Roxanne steamrolled forward.
“No, but disappearing is also not your style. I thought something had happened to you the night of the fire. I couldn’t find you all evening. I called and called and texted and emailed to no end. So, here I am, a little later, but in person.”
Her already tense shoulders locked entirely. Paloma bit the inside of her cheek, then deliberately counted to ten before picking up a gold-tipped fountain pen off her desk.
She twirled it in her fingers before setting it back down and standing up. Being still was no longer an option. As she passed by the side of the desk, she patted Roxanne’s thigh. The wordless signal worked, or maybe it was just the look on her face.
She didn’t want to talk about the night of the fire. The election might be a safer subject all around. Plus, theCawhad hit its target audience this morning.
Paloma deliberately relaxed her jaw, intent on pulling back some of the turmoil inside. Ignoring the questions about her whereabouts and her subsequent choice to be alone, she focused on the newspaper now strewn in shreds over her office floor.
She had read theCawfirst thing in the morning, which meant her stomach roiled empty, her appetite ruined by the author of the article. An unsigned article, like all of theCaw’s pieces. Paloma shook her head and tried to focus on whatever it was her ex-wife was saying. The words seemed to be an incomprehensible mess, she was not remotely curious about.
Until Roxanne poured gasoline on the fire.
“Who is actually investing all this money in conducting polls in a tiny town on an island off the coast of Massachusetts? You’d think this would be a nothing-burger election.”
Paloma might not appreciate Roxanne traveling all the way from the West Coast to be nosy about her business, but she appreciated a pertinent insight.
“You’d think. It’s a sizable amount of money. I asked Mr. Vesely to do basic price estimates. No way Moss holds that much in his war chest. No way he even has a war chest. He’s the owner of the country club, and yes, the money flowing in and out of that establishment is considerable, but it’s tied up in his family’s trust. He’s nothing but a trust-fund frat boy.”
“I see you’ve done your homework. Not surprisingly.” Roxanne smiled, and Paloma nodded and walked slowly to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that occupied the entire wall of her office.
The glass under her already freezing fingers was cold, the sun a blur on the horizon, rising steadily from the stormy ocean. The scene matched her mood too perfectly. Paloma loved the view, the feeling of being above the cliff and yet still protected by its magnificent presence. And through it all, she loved this damnisland. It had taken her one day to fall in love with it. One damn day…
That was a thought for another time. And maybe another person to talk it through with. If that person even existed and understood, because Paloma did not understand it herself.
“I feel like I’m missing something, Roxanne. Something important. It’s right under my fingertips, and yet I can’t grab it tightly enough. A thread that’s loose, and I can’t pull on it.”
Her ex-wife came to stand by her.
“Maybe you don’t have all the information to tug on yet? Also, answer me this; what happens if you don’t win?”
Paloma flinched.
“I am not prepared to consider this outcome.”
“That’s just like you. A dog with a bone. So take the Viking up on his offer. Or find a woman.”
Paloma felt nauseated, but tried to keep her cool.
“He didn’t make an offer; he came up with a totally preposterous idea. I shouldn’t even be considering it. It’s beneath me.”
Roxanne shrugged, and it was that carelessness that reminded Paloma not of the woman she married, but of one she divorced.
“Maybe, maybe not. Because you are considering it, I can see it on your face. Beggars can’t be choosers. God knows you always needed a little help?—”
Paloma almost felt the bile spill from her already nauseous stomach. Despite their détente, despite everything they had been through, her ex still pushed her buttons like no other. Maybe even better than her mother, the one who had actually sewn all those buttons. Still, her mother had never underestimated her. Not once.
“Beggars? I’m one of the richest women on the East Coast. I own half the damn state of New York. The sheer audacity tocall me a beggar or suggest that I might need anyone to fake anything to win an election or get a woman?—”
“Ms. Allende…”
Lachlan’s eyes were huge, clearly unused to hearing her raise her voice. She couldn’t blame him. He had only been working for her for two weeks. Hell, she probably hadn’t shouted in years. Not since the goddamn divorce. Roxanne always managed to draw the absolute worst from her.
Paloma drew in a deep breath. Then another. Lachlan stood a little straighter, which made him a hundred feet tall. She smiled, then raised an eyebrow.
“Can I help you, Mr. Vesely?”
