Page 48 of I Would Beg For You
“Governor, Naomi! O’Donnell is resigning. Something about his son getting caught with drugs, though that’s only between us. They’re going to shush that up, but he’s stepping down. There’ll be expedited elections in August now to fill his seat, since the Governor’s seat is not supposed to be empty this year when the Board of Commissioners and Mayoral elections roll in in November.”
I didn’t pick up on half of what he’s said, though one word stands out.
“Governor?” I mumble.
“Yes! This was the plan, ultimately, but that was years down the line. Don’t you see? This is happening right now itself!”
“Provided you get elected,” I say quietly.
My dad makes a ‘Pah!’ gesture with his hand, brushing my concern away. But it’s the snort-chuckle from Thad that raises the hairs on the nape of my neck. It sounds as if my father beingelected is not a matter of winning the elections—it’s already been decided.
By whom, I have no idea. ‘They’ want him as the next Governor, and nothing’s going to stop that.
Is this what Valentino meant when he said things have happened? He’s an important man, someone who makes things happen in this part of the country. A change at political level will affect him, so of course he’ll have his finger on the pulse.
“Our lives are about to change, darling,” my father says as he squeezes my hand.
I know. And it terrifies me. More so when he exchanges a knowing glance with Thad then gazes at me with a smile oozing paternal solicitude.
What the hell is he getting us into?
***
The next few days happen in a whirlwind. It’s a flurry of people visiting the house, cars taking my father to and fro while I’m left blissfully on the sidelines at home. I haven’t recovered from the shock of the news. My father thinks I’m still under the weather somewhat, and I don’t downplay this. Until Thursday when a barracuda in high heels steps into the conservatory, her perfectly made-up eyes giving me a once-over from head to toe.
“That won’t do,” she says.
I expect her to snap her fingers and make a coterie of people appear to truss me up like in an extreme makeover, but this doesn’t happen.
Anya Brennan is my dad’s new PR manager. Tall, thin, blonde—in her navy-blue tailored suit, pristine white silk blouse, and stilettos, with her long hair swishing in a ponytail, she’s the personalization of Corporate Barbie. Except for the shrewd greyeyes which miss nothing, and she seems to find a lot lacking about me.
“Get yourself together, honey. This—” she gestures at my loungewear, “—is not fit for the entourage of the future governor.”
I’m tempted to poke my tongue out at all her feminine perfection and ask her who she thinks she is to boss me around, but I know what she means. I’d been hiding behind the idea that being sick with a cold might get me off the hook of being involved in this campaign. Someone from DC came over yesterday to lead his efforts, so I’m no longer needed as campaign manager. I’m just here to be part of the scenery now, coming out of the woodwork all resplendent and gleaming smiles for photo ops and what not with my father. In short, his political wife.
I hate this, but if that’s what it takes to get my life back once he’s positioned in his official seat, I will bite my tongue and bear with.
I trudge up to my bedroom, knowing I have to make an effort. It reflects badly on myself first that I let myself go this much. If Valentino were to see me now, I doubt he’d find this woman desirable.
A text notification pings once I’m upstairs. The lock screen shows it’s Valentino—or Tina, actually. I heave in a deep breath. We haven’t communicated since Sunday. Our text thread once I came back up after my father’s bombshell went something like this:
Me:You knew?
Tina:He’s told you?
Me:Yes! You could’ve given me a heads’ up!
At this point, the screen showed he was typing, disappearing, typing again…
Tina:I have my own fires to put out.
Me:Thank you for your concern.
Tina:What do you want me to do?
Me:Nothing!
We left it like that.
