The Billionaire's Temporary Bride (Scandal, Inc #3)(21)
In a few short weeks, she had been to more gallery openings, charity auctions and dinner parties than she had been to in her entire life. Her time with Jack had blurred together into one long string of handshakes and small talk. He was a rising star in DC, and everyone wanted a chance to gain influence with him while they had the chance. He'd smile and nod and duck away at the soonest opportunity. They'd inevitably follow.
For the first time in her life, Charlotte had acquaintances, not that she could remember any of their names. She had a social calendar. She wore a curated set of designer dresses. When she googled her name, image results came up. She was featured on fashion blogs. She, Charlotte Crowley, the woman who had been handed a credit card and all but told she needed to buy a new wardrobe, now had fans. It was all surreal.
Everyone everywhere believed the story. A not-so-small part of her wanted to believe it, too. On the occasions when she found herself believing it, she felt like she was living in a fairy tale. Over the past few weeks, she and Jack had told the fake story of their love so many times it was hard to remember that it was all a fabrication only barely based on facts.
That she and Jack met and fell in love while helping plan their friends' wedding was the official story. Things had been fun and flirty at first, and Charlotte didn't know who Jack was. That was close enough to the truth, but then the story of their courtship over the months preceding the wedding — the phone calls back and forth, the excuses to see each other — all of it was made up, building a ramp to the point where Jack could propose in time for election season. It had been two and a half weeks since her first date with Jack, a little over a month since she had agreed to go along with the marriage contract at Callie's wedding, and yet people believed that she and Jack had been together several months.
Then there was Jack. Charlotte didn't know what to think about him. He was wonderful and terrible, and he was a mystery. It was impossible to tell whether he liked her or hated her. They had fallen into a routine. She'd make an excuse for why he couldn't come see her at her apartment, and she'd meet him at his house. They'd go out, and for a few hours, they'd pretend they really were a couple. They'd sneak kisses and flirt with each other. They had inside jokes. They developed a kind of shorthand for talking to each other without letting anyone else know what was going on. It was dizzying. It was wonderful. And it was a lie.
Charlotte had to remind herself every time she started getting caught up in the moment. None of it was real. It was an act, and she and Jack were so convincing that she was starting to fool herself. He was especially good at it. Sure, she played along, but when they were out, he seemed intent on making her believe that they had something, that he had feelings for her. They'd be working opposite sides of a cocktail party, and she'd catch him, looking at her in one of those long, wistful across-the-room stares. As soon as he saw she was looking, he'd turn away again, and Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if the look in his eyes was genuine or if he was just amusing himself by toying with her.
More and more, however, he seemed to rely on her. One night, at a fundraiser for an international relief non-profit, Jack stopped mid-sentence and grabbed Charlotte's arm.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
Charlotte looked around quickly and tried to figure out what was going on. Waiters in black vests and heavily starched shirts walked around the room with trays of hors d'oeuvres. The men and women Charlotte had gotten so used to fooling carried on with their conversations. Nothing, save for Jack's "comment, seemed out of place.
"What?" Charlotte asked. "Is something wrong?"
"More like someone wrong," Jack replied. He nodded across the room at a tall, broad man with red, white and blue suspenders, a graying beard and a beer gut. "That's Greg Lapierre, an old opponent of my father's. His supporters call him Big Greg, and he's a long way from home. He's one of my two primary opponents, the one who's been calling me a playboy and a trust fund baby since day one. He would do anything to keep me from winning."
"That's the big-bad opponent who has you so worried? Jack, he looks like a teddy bear. No offense, but I expected someone a little more intense. He looks like the guy my father gets into arguments with at town meetings."
"For your information he's been a Republican and a Democrat and everything in between in his quest for power. Nothing's ever stuck, but he's tried every trick in the book along the way. He's as dirty as they come, and he'll do whatever it takes to undermine my campaign, and he saw me as soon as he walked in. He'll be itching to corner me, I just know it. Let's deal with this as quickly as possible. I'm going to go over and find out why he's here. Can you come over in a minute and tell me I have somewhere to be?"
"Of course," Charlotte said. She watched Jack cross the room and started counting to sixty in her head. She could see the look of annoyance on Jack's face as she approached the two men. Though he was smiling, Charlotte could tell he wanted to wring Greg's thick neck. She couldn't help but overhear them mid-conversation.
"Same thing you're doing, I suppose," Greg said. "I'm locking up support and donors for after I win the primary. There are some real heavyweights here tonight. You didn't think you'd have this crowd all to yourself, did you? Even these Washington types know how to bet on a winner. Speaking of Washington types, at some point you'll have to introduce me to that pretty girl of yours. I've heard you two are making quite the splash in your social scene."