Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(54)

“No,” he says. “I’ve missed talking with you and hanging out with you. I know I’ve been flighty lately, but I’m just drowning over here. I’m getting super homesick, though. Wait for this—I even miss your truck.”

“That seems impossible, but I will let her know you’ve been thinking about her. I think I finally saved up enough to get the shocks fixed for you. Once you’re back it won’t be quite as bad.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he lies. I appreciate the gesture. “So we can keep talking? Unless you want to go to bed?”

“Never,” I say. “You’re worth the lack of sleep, Reesey.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

SAL

If you asked me where I’d be six weeks into my internship, I’m not sure even I could clock the fact that I’d be helping manage a black-tie event at the W Hotel. I’m fully suited up with my black silk bow tie on, and I feel good.

After this event, Senator Wright leaves DC for the next week. It’s the week leading up to Independence Day, and the senate is officially out of session. Which means, as soon as I get through this last fifteen-hour workday, I can finally sleep.

I’m no less stressed right now, though. Because this is a solo event. Meghan is back at the Decatur House for a VIP cocktail reception between a few senior senators, the vice president, and other high-profile Democrats. Wright should be leaving that event any minute now to head here, and I have to make sure everything’s ready for him.

“Excuse me,” I say, flagging down a catering staff person with a clipboard. “Can you confirm the gluten-free meal for Senator Wright, table two?”

He flips through a couple of pages on the clipboard. “I don’t see any gluten-free meals here.”

“Can one be added?” I ask, panic creeping into my voice. I’ve already been dinged once for screwing this up, and I can’t let that happen again.

He hesitates. “I don’t know. You’ll need to talk to the event manager, Brittany. We’re not supposed to make any changes unless they come from her.”

“Do you know where she’s at?”

“I’m sure she’s in the back somewhere.” He takes a step away from me. “Sorry, we’ve got to finish getting the place settings ready before doors open.”

He walks away, and I pace the room, looking for Brittany—who I’ve only met once. She has a habit of disappearing during events, I remember Meghan saying. I shoot off a quick text to her.

Brittany disappeared, help! I type, adding four siren emojis to get the point across.

She responds immediately: Kitchen. Loading dock. Smoker.

I dash back into the kitchen, even if I’m not fully sure I’m allowed to, and head back through the steel door. Brittany sits on a bench smoking with some of the catering staff, seemingly unaware that their event opens in two minutes.

“Brittany!” I say. “Hi—I’m with Senator Wright. Need a gluten-free meal. I called to confirm yesterday, but the caterers don’t have any record of that. Can you help?”

“Oh, right! Is Meghan coming? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Yeah, later,” I say, trying not to be too short with her. But I can’t screw this up again. “Can you get a gluten-free meal ready for the senator? He should be here in fifteen.”

She looks at her watch. “Oh wow, doors should be opening soon. Yeah, I’ll get him a meal, sorry about that.”

“Totally fine, thanks,” I say, then turn to head back into the event when she calls out to me.

“We had to tweak the seating chart, by the way. Wright’s at table three now.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. “I should confirm with Meghan. Let me give her a call.”

While Brittany and I walk through the kitchen and back into the event, I text Meghan and call her twice, but the calls go straight to voice mail. Brittany hands the seating chart to me, and the names of the lobbyists all blur in my mind.

“It’s mostly the same group as what Meghan approved last week, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine. As long as you can get the gluten-free meal there?”

Guests start to arrive as I walk back into the event, and I get caught up in the wonder of it all. Elegant dresses with pearl necklaces, sleek tuxes and gold watches. Light piano music pours into the welcome hall as guests grab crystal glasses of bubbly.

Since the senator’s going to be late anyway, I take my time touring the space. DC architecture feels so ancient and stately, and I can’t imagine there’s anything like it in the world. I feel so at home here—not only at events like this but when I’m walking the diagonal streets, passing embassies and government buildings, riding the metro, walking the halls of Capitol Hill.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Meghan and Pasquale rush into the building. I sprint toward them.

“Meghan!” I say, “I had a question about—”

“Phone died,” she says, cutting me off. “Need to find a place to charge. Take Pasquale and Wright to their table.”

Meghan leaves me in the presence of the senator and his chief of staff. Heat creeps up on my cheeks, and I feel a little unprepared.

“Right, okay. This way.” I pull back my shoulders and walk them into the space. “How was your other event?”