Page 14 of The Press Secretary's Passion
I thread her arm through mine and lead her to a darker corner of the room where people don’t seem to be hanging around, grabbing each of us a glass of champagne from a passing waiter on the way by.
“How are you holding up?” I ask Cara as I pass her a glass.
“I think I’m doing all right.”
“I know you’re nervous, but you’re doing marvelous!”
She looks scared shitless, and I should have been paying attention to her, but instead I was fucking off in a broom closet with my worst enemy. I’m an awful friend. I’m not going to let her out of my sight for the rest of the night.
“Really?” she asks incredulously. “Because it feels like I’ve said three words the whole night and only spoke when asked a question.”
“Yes! That’s exactly what the group wants,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Women aren’t supposed to speak.”
“Then why are you?” she asks me as she sips her champagne and watches me, not with judgement but interest in what I have to say. She’s so much like Grace—easy to be around and kind—that I forget I haven’t known her all that long.
“Because it irritates them.”
“No, you do not.”
“Oh, I totally do. Everyone knows it too,” I reply as I sip my drink. It’s true; I tired of being seen and not heard a long time ago. It’s been years since I’ve let someone tell me how I should be. I’m good at my job, smart, strong, and successful, and anyone else can fuck off.
“And they just let you get away with it?” she asks me, sounding shocked but also a little in awe.
“Mostly,” I answer with a shrug until Ryan catches my eye from across the room, and I feel my face pull into a frown. Ryan looks absolutely frustrated and more than a little murderous. And I don’t fucking care. He is not going to be my problem anymore. If I just stay away from him, he’ll go away, and then I can forget what it’s like to have him master my body and dole out fantastic orgasms. “Well, except for Ryan. He doesn’t seem to approve of me very much.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Don’t be. I’m not.” I shrug again.
“I like you, Julia Fairchild,” Cara tells me, and I laugh. She’s good people. “I’m keeping you.”
“Oh good, because I’ve already decided to keep you too.”
“Fantastic news.” She smiles back before I catch sight of Grace throwing up a smoke signal from across the room.
“Oh dear, Grace is sending up a Romeo.”
“She’s sending up a what?” Cara asks.
“See how she’s sliding the pendant on her necklace back and forth while glancing over here every so often?”
“Yes, I do,” she answers. “What is she doing? She looks a little ridiculous.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” I reply with a sigh. “She’s sending up a Romeo. It’s an old sorority secret. When you need an out, you slide your necklace like that, and a sister or two will come rescue you. Simple as that. So you see, it’s our duty to go find out what our dear First Lady needs.”
“Seeing how she’s very pregnant and dancing a bit, I’m guessing it’s the powder room,” Cara says. I never would have thought about that, but then again, out of all three of us, I’m the only one who’s never been pregnant, and I probably never will.
“It looks like you would be correct.”
“We should probably hurry.”
“Hello!” I say brightly, interrupting whatever the man she was speaking to was saying. “Will you excuse us for a moment? I need to steal the First Lady for some important business.”
I don’t even give him time to reply. I just smile dazzlingly, loop my arm through Grace’s, and wheel her away with Cara in tow. I smile at everyone, as does Grace, and Cara follows our lead, but I do not slow as I move us through the room.
We bypass a ladies’ room and travel farther down the hall. Grace’s main agent follows us at a discreet distance. We take a turn down another hallway and find a more private restroom. A quick look shows that it’s empty.
“Thank God. Jake’s giant baby is Irish folk dancing on my now very teeny tiny bladder. I thought I was going to die,” Grace exclaims as she rushes for a stall.
