by Haley Cass
Politics was a puzzle; a game. For someone like her – someone who had specific goals and aspirations – one wrong move could make the game a nightmare. Then again, navigating that tightrope was all a part of the draw, too.
Something she’d learned far before she’d even started her professional career was that there was a long game and a short game, and, if you were a good politician, you were playing both games constantly.
Charlotte’s long game was already planned, mapped, and in the beginning stages of execution. Her short game was constantly in the balance. It was the decisions made at a moment’s notice that determined what the result of the short game was.
The series of events that had happened in the last ten minutes involved making split-second decisions that seemed inevitable; almost like there hadn’t been a choice at all, really.
She’d first spotted Naomi Young-Carmichael when the mingling was about to commence. And she’d been shocked, which was certainly an unwelcome feeling for her.
Charlotte wouldn’t typically say she was ever glad about someone’s death. Especially not a fellow politician. But when Robert Carmichael had died three years ago, she knew she wasn’t the only person who hadn’t felt particularly sorrowful.
Robert had held his New York Senate seat for many years, being re-elected usually on the basis of the fact that he was something of a war hero who had a good rapport with the public. The people loved that about him, regardless of the fact that he was fairly bawdy and somewhat obnoxious. To have him out of Congress was a relief to many, even if it had come through death.
Charlotte had only known Robert Carmichael sparingly, and their introduction had been the same night that she’d met Jack Spencer – her grandmother’s inauguration ball. Unlike Jack Spencer though, Robert had hit on her, despite the fact that she’d been barely seventeen.
In spite of all of that, Charlotte had preferred Robert to his wife. Naomi Young-Carmichael might not have held a seat in Congress, but she was conniving, controlling, and had more influence than someone who didn’t actually hold public office had the right to have. Without a doubt, it had to do with the fact that her father had been President before Charlotte’s grandmother. And the fact that they came from a richer-than-God family who had hit it big in oil, decades ago, in Texas.
If conflict was, as Charlotte liked to theorize, a politician’s bread and butter, Naomi provided enough of it to fill Charlotte’s entire meal ticket.
There had been several people over the course of the years who underestimated Charlotte. Because of her family name, because of her age, because of her looks. Those people had tried Charlotte’s patience, but she always proved her worth.
She’d quickly learned that Naomi was not one of the people who would overlook her causeless disdain for her once they could see what she was capable of achieving. From her very first position working with the governor, they’d butted heads every time they’d run into one another, with Naomi seeming to be opposing every single one of Charlotte’s initiatives. And with her opposition, came the actual opposition from her significant handful of followers.
So when Robert had died, it wasn’t that Charlotte was necessarily glad he was dead; it was more that she was glad his death somewhat forced Naomi to retreat back to her childhood home in Houston.
Charlotte relished a challenge, but she was more than happy to have the woman who acted as her nonstop opposition out of the way.
She’d hoped that the next time she would have to see Naomi, it would be from her podium as she was sworn in as President, if at all.
She most definitely hadn’t hoped or planned to see her at a charity function that Charlotte had been using as a mingling platform at the start of her campaign for a Congressional seat.
If that alone wasn’t enough to throw her slightly off of her game – because how had Charlotte not even known that Naomi was back in New York? That was the sort of news that typically spread quickly through their circles, yet there’d been not a word of it – seeing Naomi lead David Verbeck, a prominent business owner who was notoriously untrustworthy, out of the ballroom and into the main hall was more than enough to sound the warning bells in her head.
In that moment, Charlotte felt there was really no other choice but to follow her instincts that told her to follow the pair. Because Naomi resurfacing now, and choosing Verbeck for a private audience had given a home to deep-set suspicion in her stomach. She’d barely had a second to whisper to Dean where she was going.
That suspicion was only exacerbated when she trailed them – smartly, from a distance – and she could only hear snippets of conversation. She knew she’d heard the words House of Representatives, though, and that was enough.
She’d ducked into the alcove next to the room they’d gone into – which turned out to be futile, because she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. But as she’d been waiting and thinking, the sound of another set of footsteps coming down the hallway had alarmed her. Perhaps there was someone else who would be meeting Naomi and Verbeck.
