Private Politics (The Easy Part) (20 page)

It would have been better if it hadn’t come from Liam.

Betrayal from Bertie was, well, the price of knowing Bertie. Of loving him. He was always and forever using other people. It disturbed her less than it should have in the past because she had no value, not to him, not to anyone.

Also because she was so like him.

Seeing him use her to get Rynsburger on the phone, to strengthen a relationship, without thinking for the slightest instant what it might cost her stung. How many times had she done the same thing?

Okay, not the same thing. But she exploited her relationships in order to build better connections. She did meet people and judge their worth in dollars and connections. She did think about every aspect of her life strategically, including her appearance and friendships.

She was Bertie.

Now that she knew, what she was going to do about it?

The drive up Connecticut Avenue took a lifetime. Late Friday afternoon traffic and badly, badly timed lights combined into pure hell. Luckily, he didn’t say anything or acknowledge her. She was left alone with her own miserable thoughts.

When they arrived at her apartment, he said, “I hope I haven’t upset you.” His mood was back to normal. He’d either forgotten or was ignoring their earlier conversation. Either explanation was possible.

“I’m incredibly grateful to you.” It didn’t answer his question but it was both true and enough to get her out of the exchange.

He patted her on the hand and then waved jauntily as his driver pulled away.

Upstairs in her apartment, alone for the first time in weeks, Alyse began to formulate a plan.

Chapter Nineteen

Liam paused to take a sip of espresso. His third. Or maybe his fourth. He had lost count.

After Alyse had left, he’d stood on the corner and watched her taxi fade to a tiny yellow speck before disappearing.

He hadn’t hurt precisely. Hurt implied something acute, something with contrast. This hurts and that does not. But in the moment when she had broken up with him, every molecule of his body had been involved. Hurt didn’t seem like the right word.

He’d marched back upstairs and stood there stupidly in the entrance for a long moment replaying it over in his head. Then he’d seized his laptop and tried to work, except she haunted his apartment.

She was on the couch where he’d first kissed her. She was in the kitchen where she’d teased him. She was in the entryway where she’d fractured his heart. He knew he would find her in the bedroom, in the closet, even in the shower, but he didn’t trust himself to find out. Out of self-preservation as much as anything else, he had to get out.

Five minutes later, he’d ended up in his favorite coffee shop. Thankfully the barista didn’t point out he’d just been there. Had any fifteen-minute period in his life seen greater change? One minute he’d been...ebullient—an emotion he had trusted because he’d been sure it was returned.

Sure, the night before he had seen the fear, the hesitation and the desire to bolt in her face, but he’d thought he had fixed it. He was going to have to recalibrate everything.

Even now, he was half-certain she’d faked her reaction to the Ryan Scott story as an out—because he knew he hadn’t imagined the past few days. He might be coloring parts of the narrative, but not all of it. Not every lingering glance. Not the trailing of her fingers down his chest. Not the things she’d said last night.

Even now, her face saying,
I
want you
,
I
do
was burned on his eyelids.

He’d just pounced without thinking. If she had meant the words—and she did—then they could work everything else out.

Ha! As if anything in his life were easy.

So he’d done the only logical thing: thrown himself into writing. Over the course of the morning, he churned out half a dozen posts about policy and politics and popular culture. He cleared out his inbox, or at least moved stuff into folders, chugging coffee all the while.

He streamed and live-blogged a House committee hearing, browsed new music and caught up on NBA news. He’d read the links on the Internet. All of them. And he only resisted emailing her with things she would like seven or ten times.

By late afternoon, when Doug emailed him about the fallout from the Ryan Scott story, at least five whole minutes had gone by without him feeling sorry for himself or thinking about her. He could build on that. By New Year’s he should be back to normal.

The response to the Ryan Scott story has been very positive.
This is precisely the sort of story I’ve been telling you for years we should have been pursuing.
This is going to change everything for us.
We should publish a follow-up piece soon.
I’ll work my contacts and see what else I can find.
Is Alyse
“
out
”
as the whistleblower yet?
Because we could really use an anonymous interview with her...

She’d been right, of course, which he had known as she had said it. The story Poindexter ran this morning was a step down an inevitable path, but it wasn’t the first step. That one she’d taken long ago and entirely on her own when she had refused to overlook the weird receipt letters. Step two had been when she’d asked him to get involved. She kept on down the path as she had decided, at several points along the way, to continue pursuing the matter even as it became more and more clear what was happening.

