“The idea of a possessed doll is pretty creepy.”
Tristan’s chuckles vibrate through the speaker. “You don’t need to placate me. I know I’m a wuss.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, given your hobbies.” I pause. “What do you even do for work anyway?” After weeks of texts and the odd phone call asking about senator schedules and the Vice President’s bowling league, I never asked him simple questions. The ones everyone asks.
And yet, our contact has never been awkward. Not like sitting across from boring dates and dull politicians who only make polite small talk because of who my father is.
Tristan sighs heavily, like he’s about to admit that he works in a call center, or sells insurance, or drives a manure truck. Something normal against the wild man I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. “Let’s just say I made a smart investment when I was young and it’s still paying dividends.”
“That’s not vague at all. What, did you invest in crypto or something?” I tease.
“Yeah. Crypto.”
Oh God, is he a crypto bro? That’s worse than the whole Pepsi-stalker-killer thing.
“I’m scared to ask anything else. I’ve met people who wereobsessedwith crypto.”
“I’m not obsessed. I don’t invest in it anymore. I learnedabout it when it was only pennies per coin. The idea of internet-Monopoly-money sounded cool, so I put some of my allowance into it. It kept growing, so I kept investing until it was a couple bucks per coin. At that point, I needed any money I had to take care of my family. I waited, sold most of my investment, and diversified my portfolio. I live comfortably off the interest.”
Portfolio? Tristan doesn’t strike me as an I-have-an-investment-portfolio kind of guy. If anything, he’d hate people who own investment portfolios.
“So,” Tristan’s voice brightens, and I can hear him smile through the phone to change the subject. “Which Indian place are you in the mood for? And what’s your usual order?”
“Someone’s slacking on his research,” I tease. “I’ll text you my order. But I have some news you’ll want to hear.” I sit up straighter as Hawkeye yawns at my feet on the other end of the couch. “It’s about the Senate Committee. I know what’s happening with the Bradshaw Bill.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DAPHNE
I don’t careif it makes me a basic bitch—when I get Indian food, I will always order butter chicken. I take another bite, the creamy tomato sauce coating my tongue before I reach for my glass of Gewürztraminer. According to Google, they pair well, but my real intention is to finish this bottle and drown my sorrows in gulab jamun and wine.
Tristan shakes his head at me from my phone screen, but from behind his half-skull mask, his lips tug into a smirk. “You’ve got sauce on your chin, Princess. Didn’t they teach you table manners at those fancy private schools?”
I check my reflection in the little top window of the screen and rub the orange spot away with my napkin. “Sorry, but I’m starving.”
Tristan shakes his head at me again. “Me too. I missed breakfast.”
“You what?”This guy can’t be serious. Hypocrite!“After all that grief you gave me over not having breakfast, you’re telling me you missed out on the most important meal of the day.”
Tristan rolls his eyes. “I slept in.”
“Late night?” I ask while I spear another piece of chicken with my fork.
Tristan sighs, his fork swishing around his vindaloo. “I’m still working on finding who left you that package.”
At the reminder of my uninvited guest, the chicken globs into a ball in my stomach. I refill my wine glass. Maybe I should grab the bottle of whiskey instead.
“Any leads?” I want an answer, but I’m also dreading one. How the hell did I end up on not one, but two psychos’ lists this summer? Is my dry spell so obvious that I’m starting to reek of desperation to the point where it’s attracting murderers?
I mean, at least one of them is attractive.Go me!
Tristan shakes his head and my heart plummets to my stomach. “No. But I’m not giving up. Have you asked for extra security while I work it out?”
I scoff. “Dad wouldn’t approve my request. He said one bad prank wasn’t enough to justify wasting another Secret Service agent. One patrolling my block at random times seems good enough for him.”
With the tricks Tristan has at his disposal, I doubt he’ll find the guy now. Not unless they pop their head up again, which I really hope they don’t. I’d love for all this to go away.
But working in politics, I know if you want something to go away, you have to force the problem to disappear. Otherwise, it’ll never leave you alone.