Charlotte’s mind had already been compiling a list as to who it could be that was in cahoots with the most underhanded pair in the city, before she’d peeked out from her hiding spot. And she hadn’t known whether she was relieved or not to see that it was Sutton wandering down the hall.
She’d made another split-second decision to pull her into the alcove with her. It hadn’t really seemed like a choice, given that it was either that, or chance that Sutton would unintentionally happen upon whatever was happening only a few feet away, in the next room down.
And with Sutton in the alcove with her came the third choice that she questioned in hindsight. Because she’d pressed herself against her – which had, in fairness, been an entirely innocent act on her part – and she was close enough to feel how warm Sutton was, close enough to feel the fact that as soon as Charlotte was close enough, Sutton’s heartrate went through the roof.
It was distracting, to say the least, in a situation where Charlotte truly didn’t have the time to have any distractions.
But once she’d heard what was being said, it was easier to concentrate. Being able to focus on the situation at hand was what had made anger burn up inside of her, strong and fast, and laced with dread.
Because of course Naomi was showing up back in New York just in time to run for John Kelvin’s seat. Of course David Verbeck was going to use his sneaky, conniving methods to assist her campaign.
And of course she would forget herself – and forget that Sutton truly had no idea what was going on – just in time to see Naomi popping around the corner.
Charlotte had nearly forgotten that look Naomi managed to adopt when she said the Thompson name. As though she was respecting Charlotte at the same time that she was actually insulting her.
Still reeling, she only had that split-second to gather herself. To recover from being caught in what could be construed as a compromising position with not only a beautiful woman, but one who happened to be the daughter of a notable politician.
It was, thankfully, second nature to slip into a congenial tone of voice. One that lacked the bitter bite that Naomi’s had to it but was no less a slight. “Mrs. Carmichael, it’s such a surprise to see you tonight.”
She fixed on a smile as she resolutely did not offer her hand in a greeting, instead, keeping her arms crossed.
It was in the way that Naomi’s eyes narrowed that she knew she hit the right spot. Even when her deceased husband had been alive, Naomi hadn’t been too fond of being referred to by his name, and it was no secret. No secret to many who knew where to look that she’d maintained her extramarital affairs for years. At least, not to Charlotte, who paid attention to the barely perceivable changes.
“A surprise? How odd. I thought you would have known that I’d be here.” Naomi’s lips were pulled back into a mocking smile.
She kept her own butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile in place. “How odd indeed, given that I don’t believe you were on the
original guest list.”
Which was actually something Charlotte knew for a fact.
“Yes, well, originally, I wasn’t in New York,” Naomi stated, but what she was not saying was even louder: I’m back now.
Despite the fact that Charlotte desperately wanted to groan in frustration, she only tilted her head in acknowledgement. “It’s lovely to have you back.” In a deliberately slow movement, she ran her eyes down Naomi’s dress and then back up, “You’re looking . . . well. Your return to Houston seemed to suit you, Mrs. Carmichael.”
She took pleasure in the way the older woman’s eyes narrowed again, nostrils flaring. Just slightly, but it was enough.
Naomi cocked an eyebrow. “It’s actually just Young, again.”
Charlotte didn’t even have to fake the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips as she murmured, “Is it? An interesting thing, a widow going back to her maiden name. I suppose being referred to by your beloved’s name might be a little difficult, though.”
It was only in the minor tic of a muscle in Naomi’s jaw that Charlotte knew she’d hit her target right where she’d intended.
Instead of responding to the dig, calculating eyes narrowed the slightest at her before they purposefully scanned her face and then deliberately at the alcove where she and Sutton were still shaded in from the hall. “An interesting thing as well, to be hiding out here in the middle of a fundraiser. Together.”
The innuendo in her voice was anything but subtle, and the cold feeling that struck through the pit of Charlotte’s stomach was unsettling. But, she reminded herself, it wasn’t as though Naomi saw anything unsavory – there wasn’t anything to see.
Still, she kept her smile in place. “Interesting? It seems you might understand a thing or two about disappearing from an event.” She inclined her head in the direction of where she and Verbeck had been.
