Chapter 8
"Sem ponto, sem virgula, sem meia, descalca. Descascou o medo pra caber coragem" - Liniker
With the delicate necklace resting against my collarbone, I still found myself wondering if I was making a mistake.
Accepting a gift from a defendant, even one I’d just cleared, felt like crossing a line I’d spent my career drawing.
The moment my feet touched New York soil, I realized I’d made a tactical error.
My coats were buried in my checked luggage, and I was only wearing a thick blazer.
I’d forgotten that December in New York doesn't just get cold; it hits you in the face.
I let out a sigh of relief when the warmth of the hotel lobby finally hit me.
After checking in, I was handed a heated towel for my hands, an experience that, if that isn't a touch of God, I don't know what is.
I headed up to my suite accompanied by a concierge and smiled when I saw the view.
Central Park was laid out before me like a map.
I tipped the man and shot a text to Sarki letting her know I’d arrived.
Looking at the sheer luxury of the room, I thanked my lucky stars that my only close friend had married a fashion designer.
I dug a heavy wool coat from the bottom of my suitcase and headed to the bar. There’s a certain peace in being a stranger in a luxury hotel. No one looks at you; no one wants anything from you.
The bar was on the rooftop. After grabbing a glass of wine, I leaned against the glass railing, staring down at the dark treetops of the park.
I thought about everything it took to get here, the sleepless nights, the mediocre flings, and the emotional wreckage of Peter using my father’s death to blackmail me.
My eyes welled up. I quickly wiped them with my fingertips, refusing to let the emotion spill over. The biting wind touched my cheeks, and for the first time in years, I felt a flicker of freedom.
By the time the alcohol began to buzz in my veins, it was past midnight. I shared the elevator down with a young woman in jeans, combat boots, and a heavy parka.
Her eyes were a piercing green, her jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Her hair was a blonde so pale it almost looked white. I realized I was staring, but she was breathtaking. She gave me a knowing smile before getting off a floor below the bar.
???
The first day passed in a blur of sleep and mindless television. On the second morning, I was woken by the front desk. A package had arrived. Lisa had sent another dress.
Floor-length black silk with a plunging back and a slit that went all the way up the thigh. She’d probably intended to embarrass me, especially with the note: “You’ll look even better in this than you did at that North Carolina auction.”
The hair and makeup team arrived shortly after lunch.
By the time they were finished, the dress fit like a second skin.
I could feel my hair flowing freely down my back as I waited for the elevator to take me to the ballroom.
The space was decorated in a minimalist, elegant style, filled with senators and their families.
Waiters glided by with trays of champagne. I took a glass and spotted a familiar face. Donald, a childhood friend and Senator from California, greeted me with a bear hug.
“Megs! There are people you have to meet. It’s been ages. I was thrilled to hear you officially accepted the DC appointment.” Donald was one of the few people who understood my world.
He’d lost his parents after the 2008 crash and had a trajectory almost identical to mine. Despite his polished look and carefully trimmed beard, there had always been rumors about his sexuality. But then again, who was I to judge?
I was a woman who hadn't had sex in two years because I’d convinced myself that my career required total sexual abstinence. I assumed Donald had made a similar internal pact.
I was nodding along to his stories when I saw her.
The woman from the elevator. She was in a suit this time, specifically a tuxedo, actually.
Suddenly, Lisa’s low-cut dress didn't feel like such a bad idea.
Donald laughed, pulling me out of my trance as she approached us.
I felt a pulse of desire, or perhaps just the sudden end of my two-year drought, which was thrumming between my legs. I needed to know who she was.
“Megan, you have to meet our biggest donor,” Donald said.
“The woman revolutionizing US maritime cargo.” She smiled at Donald and touched his shoulder.
Her voice was low, husky, and utterly delicious as she told him to stop hitting her up for campaign funds.
Her face was so familiar, but I couldn't place it.
“Megan Woods?” She looked at me, her green eyes locking onto mine.
A smirk played on her lips. “I’m Kelsey Calama.
What a surprise to see you here.” What a liar.
Her lawyer had basically told me she’d be here.
And yet, here I was, wearing the necklace she’d sent me.
Her hand found my waist, drawing her body closer to mine.
