Sway (Keeping Score Book 6) Read online

  I chuckled. “Same goes, fog face. Good luck with that sculpture. I'll see you in a couple weeks.” I hesitated. “Oh, and Gabby? Thanks for being there. Thanks for listening. Thanks for letting me get all of this off my chest."

  "Any time, loser. Go to sleep now. Good night."

  2

  Sarah

  “Hey, Sarah! Wait up a minute.”

  I turned, pivoting on the ball of one foot to face Garth Pike as he strode toward me. To the best of my knowledge, Garth never did anything slowly. He was always moving, talking and thinking at top speed—which was probably why he was Senator O’Hara’s number one aide. I could totally see him running for office himself someday.

  Would I vote for him, if he did? The jury was still out. Garth had hustle, for sure, but I wasn’t completely positive that I trusted him.

  “What’s up, Garth?” I offered him my sunniest smile as he caught up with me. I’d learned two important lessons early in my political career: never show your true feelings, and as trite as it sounded . . . keep your friends close, and your adversaries closer. Garth might not be an adversary, but he made me nervous.

  “I was just checking to see if you were planning to go to the party at Angela Harrison’s house.” Garth planted both hands on his hips, his chest barely moving up and down even after his near-sprint after me. “The senator would like a good, solid presence from his office. It would look good if as many of us are there as possible, to talk with the donors and potential allies about the senator’s platform for the next election.”

  I managed to keep my face pleasant and bland, holding back a grimace of distaste. Going into politics had been glamorous and exciting at one point, but there was no denying its seamy and uncomfortable underbelly. Lobbyists and fundraisers and the dirty games of quid pro quo—all of it made me feel slightly nauseated, even now.

  “Sorry, Garth.” I tried to appear to be regretful. “I can’t do it this time. I’ve got a prior commitment, and it’s one I can’t break.”

  “Oh?” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Hot date? Sick grandma? Life-saving surgery?”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, I shook my head. “Engagement party for two of my oldest friends. I absolutely can’t miss it. And it’s happening down in Richmond, so I’ll be away all weekend.”

  “A friend’s engagement party really isn’t a valid excuse for skipping out on work.” Garth’s mouth tightened. He paused and then inquired, “Are they anyone I might know?”

  This was going to be my get-out-of-the-boring-party-free card, and I was happy to play it. After all, it wasn’t often that I could throw a big name in Garth’s face.

  “Actually, you might. He plays for the Richmond Rebels. Leo Taylor.” I dropped that information and watched the man’s face carefully.

  Aha! There it was, the flair of recognition and subsequent disbelief and envy. “You know Leo Taylor?”

  “Sure do,” I confirmed cheerfully. “We went to school together from eighth grade on. And I don’t talk about this much, but actually, he was my first boyfriend, back in the day. We were high school sweethearts.” That was laying it on a little thick, but it wasn’t exactly untrue.

  “Ah. So is this one of those throw it in his face scenarios? You want him to see what he missed out on by not sticking with you?”

  I wanted to smack the smarmy smile off Garth’s face, but instead, I gritted my teeth and answered him breezily. “Not one bit. First of all, I broke up with him back in the day, not the other way around. Secondly, the woman he’s marrying is a good friend of mine, too. I’m so happy for both of them finally tying the knot—it’s been a long and winding road for them. This party is a chance to celebrate them and their love—that’s why I won’t miss it.”

  “I guess making an appearance at a high-profile event like a football star’s engagement party makes sense.” Garth nodded. “You can probably make some good connections there, maybe even twist some arms and get some athlete endorsements for the senator.”

  “This is strictly personal. I’m not planning to do business this weekend, Garth.” I took one step backwards. “Believe it or not, it’s possible to do a good job and still have a life outside the office—outside DC, even.”

  “But—”

  “Sorry, Garth. Gotta go. I have a business lunch, and it wouldn’t do for me to be late.” I started walking toward the elevator again, waving at the aide over my shoulder. I didn’t want to give him the chance to ask me who I was meeting for lunch. It might have been work, but it was also none of his damn business.

