Chapter Seventeen Maddie #2
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say you went viral. At least not outside the Astra University social media ecosystem. For what it’s worth, I scoured that kid’s online presence, and he really is a stale doughnut.”
“I’ve always been a good judge of character.” Except that wasn’t true. How could it be when I’d let myself believe that Gentry was the person I should spend the rest of my life with?
“I had the video removed, by the way. Consider it a gift.”
“Sounds more like a favor,” I tell her. “And I really don’t like being in the red.”
She nods, and I can see that my response tickles her. “I’m looking for a fresh face to take over a House seat in four years.”
“So this is just window-shopping?” I ask. “Checking out some far-fetched possibilities before the party settles on the same old white-bread wonder boy?”
“First off, I don’t work for the party. Any party,” she says with disgust.
I lean back in my seat, establishing some distance. I don’t know that I ever do want to run for office, but getting mixed up with backroom, unsanctioned politics before whatever career I choose has even begun feels like a really sketchy start.
Veronica rolls her eyes, seeing right through me.
“Don’t get your ethically made period panties in a bunch.
My work is legal. Technically. I am hired by donors to .
. . acquaint myself with up-and-coming talent in the political arena.
If a donor happens to like something I’ve found, then it’s completely aboveboard for me to take the party chair out for coffee and talk shop. Drop a name or two.”
“So your job is to find candidates that donors want to throw money at?”
She measures me for a moment as she chooses her next approach.
“Maddie, don’t pretend like you don’t know how the sausage is made, or even that you find it distasteful.
I’ve met plenty of idealistic prospects in this line of work.
While I was highly impressed by the work you did with the Wade Foundation and even with the papers you wrote for your school’s law review, you know that most victories require someone’s hands to get dirty.
Let’s say I rub my hands in the dirt so that no one else has to. ”
“And what’s in it for you? I’m guessing this whole hardly put together look of yours is by design too?”
“Blending in is underrated. And even though this meeting is about you and certainly not about me, I’ll tell you that the only thing greater than being the king is being the kingmaker.”
Her words send goose bumps up my arms, and I think that what she’s saying should feel seedy.
Immoral. But I appreciate her frankness.
I might even find it a little bit sexy. “How did you even get my name?” I ask.
“I am literally a footnote in Gentry’s campaign, and I definitely haven’t made any connections since I moved back to Kansas.
Actually, never mind,” I tell her. “It was nice meeting with you. You can send your little report on me up the chain. We both know that this first meeting is likely to be our last.”
“The House campaign is in four years, Maddie, but next fall we have a state house seat and a couple of high-visibility municipal offices with wide-open fields. I think it would be a great chance for you to get your name out there before running for higher office. If everything pans out, the state campaign would kick off in January in the lead-up to the primaries. It wouldn’t be much, but you’d be compensated out of the campaign funds.
My donors own real estate. Some own law firms. We could get you a place and an employer to get you through until you would hopefully win your seat and take office. All of that is phase two.”
“And what’s phase one?”
“Donor support and party support. Then you launch your campaign.”
“You don’t strike me as the type of person to put all your eggs in one basket, Veronica.”
She grinned that same wicked grin. “You know, you’re almost too smart to be a politician. Just on the cusp, really. But yes, I’ve got a few horses in the race, though I’ll admit that you’re my current favorite.”
“I’m your current favorite? Really? Some recently graduated law school student who hasn’t even passed the bar and has no experience running for office?”
“A clean slate is a good slate.” She pauses for a beat. “Miranda Salazar, by the way. Your department chair. That’s how I got your name. She mentioned you at a dinner the other night. Miranda isn’t easy to impress, so if she name-dropped you, I figured you’d be worth a look.”
My chest flutters at the thought of someone like Miranda, who I am possibly starting to idolize, even thinking of me when I’m not in her presence.
Let alone mentioning my name in conjunction with running for office.
To stop myself from grinning like an absolute nimrod, I bite down on my tongue until I can taste the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
“And what if I’m interested?” I finally ask when I can almost trust myself to play it cool.
“Keep your head on straight. I see you’re nannying right now on the side.”
“Do I even want to know how you know that?”
