A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(17)

But a staff member who needed a $50 bill would sometimes let me use their phone for fifteen minutes. That’s how I saw the video. I spent every penny of my discretionary money on bribes for access to unfiltered Internet.

And then there was the staffer who taught me about the dark net. The untracked underbelly of the shadow Internet, where nobody can see what you are doing or monitor your searches.

“Well,” she chuckles, “this year it’s a little different, dear. Your father’s campaign won’t be anything like it was four years ago.”

Ouch. See?





Chapter 14





“Right.” I don’t know what else to say. I take in a shaky breath and let out an even shakier one.

“Has he had a meeting with you yet?” All the gushy, over-the-top love is gone. Mom is back to being a senator’s wife. Cunning, sharp, and on top of every detail in support of her powerful man.

“Tomorrow. We’re having a breakfast meeting.”

“I see.” Oooo, that means she’s not pleased. “I’m surprised he’s waiting that long.”

My neck starts to tighten. A sharp pain between my eyes feels like someone’s pierced me with an ice pick. I know from stress reduction sessions with therapists that this is just a stress response. It’s a reaction. I can control this. I can’t change my mother, or take away her words, but I can change me.

“I hope everything heals fast, Mom. When can I expect to see you? Can’t wait.”

She sounds surprised as she says, “Tomorrow, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss that meeting for the world, dear.”

Click.

“I love you, too, Mom,” I mumble into the phone, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Someone snorts. I pivot, realizing I forgot that Connie was still in the kitchen with me.

Uh oh.

“That was my mother.”

“I gathered.”

“She’s excited I’m home.”

“Any good mother would be.”

Oh. This is getting interesting.

“And she’s going to see me tomorrow morning when I meet with my dad.” Why am I babbling? Why am I telling a stranger any of this? I feel like my body has suddenly become thousands of long strands of thin ribbon, and a strong hurricane is on its way, the edges whipping through my ribbons and sending me in every direction.

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts. Connie turns toward the sound, too. Drew walks in, showered and changed, wearing a dark suit, that maddening ear piece, and a blank look on his face that makes me want to scream.

My whole body rushes, like a wave crashing on the shore, and I’m left with hundreds of emotions all twitching and pinging, like starfish trapped on the sand.

“The breakfast meeting?” he asks, reaching for an apple from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen island. He takes a bite and chews, looking at me with eyes that give away no hint of emotion.

“Does everyone know about the breakfast meeting? Is the gardener invited, too?” I snap.

“It’s an important meeting.”

“It’s just Daddy gearing up for another campaign. I know the drill. This is his third one. I’ve practically memorized how it goes.”

Connie and Drew share a weird look I don’t understand.

“This one will be different, Lindsay,” he declares. Connie chooses this moment to go out of the room, mumbling something about ordering more wine.

“Really? Is he going to lose this time? Or you mean because he has to deal with the terrible tatters of his daughter’s slutty reputation from four years ago.”

He nearly chokes on his bite of apple.

Hah. Emotion. Gotcha.

Drew recovers quickly, eyes narrowing, as he asks, “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“What should I mean?” I’m not giving one inch here. I know they all know a lot that I don’t know, and they’re working very hard to hide so many details from me. Why?

Drew moves so swiftly it’s like I lost three seconds of my life, because now his hand is on my elbow and he’s leaning so close to me I can smell his soap. It’s lime and clove, with an undertone of musk that makes me shiver.

I inhale deeply. I let him keep his hand on my elbow.

“I am here for you, Lindsay. I’m not just a hired gun whose company is your security detail. You really don’t understand what you’ve come home to. The truth will unfold over the next few days and weeks. I’m not the one to tell you most of those truths, but I have a feeling I’ll be the one who helps pick up the pieces from the destruction those truths will cause.”

His voice is intense and low. He’s not angry, though. Resigned, actually. He sounds like a man who knows something bad is about to happen and has no power to stop it.

“What do you mean?” I ask, turning to catch his eye. Our faces are inches apart. I can smell coffee and apple as he breathes. I wonder if his lips are as sweet and tasty as they used to be.

Stop it! Stop thinking about him like that! a voice screams inside me.

The confetti in my mind whirls up into a cyclone of pain. Panic bubbles up. He’s touching me, and I’m breathing hard, and while some of that is anxiety, way too much of it comes from need.

“Like I said—I’m not the one to tell you the truth. That’s not my role.”