Chapter 20
Eleanor feels like she's about to shatter. Dawn hasn't broken yet and the room is still dim, but Abigail's fingers are inside her and her teeth are sunk into her neck.
"I know you're close. Don't keep me waiting."
Abigail says it breathlessly, because even though she isn't the one taking the thrusts, her highest point of pleasure has always been in possessing Eleanor and listening to her come undone.
She picked the wrong moment to confess her feelings, and now the politician seems to want to teach her a lesson—because last night, exhausted between phone calls, emails, and document reviews, Eleanor went to bed earlier than usual and Abigail promised she'd be right there.
She wasn't. The lawyer slipped into bed well past midnight, and Eleanor didn't like that one bit.
She's discovering this fiercely protective side of herself where Abigail is concerned, and the last thing she wants is for her to get sick from not resting properly.
Abigail bites her lips and Eleanor cries out at the same moment she clenches so hard around the lawyer's fingers that she comes, releasing a wetness that's unusual for her.
"Well," is all Abigail can say when she feels her hand soaked.
Eleanor's neck flushes red, and to hide her embarrassment she props herself up slightly and claims Abigail's lips.
Twenty minutes later, with Abigail trying to catch her breath, both heads turn on the mattress and they look at each other.
"Good morning," Abigail says, and smiles.
Eleanor pins her with that cold stare that carries Abigail Lawson's name on it—the one she created for her more than twenty years ago—and even if it isn't real, no one could deny it's terrifying.
"I promise I'll get more rest," Abigail tells her, and Eleanor narrows her eyes but doesn't answer. She simply pushes herself up and gets out of bed.
Their morning begins the way it has since they shared the first real kiss of their lives—in a normal way that neither of them has ever had before and that, somehow, fits perfectly.
Before anything else, the first thing they do is coffee.
Eleanor makes it while Abigail comes downstairs with her phone in hand, going through her emails.
Eleanor slides a mug in front of her and she nods without looking up.
The politician allows herself a few seconds to watch her—the lawyer sipping from her mug and scrolling through her phone screen.
She's stunning, and Eleanor has to force herself to look away before they end up going at it on the kitchen counter.
"We have a lot to do," Abigail says with a sigh.
Eleanor looks at her, waiting for her to continue.
"Cooper and his lawyer will start working on the statement," she explains, and Eleanor's heart speeds up.
"Patricia Webb needs us to go over some press releases the party is putting out, and I have six emails from different journalists who want to talk to you.
So get ready to hunker down in that living room. "
For two days, they don't leave the house.
Fortunately, everything Abigail needs is in her phone, her laptop, and that head of hers that never stops, and Eleanor spends those days learning to read the lawyer's rhythms at work—something she'd never known before because she'd never watched her this closely for this long.
She watches her spend hours on the phone with Patricia Webb, building exact answers for every possible question about Eleanor and shoring up every weak point before the media can find it.
She watches her feed information to two specific journalists—the ones she knows will publish exactly what she wants—planting the seed of the narrative she needs to grow: Eleanor Montgomery isn't an accomplice.
She's another one of David Cooper's victims.
She also watches her negotiate with Cooper's lawyer with a patience Eleanor knows has a razor edge underneath—the same one Abigail uses when she holds all the winning cards and is simply waiting for the right moment to lay them on the table.
"It's not a full exoneration," Abigail explains when she tells her about the agreement she's reached with David Cooper and what he'll say on camera, "but it shifts the focus away from you.
The people who've already decided you're guilty won't change their minds with this, but the ones who haven't made up their minds yet will start to doubt. "
"And the ones who matter?" Eleanor asks. "The FBI?"
"The FBI keeps moving through their process." Abigail takes a sip of coffee. "But a public statement from Cooper makes their lives harder if they want to keep you as a target. It's not a roadblock, but it's an inconvenience they'd rather avoid."
Eleanor nods. She trusts her. She does it with a naturalness that surprises her when she stops to think about it, because Eleanor Montgomery trusts almost no one.
At four in the afternoon, Cooper appears on camera in front of his house.