She stands and tucks her phone in her pocket along with her car key. “Don’t do anything stupid like fuck the dad.”
I freeze, and she watches me for a moment, the crease above her nose pinched together. Then she laughs.
“I’ll be in touch, Maddie. You really brought the heat with that lecture today, by the way.”
“Veronica. Wait.”
She turns back to me.
“I might be a realist, but I do have some very firmly held beliefs. Things I won’t waver on. You should know that.”
“Good,” she says. “People get real boners for conviction.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What are your convictions? I’m guessing your job isn’t rooted in loyalty.”
She laughs again. “I am convicted by money.” She wiggles her fingers. “Dirty fingers come with a high price tag. Even if they’re just a little bit dirty, dirt is dirt.”
THAT AFTERNOON, I pick up the twins and take them to their first gymnastics class. They’d begged Bram to sign them up after falling down a gymnastics rabbit hole on YouTube and we both had high hopes that it would serve to tire them out.
I sit on the bleachers and take a few videos to send to Bram while I replay my chat with Veronica Balentine. I know that I shouldn’t—Veronica practically advertised her red flags, after all, and I know she seems to live in the same universe as Penelope Pike—but I like her.
Being with Gentry and working with Penelope felt like I was being handled with kid gloves.
They were constantly searching for gentle ways to say very harsh things.
Even though I didn’t want to hear most of what was said to me, my stomach curdled at the way I was treated like I was fragile and that any word might be the one to break me.
But in my short time with Veronica, she spoke to me like an adult who could grasp the nuances of being both widely palatable and full of enough substance to actually stand for something.
When the twins and I get back home, there is a very nice red sports car in the driveway.
“Auntie Sloane!” Letty yells as they both barrel out of the back seat.
I follow them through the front door, and sitting there perched on the arm of the couch is a woman so stunning I have to stop myself from drooling over what a total mommy she is.
Fern is laying with her head resting against the woman’s thigh like a pillow while the woman smooths her dark hair.
“You must be Maddie,” the woman says as she gently lifts Fern’s head and stands to greet me.
She wears tailored trousers that nip in at the waist and hug the wide curve of her hips and a sleeveless mock turtleneck with no bra, showing off her perfectly sloped shoulders and the subtle tease of nipples under the fabric. She looks like old money and sex—the kind you have to beg for.
“And I’m guessing you’re Sloane.”
She nods as she returns to the arm of the sofa and continues to play with Fern’s hair. “I was just telling Fern here that it might be time for a makeover befitting a student body president.”
The twins’ feet pound overhead along with the sounds of Hester Prynne’s nails scraping against the floor after them.
I empty the contents of my pockets onto the coffee table. My keys, my phone, and Veronica’s card.
Sloane’s cool gaze sweeps over the card as I sit down. “Have you heard of her?” I ask. “Veronica Balentine?”
All she gives me is a noncommittal mmm.
“A makeover?” I ask Fern. “I can’t think of a better way to throw Simon off his game.”
She nods, her gaze falling past my shoulders as she concentrates on some hypothetical version of herself. “I need something that says powerful but not intimidating. At least that’s what Jules thinks.”
“I like where Jules’s head is at.” I run my fingers through my hair, remembering what Veronica said about my atrocious roots. “Honestly, I’ve got to do something with my hair too.”
Fern shoots up and bounces. “Oh my god, Maddie, you have to come with us. She can, right, Aunt Sloane?”
Sloane tilts her head toward me. “My hair guy doesn’t take new clients, but luckily I only trade in favors, so I think we can get Maddie in right after you, Fern.”
“Oh, that would be great.” Except that if Sloane’s hair guy is anything like I’m expecting, I definitely can’t afford him. But I don’t want to say no and reject her goodwill.
Besides, if I can’t take care of my hair, what does that say about my ability to take care of constituents?
If constituents were even a thing I was going to have . . .
But I can’t ignore how positively alive I feel at the prospect of this challenge.
Right now, I am hungry in a way I haven’t been for years.
It’s the kind of hunger that Gentry never left any room for.
But without him or Penelope here to tell me I should shrink myself to fit the needs of his campaign, I let myself wonder: Someone’s got to run. Why the hell shouldn’t it be me?