She might be blaming him, but she was mad at herself. At Geri. At everyone else. He’d just been a convenient target.

He didn’t blame her. He wanted her to believe in him enough to pause before she’d turned on him. That was all—a single instant of introspection before blowing things up. Evidently she wasn’t invested. Her prerogative, of course, but he didn’t have to like it.

Just then, his phone buzzed. Liam fished it out of his pocket and clicked on a text from Alyse.

Please come by my apartment.

He set his phone on the table and turned back to his laptop, but an answer to Doug’s email wouldn’t materialize.

Come by her apartment? Just like that—without a word of explanation or apology? Come by her apartment? Was she insane? Hadn’t she hurt him enough for one day? What possible good could come out of going to her apartment?

He considered sending a curt,
No
. He considered sending an expletive-filled screed. He considered ignoring her message altogether.

But...her eyes. Her fucked-up, lonely-ass childhood. Her guts and her smarts. Her vulnerability and strength.

Muttering to himself, Liam shoved his stuff in his bag.

* * *

Parker greeted Liam at the door and extended a beer.

“They’re in Alyse’s room.”

Liam snapped back into the hallway. He hadn’t even realized he’d been craning his head inside.

Parker raised a brow and made a face. As if the face wasn’t bad enough—judgmental and pitying—he followed it up with a noise, the distant cousin of a scoff and a tut-tut. In any other moment, he would have pointed out how much Parker resembled a meddling old lady, but he wasn’t up for the fight that would ensue if he did.

He accepted the beer and then examined the label. He didn’t want to be standing in her apartment—or more properly, in the doorway to her apartment—without a reason. Didn’t want to be having this conversation. And yet here he was.

“You going to tell me what happened?” Parker said over his shoulder as he walked into the living room.

Liam closed the door and followed. He threw himself on to the couch and took a drag from his beer to avoid answering. When he did speak, he asked, “Did you see those CBO numbers? Brutal for you guys.”

A glance at Parker confirmed that misdirection wasn’t going to work. After another sip of beer, he asked, “How do you know I did anything?”

Parker chuckled. “They’re plotting in there with booze and ice cream. You did something.”

“I resent that.”

“Only because it’s true.”

A Wizards game droned on the TV. Washington was losing, which was sort of like observing stop signs are red. Yet that never seemed to prevent them from watching.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence and drank. It was almost pleasant except for the reminders of Alyse everywhere and the occasional shimmer of her laughter from down the hall.

During a commercial Parker said, “You’re right. And she’s right.”

His head whipped around. “If you knew what was going on, why did you ask?”

“She didn’t tell me. She refused to talk about you at all. So I guessed. It wasn’t hard. I know you both and I’ve watched you watch her for half a year. Candidates eye voters with less interest.”

Dogs coming off a run eyed water with less interest, but the water didn’t turn irrational and then refuse to work things out. Desire didn’t equal a relationship.

He grabbed a magazine off the side table and started flipping through it. “Doesn’t matter.”

Parker wasn’t deterred. “Because you had a fight? I was an epic asshole when I first starting dating Millie. She doesn’t hold it against me.”

“Yes, well, Alyse is...”

And suddenly there she was, standing in the kitchen. Her feet were bare and she was digging in a cabinet for something. She shot him a look over her shoulder. The kind of coy flash that had driven him mad for months.

“Don’t let me put an end to your fun. What exactly am I, Liam?”

Beautiful.
Maddening.
Mine.

Did she know that the last time she’d used his name he’d been moving inside her? Now, they were separated by so much more than a room.

Parker was correct in his assessment—such an annoying truism. Alyse and he were both right. They were both wrong. He wanted her. He didn’t know what to do about it.

He ignored her question. The answer would be lengthy and not fit for Parker’s ears. Instead he asked the question he’d been pondering since her text. “Why am I here?”

She shook her head as if he didn’t make any sense. “To help me, of course.” With that, she turned back to the cabinet.

She wanted his help. After everything, she wanted his help. Could this day get any worse?

Rather than launch into a screaming tirade, he got up and walked into the kitchen. Trying to pitch his voice softly so Parker wouldn’t be able to hear, he asked, “With?”

She handed him a glass. “Marc Rynsburger.”

Oh, of course. “You got him tied up back there?”

“You’re going to help me by writing about him.”

