A look of scorn twisted Ben’s face. “What adick, that guy. You were good, is what I came out here to say. Really good. I wouldn’t be surprised if McBuck starts getting emails from Mendax employees. Or if you do.” He dropped his eyes to his feet and tucked his hair behind his ears. “You used to want to be a politician, remember? Texas, then DC. The first person to ride a climate platform into the White House.” He’d worn his glasses tonight, so when he looked up at me through them, his lashes brushed the lenses. “I just wanted to say...maybe you should revisit that idea. I think you could do it.”
I smiled gently. “Ben, you and I both know I’ve done far too many drugs to ever hold office.”
He grimaced. “I don’t think that matters anymore.”
“Well, thesex tapes,” I started, then saw the way his eyes narrowed and quickly changed the subject. “Yeah. My old dream. I think working at Lise and doing things like this campaign might be the closest I get. But I do appreciate the vote of confidence.”
Ben looked out over the parking lot. It was a dark, cold night, the kind most people preferred to spend at home. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Okay, well. Guess I’ll see you.” He turned to leave.
“Ben?” My mouth moved before my brain caught up with it. He turned around, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and my heart pounded.
“I hate that what happened after the wine festival caused this rift between us.”
He shook his head. “Me, too. Sorry. I just needed space to think. And I realized you were right. What happened was just a mistake. We don’t have to let it get in the way of the campaign. We can forget it happened, stick to being friends.”
“Perfect,” I said, trying to push away the strange pain in my heart. “That’s exactly what I want.”
He turned the full force of his blue eyes on me. It was like he could see right through me, the look was so intense. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Stoner. You’re lying.”
I—What?I must’ve just had an inconveniently timed acid flashback from all my experimentation in college, and invented Ben’s words. “No, I’m not—”
“Well, well, well,” cut in a slimy, self-satisfied voice. “If it isn’t the two climate crusaders.”
My body went rigid. I knew that voice. I’d listened to it in countless news clips. Samuel Slittery’s voice was as greasy as the oil he peddled.
Slittery slunk out of the dark. He wore his signature boxy, ill-fitting, ten-thousand-dollar suit and rattlesnake cowboy boots. Each footstep made an ominous crunch on the gravel.
“Quite a performance back there.” He tipped an imaginary hat to me. “Don’t think it’s going to get you very far, though.”
“I didn’t know the CEO of Mendax Oil made appearances at employee town halls,” I said. “From what we heard in there, it doesn’t sound like employee needs and concerns are a priority.”
Slittery smiled pleasantly. That was the thing about him. He looked like every other genial, white-haired grandpa in the world. When, in reality, he was pure evil. “All you ladies at Lise are so opinionated. You could use a lesson in decorum, I think. Learn when to shut up and smile pretty. Take that as a compliment, by the way—that smile’s the best thing you’ve got going for you.”
That line—learn when to shut up and smile—was what so many of those internet troll groups said about Dakota whenever she made the news for complaining about sexism in the tech industry. I narrowed my eyes.
“Hello, you tired, sexist dinosaur.” Ben matched Slittery’s deceptively pleasant tone. “What do you want?”
“Shame the governor brought in a radical leftist to ruin his administration. Remember this is Texas, boy. We don’t do things like California, and we’re damn proud of it.”
Ben made a “get to the point” gesture with his hands.
“We’ll do things better than California when we pass the country’s most sweeping clean energy bill,” I couldn’t help saying.
Slittery’s eyes glittered with triumph. “Sorry to burst your bubble, dear. You can hunt after my employees’ support all you want, but it won’t matter. They’re powerless. While you’ve been touring the state handing out pamphlets, I’ve been making a series of very generous donations to Senators Janus, Wayne and McBuck. Coincidentally, the three outstanding votes I need to kill the Green Machine.”
My stomach dropped into the gravel.
“And I’ve just learned I can count on their votes. Funny enough—” now a spiteful smile curved his lips “—a few House Democrats have seen the light, as well. Money has a strange way of talking over everyone else in the room, wouldn’t you say? Greatest power there is.”
“That’s impossible,” Ben insisted. “We secured Janus and Wayne weeks ago. And the House is solid.”
It was sweet that Ben was in denial. I wasn’t. Texas politics had let me down far too many times before. I understood immediately that it had happened again. The votes had fallen through. The most money had won. Of course.
The air pressure suddenly dialed up in the parking lot. There was a strange ringing in my ears.
“Ask them yourselves,” Slittery said. “And can I be a fly on the wall for those calls? That would be fun.” He sucked in a deep, satisfied breath and turned on one rattlesnake heel. “This was fun, too. I was going to break the news at the Governor’s Ball next weekend, but I’m glad I didn’t wait.”
He pointed his finger at me like it was a gun, then blew the tip. “Rest in peace, Ms. Stone. Your bill’s officially dead.”
