And sure enough, just like Ely predicted, Senator Wayne had been swayed by the public plea. I’d gotten my yes. Ben and I were tied now, neck and neck. There was only one more vote to win.
I tried to meet Ben’s eyes from across the room. He’d shown up in a conservative suit today, all boring navy with a red tie, Politics 101, with a depression beard and wan skin, dark circles under his eyes. As soon as he sensed me looking, he cast his gaze to the carpet. It was a swirling, paisley affair, one of those patterns only men think are attractive, so I figured it would occupy him for a while. I stifled a sigh.
The instant we’d woken up, tangled in Ely’s guest bed, Ben had leaped out of it like it was on fire, apologizing profusely in between muttering, “Shit, shit, shit, youidiot,” like a broken record.
I’d worked very hard in that moment tonotfeel offended that Ben was reacting to sleeping next to me the same way he might receive a herpes diagnosis. I reminded myself it hadn’t beenmyidea for him to fall asleep or wrap his arm around me, and that, in fact, I had remained as rigid as one of those metallic-painted street performers out of sheer strength of character all night. Which honestly should earn me a pat on the back.
But Ben had barely spoken to me during the ride to town in Ely’s tow truck, which was a feat, considering we’d been mashed up against one another. And then he’d continued the silent treatment as we waited for the Prius to get repaired, and then on the long ride back to Austin. The last time I’d endured that much quiet was when Mac got super into meditation and dragged us to a silent yoga retreat in the middle of Hill Country. Riding in Ben’s passenger seat, staring morosely out the window, I got trauma flashbacks of the gruel they’d served us for breakfast—“millet and bulgur oatmeal,” they’d called it—and the night I’d snorted what turned out to be dandelion root powder meant to be put in our smoothies, thinking Mac had come to her senses and was ready to ditch the yoga for a party.
Well, it had been a week since Ely’s, and we now had a verified victory under our belt. But Ben was still being awkward. Great.
“I have to agree it was a stroke of genius.” Wendy gave me a grudging nod of respect. “This campaign is coming along faster than I expected.” She looked at Ben. “You two make a good team.”
Ben straightened in his leather wingback chair, which matched the governor’s. “This one was all Lee. She figured out the strategy and made it happen. Honestly, I was just along for the ride.” His eyes flicked to mine with a quick smile. Then he looked away.
“Well.” Governor Mane slapped his thighs. “You two really are the Dream Team.”
“Problem is,” Wendy said, crossing her legs, “we’ve saved the hardest one for last.”
“Senator Roy McBuck.” Dakota said the name like it tasted sour.
“The thing about persuading McBuck,” said the governor, “is you’re really doing battle with Mendax Oil.”
Wendy shivered. “Samuel Slittery. Bane of our existence.”
Samuel Slittery was the CEO of Mendax Oil, which was beginning to rival Exxon for output and profits. There was no low-down trick in the book Slittery wouldn’t try to protect his power. He was a full-fledged climate change denier, and even refused to acknowledge that years of oil drilling had made any impact on the environment whatsoever. He was anti regulations, anti EPA and, most of all, anti electric vehicles.
We suspected he was secretly behind a number of social media groups that existed for the sole purpose of tearing down Lise Motors—and specifically, Dakota. Why they didn’t go after Tesla with the same fervor didn’t take much guesswork, since much of their hate centered around the fact that Dakota was a woman. Some of the things they said about her were downright disgusting. They’d even gone after Dakota’s husband, George, who was a sweet stay-at-home dad, and her two elementary-aged kids.
All in all, Slittery and his goons were slime. Unfortunately, they were rich slime; slime whose manufacturing center was located in Hudson County, in McBuck’s district. That meant a huge chunk of McBuck’s constituents worked for Mendax Oil, and wouldn’t want to support any bill that undermined Mendax’s profits and threatened their jobs.
It was going to be an uphill battle. I honestly didn’t know where to start.
“Slittery’s a hard one,” the governor agreed. “Hell, I accepted campaign donations from him when I was running for office.” He must have seen the look on my face, because he tsked. “Now, now, Lee. I know you’re a purist. But he was offering a lot of money.” He gestured around the room. “And look at me now, pushing the Green Machine. It’s not like his money determined my behavior.”
“I’ll give you that,” I said grudgingly.
Wendy stood. “I hate to interrupt, but will you point me in the direction of the restroom?”
Dakota leaped up. “I’ll show you. It’s down the hall and tucked into this little corner near the butler’s pantry. It’s kind of hidden—took me forever to find it.”
Ben and I lifted our eyebrows at each other, awkwardness temporarily forgotten. How did Dakota know how to find the bathroom in the governor’s house? As far as I knew, this was the first time any of us had been to the Governor’s Mansion, a historic, white-columned home just a stone’s throw from the capitol. I suppose she could’ve come here for a social thing I’d somehow missed. But we’d done a deep dive on each of our political connections when we were planning the Green Machine campaign, and she’d never mentioned a friendship with the governor. I thought we’d all met him at the same time.
I added the strangely intimate gesture to my list of weird things about her. It’s not like I tracked Dakota’s whereabouts or obsessed over her daily moods or anything, but I’d noticed she’d been hard to read lately: largely absent, though that was probably because she was spending most of her days in the lab perfecting the Herschel motor before it went into mass production. When she was around, she seemed distracted and out of sorts. Today, her normal polish was gone, replaced by frizzy hair pulled back into a low bun and thick-framed blue-light glasses that didn’t mask her tired, red-rimmed eyes.
Ben gave me a shrug to say he didn’t get it, either.
The governor settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Unfortunately, Benny boy, you’re not McBuck’s favorite person right now.”
Ben nodded sheepishly. “I know.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“He hates me for suggesting his constituents get paid a living wage,” Ben said dryly.
Governor Mane waved a hand. “I’ve got Ben working on a bill to get the restaurant industry to raise minimum wages. What they pay people is criminal. Fast food’s fighting us tooth and nail, of course. And McBuck’s close friends with the CEO of Taco Muy Rico.”
“Let me guess,” I said, meeting Ben’s gaze. “They have an army of powerful lobbyists.”
