"And you never told anyone? Not even me?" he asked, looking surprised.
"I thought people would think I was being a snob, bragging about 'helping' people," I admitted. I glanced at my watch and noticed him doing the same. "Don, honestly, what does the party expect of me? Give it to me straight."
"They expect you to clear the names of two senators accused of money laundering, help an NGO[3]that’s locked in a battle with Republicans over an oil tanker, and reach a consensus with the local mafias," he stated bluntly. "That’s the baseline. But the legal recess is coming up. You can start in the first week of the year and just spend your time reading, or you can take advantage of this break." He adjusted the collar of his suit and finished his tea. "Are you staying in town?"
"No. I was planning to go back to New York, but I’ve decided on Amsterdam instead," I shared. "From there, I’ll coordinate with an interior design firm via video. I want everything ready by the time I return."
"Go enjoy yourself," Donald said with a wink and a bright smile, the winter chill making his freckles stand out even more. "Has Peter been looking for you lately?"
"Yes... He’s planning to run for office," I admitted. "He’s been desperate to talk, claiming he wants to get back together."
"And you’re obviously not on board with that," he noted. "Why can’t he just accept his new family and move on?"
"I think he genuinely enjoys making my life miserable," I replied with a heavy sigh. He nodded in somber agreement. "I’ve been weighing my options, but I don't see many paths forward."
"Did you send your lawyer to handle him?" he asked.
"He’s insisting on talking to me directly now," I explained. "I’m considering meeting him. It feels like one of those situations where, if I want it resolved once and for all, I have to be the one to do it."
"In that case, you’ll need rock-solid alternatives and counterarguments," Donald warned. "The optics for a divorced judge aren't great when it comes to a Supreme Court seat."
"And how do you know I’m even gunning for that seat?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.
He slapped a hand on the table, quickly swallowing his piece of candy. "Knowing you—and unless you’ve undergone a total personality transplant, which I doubt—you would never get this deeply involved with the party if that seat wasn't the ultimate goal," he countered. I let out a long breath, and his expression turned grave. "Megs, an image team is a good start. Consulting helps. But what will truly work is paying him to disappear."
"But I already paid him off!" I snapped. "And it wasn't cheap."
"If you paid him once, you've already set a precedent," Donald observed coldly. He checked his watch again. "You have more to lose, but you also have more to bet. Think like he does. Now, I really have to run. Are you heading to Amsterdam alone?"
"No," I replied, a small, private smile touching my lips. "I'm meeting someone there."
"Keep it discreet. That’s what will help you when you finally corner Peter," Donald advised with a wink, dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the table. "Have fun."
I watched him go, thinking that after this divorce, even a full week in the wildest Dutch nightclubs wouldn't be enough to wash away the stress. I felt his hand brush gently against my shoulder, a brief, grounding touch. I patted his hand lightly and smiled. He returned the gesture before disappearing through the doors of the tea room.
While the taxi wove through D.C. traffic toward my hotel, I managed to schedule three remote consultations with interior designers from different firms. I pulled up my to-do list, tapping in a series of urgent tasks: furnish the loft, equip the kitchen, organize the library with the books left at the old house. I needed it all done with clinical speed.
"Sarki, I’m sending you the broker’s details and a list of what I need handled," I texted my friend. "Get it done as soon as humanly possible. I originally thought I’d be back by the first week of January, but at this point, I have no idea if I’ll even set foot in the States again before February."
#30
"A little party never hurt no one. That's why it's alright. You want in, but you just can't win, so you hang in the lights" - Lana Del Rey
Three joints in a hidden bar in Amsterdam should have made me think of anything other than Megan sitting on my face, or the kisses I was dying to give her.
It was undeniable that something was wrong with my head; I had never been able to go this long without jumping into someone else's bed. And then there was Giorgia, breathing down my neck about an investigation that was going to cost me a fortune to pull off.
“Can I help you?” asked a blonde, petite woman with a smile that would ruin any marriage if allowed a little more contact. Only, for some reason, I was immune to these charms.
“Not today, dear,” I replied. A curious thing about the more underground bars in Amsterdam is that someone will always, absolutely always, offer you sex if you're alone.
“But do you have an ear for me, Calama?” a voice drawled.
I almost choked when I recognized Giorgia’s voice. I took a steadying breath as I turned my high stool to face her. She looked like an even more severe, Italianized version of Vanessa, a permanent scowl etched onto her face.
“Missed your flight?” I asked, gesturing toward her whiskey glass.
“For all intents and purposes, I am currently in Minas Gerais[4] solving the company's logistics problems,” she replied, settling onto the stool beside me. She raised her glass in a silent toast. “To good business.”
