Page 67 of Reveal

“At least you get to bill for that.” She speaks to me like I should be lucky she’s giving me the time of day, and fuck if it doesn’t irk the hell out of me. “And what have you found? Anything?”

I think of Stuart’s frustration. The wild-goose chases he’s been on to come up with only rumors and hints of impropriety on Carter’s end but nothing concrete.

Nothing but the pictures of him with girls who seem to be underage. The same pictures no doubt Vaughn has and that Carter knows she has.

“Just the pictures I told you about.”

“Mmm,” she says and falls silent, as one would expect when you find out your husband prefers teenagers over you. “That’s it?”

“So far.” I start to ask the question, stop, and then figure fuck it. “How exactly does he think he’s going to be nominated for vice president and make it through the entire vetting process without any of that coming out?”

The question has nagged at me.

“Perhaps it’s happened only during the last term.”

Why is she defending him instead of raging about him?

“He just happened to develop an appetite for underage girls now?”

“It’s possible.”

“And what? He thinks he’s Teflon and no one is going to dig up this dirt when we were able to in a matter of days?”

“He can be very persuasive and convincing.”

“Either that or he’s planning on paying off a whole lot of people,” I throw out there and am met with radio silence.

“You’d be amazed at the things money can buy,” she says, and I roll my shoulders in frustration.

I’m not a peon. She knows who I am and no doubt has researched my net worth, so I grit my teeth at her little holier-than-thou dig at me.

“The American people won’t buy it. Are you just going to stand by and let him ruin your reputation too in the process?”

“I’d rather not discuss this right now. It’s too painful.” She says the words, but it’s not pain lacing her voice. Rather, it’s irritation at me for asking the glaringly obvious question.

“Okay.” I sigh into the line to let her know my own frustration. “Any luck on the assets and accounts?” I ask.

“I’m working on it.”

I lean back in my chair and rest my feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. The night is coming on—the city’s lights sparkling to life—and I try to figure out what is going on here, because she’s been working on it for some time now.

“I’m on your side here, Bianca. If there’s something I need to know, it’s important that you tell me.”

“Nothing that matters in the divorce.”

“Got it.” But I don’t get it. Far from it.

“Mr. Lockhart. You know what I need. I’m paying you more than adequately for your services.”

“As you sought me out.”

“Are you still the best there is?” she asks, her voice hinting at irritation.

“Yes.”

“Then I made the right decision. Don’t make me doubt it again.”

When the connection ends, I pull my cell from my ear and stare at it like an idiot, more confused about the conversation than when I started.