  By the time I made my way out of the building, I’d shaken off my almost-perennial irritation toward Garth. The January wind was bitter, and I shivered, drawing my long wool coat tighter around me and adjusting my scarf to cover the bottom of my face. The sidewalk was filled with others doing the same thing, shoulders hunched as though to hide from the cold.

  The restaurant where I was meeting my lunch date was only a few blocks away, or I might have hailed a cab. As it was, I had to slide dark sunglasses over my eyes to keep from tearing up as I walked briskly against the wind.

  Jensen’s was my favorite place for business lunches and after work drinks. It wasn’t trendy or particularly elegant, but it possessed a genuine and relaxed vibe that made me feel at home every time I stopped in. The restaurant wasn’t quite a diner or a steakhouse, though it had elements of both; the bar on one side boasted an antique counter, and the dining area was filled with sturdy wooden tables covered with checked tablecloths.

  But what was spectacular at Jensen’s was the food. The menu changed frequently, as Simon, the chef, a self-proclaimed farm boy from Pennsylvania, got bored cooking the same stuff over and over. Simon favored farm-fresh ingredients and traditional recipes. I told him that eating at his place was like visiting a grandma’s house, if Grandma was built like a brick wall and had a mouth like a truck driver.

  I liked to eat there at off times, because I enjoyed the quiet and the chance to chat with Simon, his wife, Amber and his mom, Dani. They made me feel welcome, as though I was part of the family.

  Today, though, I wasn’t going to get any relaxed visiting time. The place was hopping, and every table was filled. I silently congratulated myself for having called early this morning and asking Simon to reserve a table for my guest.

  Across the room, sitting by herself at a table for two, I spotted a slender blonde woman scrolling through her phone. Navigating the labyrinth of diners and servers, I made my way to stand across from her.

  “Zelda?”

  She looked up, huge electric blue eyes slightly clouded as she shifted her gaze from the phone screen to me. Almost instantly, her lips curved into a wide smile.

  “Sarah.” She half-rose, offering me her hand. “I know it’s a terribly trite thing to say, but I feel as if I know you already, from everything Quinn and Leo have told me about you. It’s great to actually meet you in person.”

  “It is.” I gestured for her to sit down again and slid out my own chair. “I have to confess something right off the bat."

  "Oh, really?" One of Zelda's finely shaped eyebrows rose. "Well, they say confession is good for the soul. So do tell."

  "When I told Quinn that we were meeting for lunch today, I mentioned that although I've seen your pictures on social media, I was a little worried about picking you out of the crowd. And Quinn told me that I should just look for the most beautiful woman in the room." I paused. "And she was right."

  Zelda began to laugh. "Yes, that sounds like our Quinn. She really is the best person I’ve ever known. And she's super good for my ego, clearly."

  "She really is a sweetheart, isn't she?" I raised my hand to catch the attention of a passing server and ordered a seltzer water before turning to Zelda. “Would you like anything to drink?"

  She lifted up her full glass of ice water. "I'm good with just the still, thanks."

  As the server bustled away to get my drink, I resumed our conversation. "You're heading down for
the party this weekend, too, right?"

  "Oh, yes." Zelda fiddled with the fork that lay on the table in front of her. "This is one party I wouldn't miss for the world. It's been a long time in the making, hasn’t it?" She eyed me for a moment. "And I guess actually, you would know more about that than me, even. From what Quinn has told me, you've known her—and Leo—for longer than I have."

  It was my turn to laugh. "Well, I met both of them when we were all starting junior high, so I guess that does qualify me as an old school friend." I sighed. "And before you ask the question that everybody does . . . no, I don't have any lingering feelings for Leo. We dated way back when, but we've been friends for much longer than that. I haven’t been a bit interested in anything more since we were juniors in high school. It was clear even back then that he only had eyes for Quinn, and I'm not the kind of person who enjoys torturing herself. Once I realized that I didn't have a shot with him, I was more than happy to move on."

