Page 4 of The Senator's Secret

My work life may be neat and orderly, but my home life could easily be called chaotic. I like to think it’s how I balance the halves of me.

When I finally locate the bottle I was looking for in between the old takeout containers and instant breakfast egg cups, I pluck it from its hiding spot and pour it into my waiting mug. I toss the bottle back into the fridge and look over my shoulder when a hear another “Meow.” All of the cats but one have scattered, leaving just my judgy shadow behind.

“I can figure it out,” I tell him. “I don’t need the sexy senator to help me get this project off the ground.” Spot just sits there, silently disagreeing with me.

I pick up my cup and make my way to the corner of my small living room where my desk sits. I just know that all of my efforts last night will pay off. I am almost completely sure I convinced those power players who were still on the fence to give me their support—with or without the damn dimples and the jerk who owns them. I sit down in my chair and reach for the slim white mouse. I shake it a bit to wake up my computer and log in to my email. And find disappointment.

I let out a heavy sigh and lean back in my chair. I sip my now cool coffee while letting my eyes track over the words I don’t want to read. I have to convince them that we do not need Jacob Chancellor. And we don’t, right? But there’s a part of me that whispers I’m not being fair. That my refusing to work with him is nothing but selfishness and my own irresponsibility.

I can’t solve the world’s problems like this, so I push back from my desk and make my way down the hall to my bedroom. I brush my teeth while I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, another clear indicator I’m not doing the right thing, and I hate that. I don’t want to be this person, and I’m not going to be that person who blames someone else for their lack of moral character. This is clearly my own character flaw.

I brush my hair out and twist it up into a messy bun. I toss my pajamas onto my bed as I make my way to my closet and pull on my favorite pair of well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I pull my favorite NYU crew neck sweatshirt over my head. It’s navy-blue with big light-blue block letters stitched to the front. I slide my feet into a pair of red canvas Toms and head for the door.

I grab my black Michael Kors tote and am rooting around in its deep depths for my keys when I hear my cell phone ring. I race back to the kitchen, pick it up off the counter, and slide my finger across the cool glass screen.

“Hello?”

“Just checking that we’re on for dinner tonight,” Jules, my college roommate, says when I answer.

“Of course,” I reply. We always meet for dinner every other Saturday.

“Excellent!” she cheers. “I want to go to Clear.”

I let out a groan. “I was hoping we could go to The High Dive and maybe grab a burger,” I admit. While I do love the finer things in life, after all the prep of hairspray, tape, and wallpaper spackle that charity galas like last night’s event require, I don’t exactly feel like putting in the effort to meet the dress code of one of New York’s most elite fine dining restaurants. Unfortunately, Jules loves everything about it. And why wouldn’t she? She was bred for this kind of life. I am pretty sure she came out of the womb wearing pearls and heels.

“What?” she gasps. “You love Clear.” And I do. I just want something a little different.

“I do,” I say hesitantly. I love Jules, and she loves to get dressed up. She would only show up to my favorite hole in the wall place in Dior anyway. “The usual time?”

“Yes! See you there!” She hangs up before I can say anything else, and a quick look at the clock on the microwave tells me I need to hustle to get to the animal shelter if I’m going to make it back home in time to change for our dinner reservation Jules is undoubtedly on the phone making right now.

I toss my phone in my bag and hear the telltale clank of it hitting my keys. I say a silent thanks to the lost keys fairy for helping me when I’m running behind and pull them out. I race out the door and lock it behind me before walking down the hall to the elevator. The doors open on a ding right as I push the call button. This is clearly going to be my day!

I step off of the elevator and make my way through the lobby, wondering if I can make it to the station that is a few blocks away in time to make the train. I walk with a purpose, as my dad always says, and manage to make it through the turnstiles and to the track just in time to hop on the right train. I almost think I should buy a lottery ticket if this is how the rest of my day is going to go.

I step off the train at my stop and climb the stairs to the street level before making my way down the street to the animal shelter. I first found this shelter when I began volunteering with Purple Paws, an organization that takes dogs from shelters and trains them to pair with veterans in need of service dogs from PTSD to helper aids. When I was approached with the idea of an organization that takes two wounded souls and bonds them together for the greater good. I was hooked from day one. And then I met the lovely people who run this animal shelter when they aren’t working for the vet clinic to the upper echelon of New York.

I push through the door with a lot of heavy thoughts swirling through my brain. Winks has been on my mind lately. A sweet-natured gray cat with a big, soulful green eye. The second was lost when someone used him as bait in a dog fight. Winks must have gotten away, but he was still pretty banged up when someone found him before bringing him here.

Stacy was going to check on him. The vets at the animal hospital say he’s going to make it, but the animal shelter isn’t so sure someone will adopt a one-eyed cat with a lot of emotional baggage. They’ve been hinting for a while now that when he is well enough to come home, it should be with me. And while I haven’t admitted it out loud yet, I’m beginning to think they’re right. I just haven’t wanted to call him mine yet in case he made a turn for the worse. The wound from losing Pepper is still too raw and losing another furry friend so soon would cut deep. But the truth is, I’m already attached. Winks is mine and we all know it.

“Hey, Grace,” Jamie, the girl working the front desk calls out. “Here to check on your boy or visit all the rest?”

“I’m here to check on my boy,” I say, giving her a knowing look that she just laughs at. “How is he doing anyway?”

“Great,” Stacy replies as she walks from the back. “He’s going to be just fine and should be able to go home in a few days.”

“That’s fantastic news,” I tell her.

“I thought you’d be happy about that one,” she says. “So, are you finally going to admit you’re adding him to the pack at your place?”

“Yes,” I drawl. “Winks is mine and you all knew it, and so did I.”

“Good,” she says on a small smile. “He’ll be right where he belongs.”

I wave to her as she makes her way out of the building before I head on back to see Winks. He perks up when he sees me come into the back room, and I go right to his kennel. I pop the door open, and he stands up on shaky legs.

“Merow.”