"For now, I just want my girl back. Once she’s where she belongs, everything else will fall into place. We can plan a future then, one without Giorgia Fognini breathing down my neck."
"She’s definitely enjoying the view of you squirming," Vanessa teased, invading my personal space to pick up the phone and order two coffees. "But what about Megan in all of this? How is she holding up with the pressure?"
"She’s still wonderful. My job is to convince that cluster of idiots who are still on the fence that they’re the lucky ones just to breathe the same air as a judge of her caliber," I said, my voice softening for a fraction of a second. "She wins everyone over, Vanessa. It’s inevitable."
"You’re hopelessly in love," Vanessa concluded with a definitive smirk. I responded with a sharp middle finger, which she ignored as she leaned into my desk. "Changing the subject drastically, your CFO is restless. We’ve been using the 'system instability' excuse to swap out the accounts payable software, but he’s starting to ask too many questions."
"Let him have a heart attack for all I care. It would save us a lot of paperwork," I countered, my mind already moving to the next move. "And as for your sister... honestly, she deserves a kick in the teeth, but the funding she’s pulling from the ESG branch is justified. Her proposals are bold, even by my standards."
"Being an environmental activist is a profitable hobby for her," Vanessa agreed, glancing at the project files. "I actually liked the initiative on ballast water treatment and the coral reef restoration. It’s good for the company’s new image."
"It’ll be excellent, Pumpkin. Beyond excellent. It’s the perfect shroud of legitimacy for our arrival in D.C."
#58
"Call it good, call it karma, I don't know how I got ya, but all I know is I'm all in now” Zolita
Four months left until her inauguration. Six months since a "chance" encounter in a parking lot ended with us tangled in the back seat of my Porsche.
She is my addiction, and like any addict in need of a fix, I found myself on a private jet heading toward D.C. My official mission was to finalize the transfer of my empire, but my true purpose was to find her under the shifting glows of the National Gallery’s light show.
I was on edge. My legs shook with a frantic, restless energy because I was finally, finally, closing the distance. I wanted to reconnect before she was officially lost to the solemnity of the Supreme Court.
Was it selfish? Absolutely. But I’ve always been willing to be selfish when it comes to her.
I performed the corporate rituals with clinical precision as when I cut the ribbon at the company’s new headquarters, toasted with investors who saw dollar signs where I saw a homecoming, and let seasoned politicians bend my ear for hours.
They didn’t have a fraction of my true attention. My focus was absolute, and it was pointed directly at her.
When night finally fell, I navigated the museum gardens until my heart skipped a beat. I found her standing there, a vision in a long, chocolate-brown dress that cinched her waist and left the elegant curve of her shoulders exposed to the cool evening air.
I approached her without a word, sliding a glass of sparkling wine into her hand.
"I thought it would take me longer to find out your company was relocating to D.C.," she said, her gaze undressing me with a familiar, searing intensity.
"I wanted to surprise you," I replied, my voice low. "Even though I know how much you claim to hate surprises."
She bit her lower lip, a habit that still made my blood simmer, before raising her glass in a silent toast and taking a sip of the golden liquid.
"I missed you," she whispered.
"Me too, Kitty."
#59
"Nosso amor é coringa, eu quero tua ginga pra te conquistar. Se me vê indo embora, me agarra lá fora, eu posso ficar." Jão
With my hand gripping the cold marble railing of the Capitol, I descended the stairs. Donald was waiting at the bottom, his blond hair catching the light as he glanced up from his phone. The moment he saw me, he pocketed the device and extended his hand—the perfect image of the supportive, devoted husband.
Today marked exactly eighteen months since our wedding. But the calendar of our marriage and the calendar of my heart followed two different timelines. It hadn't been eighteen months since I’d felt Kelsey’s touch; instead, our history had been written in the stolen minutes of event bathrooms, the shadowed backseats of parking lots, and the quiet corners of museums. Random encounters that were anything but random.
Being away from her was a slow ache; being close to her was, at times, a beautiful torture.
I sat before the full Senate, the weight of the Supreme Court confirmation hearing settling on my shoulders. My opening statement had been surgical, brief, poised, and focused on my suitability and my decades of service to the republic. I had twenty minutes to define myself before they began to tear me apart.
I was prepared for the four-day gauntlet. I had conditioned my body at the gym to withstand the physical toll of standing under those lights, and I had rehearsed every possible line of questioning until the answers were part of my DNA.
Kelsey had spoiled me from the shadows. She was the silent engine behind my endurance, sending gourmet snacks when Vanessa and I pulled all-nighters, flowers when my spirit wavered, and even a private chef on the nights the rest of the team was too busy rehearsing speeches to eat.