  "That's what Quinn tells me, too." Zelda smiled. "Of all the faults I might be able to see in Leo Taylor, cheating on Quinn has never been one of them. And to be honest, despite all of their ups and downs, I don't think he would ever do anything to hurt her on purpose.” A wicked gleam sparkled in those blue eyes. “I’ll admit, I did threaten Leo with bodily harm—severe bodily harm of the manly type, if you get my drift—when we first met, just to be on the safe side. But I really think he would walk over fire for her."

  I nodded. "I think they’ve both walked through fire for each other already. That's why I'm so happy that they're finally getting the happily ever after that they deserve."

  "Same here." Zelda shifted in her seat, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair back behind her ears. "As much as I’m enjoying our small talk, I assume that you realize that I wanted to meet for more than just the pleasure of getting to know the friend of a friend. I hope you don't mind, but I was planning to combine some business with this social visit."

  "I figured that was the case," I admitted. "I've lived in Washington long enough to realize that just about every situation has a business angle. And I know that your work involves representing farmers, am I right?"

  "Yes, that's accurate." Zelda leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on the edge of the table. "I work for a political action group that represents the interests of farmers. My specialty is looking out for the small growers who are dedicated to raising food in a more sustainable, less environmentally devastating way."

  Our server returned to the table before I could respond, bringing my drink and offering to take our order. Zelda glanced at me.

  "I know you said that this is one of your favorite restaurants. What would you recommend? I looked over the menu before you got here, but I hadn't really decided on anything. I don't have any strong food preferences, and I'm a pretty adventurous eater."

  "If you really don't mind being surprised, and you're willing to be daring . . ." I turned to our server. "Do me a favor. Tell Simon that Sarah Jenkins is here with a guest and that we're willing to be his guinea pigs today."

  Our waitress grinned broadly. "Oh, he'll love that. No matter how busy we are, nothing makes the boss man happier than the opportunity to try something completely new and off-the-cuff." She tucked her order pad into her apron pocket. "I'll be back in a little while with something that I'm sure will make you happy, at the same time that it makes you wonder how on earth anyone came up with this way of cooking it."

  After she left us, heading back to the kitchen, I took a sip of my sparkling water. "Thanks for trusting me. I've known Simon pretty much since he opened this place, and he's never disappointed me yet. It's fun to eat with someone who has an adventurous palate, too." I paused for a beat. "All right. You were talking about farmers and food. I'm assuming that you have something to ask about Senator O’Hara. Is there an issue you’d like the senator to consider?"

  "Yes." Zelda nodded. "I appreciate you being direct. There’s a bill in committee right now that was introduced by Senator Connelly. It's education funding legislation that includes a tax increase that will affect farmers. Actually, it could devastate some of the smaller growers who my company represents. We would like the senator to consider voting against it, or at least working to have the two issues separated, so that the education bill could go forward without negatively impacting the farming community."

  I knew exactly what Zelda was talking about, and I also knew it could prove to be a sticky issue. "Okay. Hmmm. I agree with you, in principle, at least. However, as I'm sure you're aware from your work, politics are seldom as straightforward as what we might like them to be. For every good reason I can bring up to fight the bill or to change it to be less harmful to farmers, there will be at least ten other politicians who will argue why that’s not a good idea. If you could put something together that would allow me to present my case in a clear and compelling way—"

  Zelda held up one hand. "Please." She rolled her eyes. "As if I wouldn't know to do my homework and have something already written up for you. This isn’t my first rodeo." She reached into her bag and withdrew a folder, passing it to me across the table. “This is the hard copy, but I'll have something sent to you via email by the end of the day, too. And we’re more than willing to meet with the senator or with any of his aides, or even come up and testify at one of the committee meetings. All we need is an open door."