For two breaths, he considered setting the glass down, leaving and never speaking to her again. This morning, she’d stomped on his heart. Ground it to bits under the well-turned heel of a boot all because he’d written a story. Now she wanted him to write another story. Un-fucking-believable.

“Hold up.” He hadn’t intended to snap at her and the pain in her eyes pulled him back. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wanted her to understand. “You want me to
write
about him. On Poindexter. You want me to write about him. Are you for real?”

At that, Parker announced loudly, “Millie and I are going out.”

Millie came flying down the hall, conspicuously trying to ignore Alyse and him. “Yup, I think that’s a great idea.”

As they fumbled with their coats, Parker shot him a look.
Dude
,
apologize
, it said. But at the moment, he wasn’t feeling apologetic.

When the door shut behind them, Alyse turned back toward him. “I’m serious. I need you to connect Rynsburger to Ryan Scott. I need you to take him down with public opinion.”

Liam fell against the counter with a sigh. The blog had gone from a major problem to a tool in the course of ten hours. Awesome. “First, I think it’s fair to point out you only know about Rynsburger at all because of me.”

“Yes.”

“And this morning you were pissed because I’d written about Rynsburger.”

“Yes.”

“And now you want me to try to nail him through popular belief?” She nodded. “It doesn’t really work like that. I can’t write something and convince people it’s true because you want me to. Besides, why would I do that?”

She crossed the space between them so that they were standing almost toe-to-toe. “Because if you don’t he’s going to get away with it.”

She was incandescent with rage. He’d have to be a robot not to respond to her but the main feeling drowning the others out was anger. How could she want so fervently to save this organization, to take down these bad guys and not want him? Not want them?

She stood there seething with idealism and he was consumed with jealousy he didn’t warrant the same level of response in her.

“I can’t write about him. I don’t have any proof.” It was true. He wasn’t being petty. “I’ve already, well,
insinuated
he’s associated with a lobbyist whom I’ll soon call corrupt. I’ll try to mention Rynsburger in that story too, but I can’t go any further.”

She leaned back and nodded in acceptance. “What if I could get proof?”

“I’m not raiding another office with you.”

“That’s not what I had in mind at all.” She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip. He could tell he was going to hate whatever she was about to say. “I’m going to call Geri and Ryan.”

“You’re what!” He set his hands on her shoulders. God, her sweater was soft. He resisted shaking her, but barely.

She didn’t pull out of his grasp, which disconcerted in other ways. “I need to give my two weeks’ notice, don’t I? So when Geri asks for a reason, I’ll tell her and the cat will be out of the bag. Someone should profit from this debacle. It might as well be you. Or at least Poindexter.”

He squeezed her shoulders, hard, enjoying the give of her flesh under his fingers. “What about the threat?” he ground out. It was as if she didn’t think about herself at all.

“Bertie thinks that was Rynsburger.” She rolled her eyes. “Bertie helpfully called him and posted a ‘curb your dog’ sign on me.”

As pissed as she might be at him, she was more pissed at Bertie. At least there was that.

“Nice of him.”

“Bertie said that Rynsburger’s probably insulated from all of this,” she explained. “There might,
might
be consequences for Geri and Ryan, but not for him. And he’s the one that matters the most. I can’t accept that.”

He dropped his hands and took a step back, bumping into the cabinets again. “Do you know how ridiculous this seems to me? This morning you were so angry about something I wrote. Angry enough to leave.”

“Yes.” She kept saying that and it was driving him insane. The word wasn’t an apology. She wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. She wasn’t trying to deny her hypocrisy. It was bald recognition of something they both knew to be true.

The anger erupted out of him in a swift torrent of words. “And now you have a use for me, you call and...”

Her jaw fell open. “Is that how you feel? You think I’m...using you?”

“Yes. I’m hurting here.”

Her chin twitched. She couldn’t possibly be surprised he was upset, but perhaps the depth of it, the fact he would confess it, startled her. Then her eyes softened and she sighed. At her show of vulnerability, he knew he should relax, but he tensed further in response.

“So am I,” she whispered. He could almost believe it, except for her callousness in asking him to come here and then asking him for a favor—that particular favor.

She continued, “I just need...I thought last night we agreed. We agreed we move when I move.”

Wait, that’s what she thought had happened? “Then you left,” he said.

She pressed her hands to her face. “I need half a second to process this. It was just all happening to so fast. My life fell apart and you offered me...well, another life. I just need half a second.”