Chapter 7 #2
“Food poisoning. Never trust gas station sushi.” I crack open my purse and reach for my phone. The battery’s dead. I’d bet half my trust fund that Connor drained the battery trying to figure out my passcode.
Unless he was too busy being balls deep in the cocktail waitress, and let it die overnight while it searched for Wi-Fi.
“How’d you get home?” he asks.
“I puked and was embarrassed, so I snuck out,” I lie with ease. It’s a learned skill when your parents work in politics. “I didn’t want you seeing me like that. I flagged down a taxi, but forgot my bag. Luckily, I had enough cash inside the house to pay the driver, or that would have been awkward.”
“Or the start of a really good porno.”
Gross.
But I fake laugh at Connor’s terrible joke.
“Thanks for dropping it off. I appreciate it.”
“We never finished our talk yesterday. You know, about that golf outing with your dad?”
Ah, the real reason he’s here. Connor couldn’t care less about my purse. He would’ve left it in the restaurant’s lost-and-found box if he didn’t have an ulterior motive.
“Right, golfing. Well, I’m not my dad’s secretary. But if you give me your assistant’s phone number, his assistant can arrange—”
Knock!
Knock!
“Jesus Christ, again?”
Connor’s eyes widen in surprise at my annoyance.
I shake my head at him. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning. Hold on.”
Yanking the door open, a stranger waits on my doorstep, holding a bouquet of roses. “Daphne Fox?”
“That’s me.”
“Delivery for you.” He thrusts the flowers into my arms and dashes back towards his delivery van.
“Secret admirer?” Connor’s curiosity piques as I pluck the small card from the middle of the bouquet.
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”
His curious stare lingers on the card before flicking up to my face, then squinting like he’s trying to decipher who on Earth could possibly like me enough to go through the effort of being a secret admirer.
“Aw, come on, Daph. We’re friends now. And after you stood me up on our date? Tell me who it is.”
“That wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting.”
“So, our drinks are a tax write-off?”
“I’m not an accountant, Connor. I’m sure your dad pays yours enough to know what’s a write-off.”
“Speaking of dads…”
Yeah, real subtle there, buddy.
“Give me your assistant’s information,” I say. “I’ll send it to Dad’s personal secretary today. She’ll be in touch sometime this week.”
Connor beams as he emails me with his secretary’s information to pass along. Seriously, how would D.C. run without assistants and NDAs?
“Thanks, Daph.” Connor makes a small movement towards the door. He got what he wanted, and as much as I’m eager to see him leave, something’s bothering me.
Something Guy said.
“Why is your dad pushing so hard to get this Bradshaw Bill passed?” I ask. “I haven’t seen him push this hard for something since his first election campaign.”
Connor frowns, probably because answering my question means he’s stuck in my presence for a few more minutes. “Dad has friends who are interested in this bill passing.”
“Friends?”
“Friends.” Connor rubs his fingers together like there are invisible dollar bills between them. “Friends with deep pockets and good lawyers who know how to make favors happen. The only difference between back scratching and back-stabbing is how much you’re willing to pay for something to get done.”
“Okay, Brutus. So, your dad’s getting a payday if he can get this bill passed?”
“Your dad, too. They need each other to help pass it. And your dad needs mine to make sure it’s pushed through before his re-election. Your dad doesn’t have months to wait with the election ramping up. No way would the other party’s nominee sign the bill. She’d veto it on day one in office.”
So, Guy was right. Dad does have something to gain financially if this bill passes. Even though I’m not surprised, something cloudy overcasts my mood at the thought of Dad hurting so many people with the swipe of a pen.
“The bill still needs to get through the Senate, though,” I say with a glimmer of hope that maybe it won’t. The House of Representatives needs to vote on it, so there’s still time for it to die on the Congress floor.
“That’s where your boss comes in,” Connor says. “Furt is your dad’s whip. He practically guaranteed it’ll pass in the House. He’s going to push it through the Committee, then get the Senate in line to vote for it before the election.”
“Do you even know what’s in the bill?”
Connor shrugs. “Who cares? Dad and his friends need it. Hell, the President needs it. Healthcare’s already shit. Like anyone’s going to notice if it gets worse.”
“Spoken like a nepo-baby lawyer, Connor.”
Connor’s frown deepens at my disapproval. “Says the nepo-baby congressional aid.”
Having to get the last word in, Connor strides to the front door. “See you at the party, Daph.”
As Connor leaves, my stomach lurches at the reminder of the gender-slash-murder party happening in a week. How the hell am I supposed to work knowing that something horrible is going to happen?
Grabbing my phone, I plug it into my charger and toss my purse onto the couch. Then check the card still in my hand.
For Mike Tyson. – A.G.F.