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“Senator Westmoore has as good a chance as anyone,” I insisted.
“The only chance he has is because you’re crafting his statements for him,” Nathan insisted, and I knew he was right. “Maybe I’ll ask him something that you didn’t think to jot down in your notes for him,” he said, looking smug.
And, damn him, how did he know that?
“The senator will surely have the answers to any questions you may ask.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Nathan said, smirking. “Looking a little tired there, Beth. It’s stressful to be at the helm of a steadily sinking ship, isn’t it?”
I was normally quippy, damnit. That was the job. Being able to think on your feet. To spin a situation in my favor.
The problem was that he was right.
Only he had no idea why he was right.
And that I was the one who planned on making this ship capsize.
“No one’s job is guaranteed,” I managed to say, my tone colder than usual. Which, it seemed, made him take that as a threat. His brows shot up. His shoulders squared.
“Should I be worried?” he asked, tone deceptively calm.
“I guess that depends.”
“On what?”
“What skeletons you have in your closet. And who might be looking to drag them out and show them around,” I said.
It was a good veiled threat. Something he could never claim was proof that I was coming after him. But it got him off my back. Which was good because my patience was paper thin, and I didn’t have what it took to be sharp and peppy for him.
I just hoped Michael was ready as I heard the doors finally open and people milling in as I walked out of the gym.
I made my way into the locker room that the senator was using as a prep station and was about to remind him of the time when I got a look at him.
Good God.
The makeup artist made him even more overly tanned. He looked like leather. And, what’s worse, she’d used too much highlighter under his eyes which gave him a crazed look.
I was sure the expensive cameras that the newspeople and vloggers carried would also pick up on the way the makeup was settling into the creases of the senator’s wrinkles, which only made him look older.
“Big crowd, right?” Michael asked, pulling off his paper bib before I could suggest the makeup artist run a wipe over his face before he headed out there.
“It’s what the team was expecting,” I told him. It wasn’t a lie. Even if he took that to mean he was going to get some sort of presidential reception.
The senator gathered his cards that he slipped into his pants pocket, so he could discreetly put them on the podium as he waved and charmed the cameras.
I followed him out, but stayed in the doorway of the locker room, not wanting to be accused of trying to pull focus away from him as he smiled his too-white grin and waved the hand that had the Rolex. Like he wasn’t supposed to be running a campaign of caring about the common man. You know, the kind who would never be able to afford a watch like that despite working sixty-hour weeks. While he worked a few days a week and spent the rest of his time wining and dining his donors and screwing his mistress.
I reached toward my shoulder, wanting to grab my phone so I could text him in case he stumbled. He kept his cell on the podium next to his notes just for that reason.
But my shoulder was empty.
My vision flashed back to arriving and needing to put my bag down on one of the benches to fetch the mouthwash strips I kept in my purse for the senator since he’d clearly had a drink or two in the office already that morning.
I must not have picked it back up when I’d rushed out to fix the chair situation.
I could literally live out of the damn thing, keeping it stocked with protein bars, a small bottle of water, mints, deodorant, makeup, wet wipes, medicine, bandaids, hair ties, a stain stick, lip balm, eye drops, money, a power bank, my tablet, and a notebook, even a change of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag in there in case of a catastrophic wardrobe malfunction, or a sudden event that I wasn’t properly dressed for.
Feeling naked without it, I turned back into the locker room while Michael still waited for everyone to take their seats and calm down, knowing I had a minute before he could possibly need me.