, Wilson clasped Brendan’s shoulder. “Great, as always..”
Brendan grinned. “You too, Senator.”
He circulated the room, shaking hands and chatting people up. A sense of rightness locked in: he was born to do this.
But back at the office, there were speeches to write, press releases to draft, and emails to answer, promising another late night alone.
And there was something else he needed to squeeze in tonight, something no one could know about.
Brendan surreptitiously checked his watch. His mind flashed to the invitation lying on his desk:
Diana Natalie Cooper and Ian Michael O’Brian invite you to share in their joy as they become husband and wife.
Ian and Diana’s wedding was coming up next Sunday in Connecticut. Brendan would be taking off Friday and Monday morning for the festivities. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, his twin brother marrying the girl next door they’d both grown up with.
And it would take a week of fifteen-hour workdays to make up the time.
Brendan pushed the thought away.
As the event wound down and people trickled out, he joined Pete, the senator’s digital director, at the bar. Pete’s striped tie was askew, the one wrong note in his clean-cut appearance, and his eyes glittered with the excitement of the evening. He was a year younger than Brendan, twenty-four, and they’d both started out on the Hill as interns. Pete joined Senator Wilson’s staff last fall, where Brendan was already one of the longer-running staff members.
Now Brendan had worked his way up to Communications Director. He knew all Pete’s quirks: his intense focus, his inappropriate sense of humor, his occasional pissy tantrums that Brendan stepped in to smooth over. Brendan made it his business to understand his colleagues.
In a weird way, they were like family. Because they sure as hell spent more time with each other than with any actual family members or partners.
Raising a glass, Pete drank, then pounded Brendan’s back. “Fucking golden boy. They ate up every word.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you, Pete,” Brendan said easily.
“Not drinking?” Pete hefted a wine bottle. The bartender, wiping down the bar, gave him a sidelong glance. “Finish this off! It’d be a crime to let this cabernet go to waste.”
Brendan shook his head and sipped his club soda. He turned to survey the emptying room, casually checking his watch again. “I need to go back to the office tonight.”
“Hell, we all do. But it’s Friday night. No reason not to have a drink. This job might steal our time, but it doesn’t have to steal our souls.”
“Shhh,” Brendan warned.
Melanie, the press secretary, walked up to them with quick steps, seemingly powered by an invisible motor. Brendan knew Mel’s anxiety and perfectionism were what kept that motor running, which meant he was patient with her freakouts in a way Pete could never understand. Also, Mel was damn good at her job. She and Pete were the coworkers he managed, and Brendan would do anything to keep the peace.
