18.0 #2
Jenna chimed in about upcoming TV spots, Margot segued into a blurb about education reform. The whole thing moved like choreography, everyone knowing their cues. My pen tapped once, twice against the margin of the page.
My phone buzzed.
I kept my face forward, but under the table I slid the screen open. A single line glowed back at me:
The air in the room didn't change, but my chest did. Heavy. Tight. I could hear Bryan still talking, but every word blurred.
"Brooks?" Margot's voice pulled me back. She was looking straight at me, smile fixed, eyes sharp. "Anything you want to add here?"
I cleared my throat. "Ground game is key," I said, smooth, controlled. "We should put bodies in neighborhoods before we sink more money into television."
Bryan gave me a curt nod, already moving on. My phone buzzed again—no new message, just the phantom reminder of the one I hadn't answered.
I set it face down, jaw locked.
I wasn't ready. Not here. Not with all these eyes on me.
Bryan was mid-sentence about turnout numbers when his assistant ducked in, leaned down, and murmured something against his ear. Bryan's jaw twitched. He scraped his chair back.
"Two minutes," he said, already striding out into the hallway with his shadow trailing him.
The whole table sagged into chatter and shuffling papers. The pause should've been a breather. Instead, it gave Margot her opening.
She crossed to me, heels silent against the carpet, a hand on my arm light enough to look polite. Then she steered me into the corner.
Her smile never faltered, but her voice dropped low and vicious. "You look like hell. Same suit, same tie, eyes bloodshot. Brooks, you walked in here like a man who slept on the floor of his office. Do you realize what that says to a room full of donors?"
"Margot—"
"No." She hissed it, still composed, lips barely moving. "You don't get to brush this off. You made me look like a fool sitting next to you. Bryan had to smooth over your silence. You weren't even in the room. Where the hell were you last night?"
I squared my shoulders, jaw tight. "I'm here now, aren't I?"
Her laugh was soft, humorless. "Present in body doesn't count. You think you're untouchable, but people notice. And if you're not careful, they'll start talking. About me. About us. About weakness."
"Margot, I have enough on my mind right now. You're not even part of the campaign—half the time I don't even know what you're doing here."
Her eyes flashed, but her tone stayed ironed-flat. "You think I care what's on your mind? I care about optics. Discipline. Reputation. And right now you're throwing all three away. You want to self-destruct, fine. But don't drag everyone else down with you."
I stepped in, just enough to make her straighten her spine. "You don't run me, Margot. I've been trying to be nice, keep my composure, but I'm not in the mood to be managed right now."
Her chin lifted, smile sharp as glass. "Then try acting like a man who doesn't need managing."
Bryan reappeared, the hum up of the room snapping back to order. Margot drifted away like nothing happened, leaving her perfume and her threat hanging in the air.
"Alright," Bryan said briskly, clapping his hands once as he retook his place at the head of the table.
"We've danced around enough anecdotes. Let's talk numbers. Suburban turnout, fundraising ratios, district three—donors are already skittish, and I won't have anyone underestimating the ground game."
The aides shuffled papers, pens clicked, the low murmur of strategy resuming as if the air hadn't just cracked a moment ago.
I forced my expression neutral, nodding at the right moments, but the words blurred.
All I heard was the echo of Margot's hiss in my ear and the name I couldn't get out of my head.
"Brooks," Bryan's voice cut through. "You'll have talking points drafted by tonight?"
"Yes," I answered smoothly, though I had no idea what he'd just assigned me.
A beat later, I pushed back from the table, rising with a polite half-smile. "Excuse me a moment. Need some air."
No one stopped me. I slipped out into the hall, the muffled drone of strategy fading behind me. My stride carried me straight to the nearest office, door clicking shut at my back.
The silence pressed in. I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering for half a second before I hit her name.
Amira.
It rang, and the longer it rang, the harder my chest tightened.
The line picked up on the third ring.
"Brooks." Her voice was careful, almost braced.
I forced my tone steady. "You could've told me."
Silence. Then "I'm sorry. Hurting you was never what I wanted."
I leaned back against the desk, eyes shut. "I know. I believe that. But it doesn't make this any less...unbelievable."
Her breath caught faintly. "I never meant for you to find out like this. Not from someone else. Not at a dinner table."
"That doesn't change the fact that I did," I said, my voice flat though my pulse hammered. "And now I can't think straight."
Her reply was instant, sharp. "You think I wanted it to come out that way? You think I wanted your whole table hearing at once? Don't put this on me like I planned it."
"You did plan it. By saying nothing."
"I kept her out of your mess," she shot back. "Your father, Margot, the press—none of that touches her. That was the point."
"Mess?" My jaw locked.
Her voice rose. "Don't act like you're some victim. You've been free to live your life, Brooks. I was raising her. Alone. You weren't the one losing sleep, figuring out bills, worrying about if she's safe every second."
"Raising her alone was your choice. I called you the night before I got married and she had to be what two at that point. You cut me out of my own child's life."
"And if I hadn't?" she snapped. "What then? Cameras at daycare? My name dragged on blogs? You think your world wouldn't have eaten us alive? You want to be angry—fine. But don't pretend I didn't have reason."
I dragged a hand through my hair, rage burning through the grief. "You don't trust me."
"I didn't trust what comes with you," she said flatly. "I still don't."
That landed. Hard.
I forced the words through my teeth. "Whatever excuse you're standing on, I'm here now. I'm not leaving her to grow up thinking I don't exist."
Silence stretched, jagged, until she let out a long breath. "This weekend if you'd like you can come by. You'll meet her."
"I'll be there," I said, clipped.
I didn't wait for her to answer. The line went dead in my hand, the silence louder than her voice ever was. For a long moment I just stared at the phone, heat still climbing the back of my neck, chest pounding like I'd run a mile.
Then a muffled laugh bled through the wall. The meeting. Still going.
I shoved the phone in my pocket, straightened my tie, and walked back toward the door. My hand hesitated on the knob just long enough for the rage to cool into something sharper, something I could wear on my face.
When I stepped inside, every head turned. I nodded once, sliding back into my chair like nothing had fractured at all.