  I opened the folder and flipped through the first few pages. "Yeah, I'd say you've done your homework," I murmured. “This is all good stuff. I'll see what I can do with it." Closing the portfolio, I slid it into my own bag before heaving a sigh and sitting back in my seat. “Can I ask you something, Zelda? Do you like what you're doing?”

  She didn't seem surprised by my question, only tilted her head and regarded me with interest. "I do," she replied slowly. "When I left college, this was not what I intended for my career. My boyfriend Eli always says that in my heart of hearts, I really wanted to be a hippie and live on a commune. And maybe he's not that far off from the truth." She lifted one thin shoulder and shook her head. "When I took this job, I was pretty sure it was the definition of selling out. I'm well-paid, and sometimes it feels like I'm a long way from the farmers I claim to represent. But the cool thing is that if I do my job the right way, then it enables them to do their jobs without having to worry about things like politics, legislation and regulations. So while I miss getting down in the dirt, as it were, I do know that my job is valuable. And I know it's worthwhile—even if I am paid generously for doing it."

  "I totally get that." I slumped back in my seat. "When I graduated, I kind of felt the same way. I wanted to change the world, and since I was already here in Washington, where I’d gone to college, it made sense for me to start changing it in this city. My degree is in poli sci and public relations, and when I was offered the job in Senator O'Hara's office, all of my classmates were really jealous. It felt like I'd been given an opportunity that all of us had been working for." I was quiet for a moment, thinking. "But it's not anything like the way I imagined it would be. It feels as though I'm compromising all the standards and principles that are important to me every single day, and it's getting harder and harder to remember why I wanted to do this. I don't feel as though I’m making a difference anywhere, and it's harder to live with that. I'm a generally happy person, but not being miserable is starting to be a real challenge."

  Zelda didn't answer me for a few minutes. I sensed that she was digesting what I’d said and wasn't going to come back with a load of pithy and trite assurances. I appreciated that.

  "You know," she began. "I'm a firm believer in working hard, and I realize that no one is going to be happy a hundred percent of the time. But I'm also a firm believer in not doing something that makes you miserable. Have you been looking around for something else?"

  "Not really." I smoothed a wrinkle from the linen napkin draped over my lap. "Every time I start to think I will, I feel guilty about wasting the opportunity I’ve been given. Maybe if I just h
ang on here a little bit longer, things will get better. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself."

  Zelda's blue eyes drilled into me. "Life is short." She spoke bluntly. "We're fairly young, both you and me, but I know I've seen enough loss, even at my age, to be certain that we can't fuck around with unhappiness. And no one is going to hand you that happiness on a silver platter. You have to go out after it. You have to work for it."

  "You sound as though you speak from experience." I surveyed her with interest. "Care to elaborate on all of that?"

  Zelda touched the bracelet on her left arm, her finger brushing over the silver links. "When it comes to career and work, not really. What I just told you is exactly where I've been and how I feel about it. I was lucky that what I did initially brought me fulfillment, and then what I moved to later did the same—and came with a bigger paycheck.

  “But I’ve discovered in the last couple of years that there's more to life than just what I do to make a living. I came really close to losing my best shot at having a rich, full life with the man I love. When I look back on that now, it scares the shit out of me—that I nearly threw it all away. I can't imagine living without Eli. He's the second chance I never should've had, but I don't intend to ever let him get away."

  "I kind of envy you that certainty," I admitted. “I don't think I've missed out on anything when it comes to my love life. There's no one who's gotten away or whose loss I regret. Maybe some people are cut out for forever, and others aren't. Still, I don't want to get to be thirty-five and realize that I've devoted years and years to a job that ultimately means nothing. I want what I do to matter. I want to feel like I'm having an impact somewhere."

  Zelda nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Have you talked to Quinn about this?" she asked. "I have an idea right now, but it involves someone she knows much better than I do. I'm thinking that it might be something you want to ask her about, though."