Eleanor and Abigail watch from the living room, on one of the laptops streaming a local channel's live broadcast. Cooper is an attractive man who has aged ten years this week—his suit hanging a little loose, his lawyers flanking him, wearing the expression of someone who has negotiated exactly what he's going to say and won't deviate from the script by a single word.
"I want to make a brief statement," Cooper says, after thanking the press for their presence and offering a short introduction.
"The ongoing investigation concerns me alone.
Any accusations related to this investigation are directed at me, not at the party.
Former Congresswoman Eleanor Montgomery has no connection whatsoever to the matters under investigation.
I can state this with complete certainty. "
David says four more sentences and thanks everyone again. He takes no questions, turns around, and walks back inside. The reporters shout after him, but he ignores them completely.
Abigail closes the laptop.
"Okay. Good," she says, frowning, and jots several notes in her notebook.
Eleanor watches her.
"That's all you're going to say?"
"It's what I expected." She opens the laptop again. "Now let me send an email before the media starts digesting it."
Half an hour later, Eleanor is on the phone with someone from the party and Abigail is still typing when the doorbell rings.
They both look at each other and Eleanor lets out a sharp breath. The reporters haven't dared ring her doorbell, but it's too much of a coincidence that, right after Cooper's statement, someone is at her door when they're not expecting anyone.
"Wait," Abigail stops her when Eleanor stands up. "Let me go."
Eleanor bristles. Abigail Lawson being in control of everything is a lot for her to take.
"Oh, shit," Abigail murmurs, and when she turns to look at Eleanor, her eyes are wide. "Your mom and my dad," she says, pointing at the door with exaggerated gestures.
They both feel like they're seventeen again—like they've done something they shouldn't have and their parents are coming to scold them.
"What are you doing?" Eleanor asks, alarmed, as Abigail puts her hand on the doorknob.
"You want to leave them out on the street?"
They look at each other for a second and both realize they're in their forties, that they're not teenagers, and that this is a perfectly normal visit from worried parents.
With a tilt of her head, Eleanor signals for her to open the door.
Carol and Richard stand on the threshold with small suitcases and the expressions of two people who weren't entirely sure whether showing up at Eleanor's house in the middle of all the political drama surrounding her was the right call—but who decided to come anyway.
"I knew what the answer would be if I gave you a heads-up," Carol says, before Eleanor can get a word in. "So I didn't."
Eleanor keeps her mouth shut and simply steps aside.
After Carol, Richard hugs Eleanor tightly, tells her he's proud of her and that this is going to work out.
Abigail hugs her father; Richard squeezes her shoulder and tells her she did the right thing—that she always does.
"Leave your bags there," Eleanor says, pointing to the corner, and before she goes on, she glances sideways at Abigail. "I'll get the other guest room sorted for you later."
They sit in the living room and Carol immediately launches into a subtle interrogation—the kind a mother runs when she needs to make sure everything is all right so she can go back home with her heart at ease.
Eleanor is the one who brings them up to speed on what she can share without getting into details that would complicate things, and Abigail fills in the gaps Eleanor leaves open.
They work well together on this too—they set each other up without coordinating it, and Carol notices, but says nothing.
That's how the next hour passes, and while Abigail stays downstairs keeping them company, Eleanor goes up to get everything ready in the guest room.
She keeps the other doors closed, because just thinking about Carol realizing that she and Abigail are sleeping in the same bed turns her stomach into a wave of nerves.
"You've got everything you need upstairs," Eleanor announces, walking back into the living room. "In case you want to rest before dinner."
"I'm fine," Carol answers without giving it much thought.
"Sounds like I'm the only old-timer in this house," Richard says good-naturedly as he gets up from the couch. "I'm gonna go shower and rest a bit."
Eleanor tenses, and Abigail looks away, because Carol seems to have been waiting for the moment Richard disappears upstairs to begin the real interrogation.
Carol watches her husband's back until he's out of sight. She turns her head and takes in the living room, which at that moment is bathed in the golden late-afternoon light she loves so much.
"I knew you two could handle this together," she says suddenly, like an offhand remark. "I always knew Abigail wouldn't leave you on your own, sweetheart."