Her tuxedo was so perfectly tailored it looked like it had been sewn onto her.
“The pleasure is mine,” I managed, my voice steady. “I met your lawyer yesterday.” I reached out to greet the woman accompanying her, a stunning brunette in a red dress and lethal heels.
“Ryden handles my legal affairs. There's no one better,” Kelsey said. Donald excused himself, and I watched Kelsey shake his hand with practiced charm.
“So,” I said, turning back to her. “What do you want with me? You clearly know more about my life than my own lawyers do.”
“Please, call me Kelsey. And can I at least buy you a drink first?”
I nodded. She whispered something to her companion, who walked away without a word. Kelsey’s hand remained on my waist, subtly guiding me toward the balcony. We stopped overlooking the park. In the moonlight, I could see the details of her suit. She looked strong, capable.
“You're quite the mystery, Ms. Calama,” I said, sipping my champagne. I noticed her eyes follow the movement, her teeth grazing her lower lip. “What interest does a billionaire have in a district judge? I should warn you, I’m not easily corrupted.” I raise my glass in a toast and take a sip of the liquid.
“It’s not a mystery,” she said, her green eyes darkening.
“I saw you with your father years ago. Then at a charity event last year. You were so beautiful I couldn't get your face out of my head. I’ll admit, I went looking for information. You aren't exactly easy to approach. Especially since you’re married.”
“Looking for information? You mean bribing people to dig into my private life?” I raised an eyebrow. “I find that invasive. And rude, considering I’m here with someone.”
“First of all, I don't like communication noise. The woman with me is a model from NYC. She’s being paid to be a distraction so I don't get mobbed by people wanting my money.” She laughed softly.
“Okay. What about my transfer?” I asked.
“I didn't bribe anyone. My lawyer has friends in your office. She asked, they answered.”
“You paid a model to accompany you to an official dinner?
Now we've gone from rude to downright rude.” I roll my eyes and she laughs again.
“But the girl is playing her role well. I don't think Senator Franklin is going to ask you for donations today.” I point with my chin, seeing one of the older men in the Senate whispering in the model's ear, who feigns interest while exchanging glances with another senator leaning against the bar.
“First of all, I'm no longer married. And what was your biggest question?”
She stepped closer, her hand sliding to my hip. The touch of her palm through the thin silk of my dress was electric. She leaned in, her breath hot against my neck, sending a shiver through my entire body.
“I don't know if your persistence is worse...”
“Or my bad breath?” she finished for me, and we both laughed. “I’m still waiting for you to answer my question.”
“The question being whether you can ask me to dance?” I countered, looking at her over my shoulder. Our mouths were inches apart. “And who told you I date women?” I teased.
“You looked at me yesterday in the elevator. You looked at me tonight. It wasn't 'curious,' Megan. It was a look of recognition.”
I conceded with a nod but told her I had to dance with Donald first, as I needed the Republican votes for my next career move.
“The dinner invitation is open,” she said. “You decide.”
“I'll think about it.” I traded my empty glass for a full one.
Kelsey turned, leaning her back against the railing, facing away from the party.
I stood facing her, the cold marble of the balcony biting into my skin through my dress.
Her fingers brushed against my bare back, sending a javelin of heat down my spine.
“I promise to be as discreet as an FBI agent,” she whispered.
“And how are we being right now?” I asked.
“I suggest you go sit with the senators' wives,” she said, her fingers tracing the curve of my spine. “Subtly let them know you aren't with Donald. You draw more eyes when you're with a man who isn't your ex-husband.”
“You know everyone’s secrets, don't you? Where do you keep them?”
“In the seams of my suit.” Her lips brushed my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth. “Go dance, Megan. Let everyone see you spin in that spectacular dress.”
I was on fire. She whispered that we’d talk later and walked away. I was completely falling for a woman four years younger than me.
I went back to Donald. We danced and talked about the old days. Eventually, my feet needed a break, so I took Kelsey’s advice and sat with the wives of several prominent senators.
To avoid their scrutiny, I played the victim. I told them about Peter’s other family. Instantly, their suspicion turned to sisterly complicity. I see when one of them looks at Kelsey Calama and smiles as if she were watching chocolate flowing down a Swiss waterfall.