Chapter 19
“You have a way of getting my attention. You throw darts at me, they go straight to the heart. Oh, and no matter how hard I try. Oh, it's impossible to dodge you" - Shakira
I fire off a text to the senator’s aide, asking for a final confirmation on the time and location. A reply pings back almost instantly with the address of a nearby hotel, forty minutes away. I scramble to shower and dress in record time.
I settle on high heels, dress slacks with tights underneath for the chill, a crisp blouse, a blazer, and my overcoat. Half an hour later, I’m in the lobby. I spot Vanessa leaning against a pillar, scrolling through her phone. When I approach, she greets me with that effortless, beautiful smile.
“Swamped with work too?” I asked. I mentioned I was grabbing a taxi to save time.
“You look stunning, Megan. I have no doubt you’ll crush whatever meeting you’re heading into,” Vanessa said.
“What’s your schedule like for the rest of the week?” I inquired.
“I’ll be buried in meetings, mostly ironing out the paperwork for the transfer,” she explained. “But if you’re up for a drink or some wine later, I’d love that.”
“Definitely,” I replied. “And don't think I'm shallow, Vanessa, but I desperately need to go shopping this weekend.”
“I don't find that frivolous at all,” she said, glancing at her watch. I was supposed to be there in five minutes, and here I was, flirting with the assistant of the woman I just shared a bed with.
“If you want to join me, I know a few excellent spots for lunch,” Vanessa suggested. I nodded, and she smiled again.
Why am I charming beautiful, independent women when I explicitly told myself I was done with distractions?
“It’s a deal, then. I won’t keep you,” she added.
I called her name just as I’m turning to leave—I forgot one detail. She looks up, waiting. I get momentarily lost in those deep brown eyes and take a breath. “We need another spa day before the weekend.”
“Consider it done,” Vanessa responded.
A notification from Kelsey flashes on my screen, but I don't check it until I’m settled in the back of the taxi.
K. Calama: "Heading into a meeting, then straight to the jet. Everything smells like lavender. I can’t wait to see you again. Tell me how the meeting goes?"
I screenshot the message and send it to Sarki, fully expecting a barrage of teasing.
Megan Woods: "If I make it through this alive, I'll tell you. I thought I'd get to see you one more time before you took off."
K. Calama: "Had to beat the storm. They’re worried about the snow. Go take them down, Kitty."
Megan Woods: "I'm mostly just pissed they dragged me out of bed. I wanted to spend the day under the covers. I'm here..."
Minutes later, I pull up to the hotel. I spot the Senator and his aide smoking on the sidewalk, likely waiting for me. I greet them both with a firm handshake. They lead me to the elevator, filling the silence with idle chatter about the weather and the Central Park schedule.
We enter the conference room. I take a seat on the side while the Senator sits directly across from me.
“Honey, your nomination to the federal appeals court wasn't a difficult lift,” the Senator began.
“No,” I replied coolly. “It’s a seat built on years of strategic collaboration with universities and political allies. Not to mention the weight of my father’s name.”
He laces his fingers together on the table. “We’re confident you’ll be brilliant. This meeting is simply to align our... objectives.”
“I know the game, Senator. Let’s skip the pleasantries and explain the rules,” I countered. “I prefer directness; it prevents miscommunication.”
“Please, hand over your phone.” He commanded, handing his own to his aide. Reluctantly, I do the same.
I cross my legs and adjust my posture, facing the gray-haired man. He has the look of someone who’s laundered a fortune through Maine real estate.
“Moving forward,” he continued, “you’ll likely oversee cases involving party affiliates. I’m asking you to show them... professional courtesy.”
I nod, fighting the urge to yawn. I want him to see how bored I am by his predictable corruption.
“And the strategy?” I asked. “If the Supreme Court gets a whiff of this, it won't end well for any of us.”
“These are small matters, Megan. Simple tax and regulatory issues. Nothing you haven't handled before. You being in that chair is a stepping stone. In a few years, we’re looking at the Supreme Court.”
“I want that in writing,” I demanded.
“You know I can't do that,” he said.
“Then you should have thought of that before you green-lit my judicial career,” I snapped. “Have your aide draft a commitment that I will be nominated to the Supreme Court within six years. Get ten senior members to sign it, and I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
“You're a hell of a negotiator.” He admitted, undoing a button on his blazer.
His stomach presses against the table. I notice the buttons are practically screaming for mercy. He calls the aide over, types something into a laptop, and turns it so I can see the information. It’s exactly what I demanded.
He instructs the aide to print it and secure ten signatures from the senators currently staying in the building. “And in return?” he asked.
“You already have your compensation. I’m making your lives easier,” I stated.
While we wait, he tries to force a conversation with an intimacy we never had, despite knowing each other for years. I don’t open up to business associates. Donald is the only exception; he was in my life long before the work, until Peter pushed him out.
“Return my phone,” I said. There’s no reason for it to stay confiscated. He stands, looking slightly bothered, and retrieves the device.
“My father used to talk about men like you,” I remarked. “He said the desperate need to cling to power is a man’s greatest weakness.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. I loathe being manipulated, so I have to maintain this air of cold superiority. It’s exhausting. I’m definitely booking that spa treatment just so I can sleep.
“It’s funny to hear you talk about your father as if he were a saint,” he retorted. “He gave us many favorable rulings, but he supported the Republicans far more often than he should have.”
“In whose eyes?” I asked.
“Pardon?”
“In whose eyes shouldn't he?” I pressed. “If he supported your party, it was because his convictions aligned with yours at the time. I imagine he did the same for others. Convictions are complex, Senator. No one is ever fully aligned.”
“I don't see why you’re being so defensive, Woods. We have an agreement, a shared motivation. It’ll all work out,” he said.
I want to roll my eyes so hard they might actually pop out of my head. Instead, I offer a thin, uncomfortable smile. “I understand. I just prefer my bureaucracy to be clearly defined.”
He nods and tells the aide to hurry. Minutes later, the man returns with the document. The Senator signs it and slides it across the table.
“Business concluded then.”
I stand, take the paper, and offer a final handshake. “A pleasure doing business with you, Senator.”
The moment I’m back in the taxi, I let out a jagged sigh. I fire off a message to my therapist, confirming our video session in fifteen minutes.