Rather than react, Naomi changed her course. Instead of keeping her focus on Charlotte, she turned to Sutton.
She couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly that made her stomach churn uncomfortably at that. It was a combination, she thought. A combination starting with the fact that Sutton might be Sutton Spencer, but she was also Sutton – the woman Charlotte had been talking to for a month.
Sutton, who wasn’t deceptive. Who was anxious about the idea of messaging a woman on a dating app. The woman who literally choked on a sip of water earlier in the evening, just from a look Charlotte had given her. Sutton was clearly very intelligent, but there was still that thing about her.
That thing that had made Charlotte give Sutton her number a month ago, that had prompted her into giving all of those dating tips; it was this strange protective urge she had for the younger woman.
So there was that protectiveness inside of her, mixed with the fact that this needed to play out smoothly. She needed this to end smoothly – and quickly – because this was really just the beginning of what was to come.
For all that Sutton was adorable and had eventually managed to hold her own in the conversation earlier, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Because Sutton wasn’t even in this game of politics, not really, and Naomi Young loved to play with her prey.
Especially prey like Sutton.
She gave Sutton a look out of the corner of her eye, the first time she’d allowed herself to do so since the interaction began, and she took in the way Sutton’s hand was pressed against the wall, how she looked a little confused, blue eyes wide as she looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte hardly realized she’d taken a slight step forward, putting herself between Sutton and Naomi until she’d already done it. She truly did not like that somewhat predatory glint in Naomi’s eye as she smiled at Sutton.
“Hello, honey. I had no idea that you were friends with Ms. Thompson, here,” her insinuation hit right on target.
It was enough to make her clench her jaw, Charlotte’s hackles rising. Trading barbs with Charlotte was one thing, and even though she knew Naomi wasn’t above dragging someone else into a mess, it didn’t sit well with her to have Sutton in the middle of anything. To know that she might have, inadvertently, brought her there.
Before she could even open her mouth, though, it was Sutton who spoke.
“Yes, we’re friends. Good friends, actually,” she asserted, in a voice that was low, calm, and even.
Surprise surged through her and she couldn’t stop herself from turning to look at Sutton, full on. Who was now staring at Naomi, all big blue eyes and innocence – none of that blushing, flushing, heavy breathing kind of business that had been happening in this alcove only minutes ago.
Which was good, of course, but her mind was racing with the fact that Sutton was all adorably awkward with her, but then when Naomi Young appeared, she was collected? That was inconceivably unprecedented.
As amazed as she was, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she ran her eyes over Sutton’s face before turning back to Naomi.
“Really, now? Is that a recent development?”
“Fairly recent, yes,” Sutton hedged.
“Hmm. A recent development that takes place in dark alcoves?” She let the question hang in the air, with a smug smirk on her face that Charlotte hated – had always hated.
The question gave pause to Sutton, whose face flushed and Charlotte could tell even from where they stood shaded from the light in the hallway.
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed in derision as she took the shot for the opening she’d been given. “I know it must be difficult for you to imagine having an actual friendship, but yes. And now, we must get back to the fundraiser. Perhaps you’d like to show some actual support as well, considering I can’t for the life of me remember the last time I’ve ever seen you volunteering there.”
Check and mate, she thought in triumph as Naomi grit her teeth.
But before she could get a word in, Charlotte cleared her throat, “Come on, Sutton.”
She quirked an eyebrow in challenge as she deliberately reached out to link her arm through Sutton’s. She’d learned long ago that such innocuous touches between women garnered no attention at all, and she took advantage of the casual gesture.
Charlotte was already tugging her gently down the hall as Sutton’s arm tightened around hers.
Absently, she reached up to lightly run her fingers over the backs of Sutton’s in a calming move, still knowing that Naomi was watching them as they walked away.
Even in her heels, compared to Sutton’s flats, she was just shorter than Sutton, her eyes an inch below those baby blues. Instead of looking back at her, though, Sutton’s head was turned to look behind them as they turned to enter back into the event hall.
Her soft, thick red hair that had been left down for the night brushed over Charlotte’s shoulder as she turned back so that they faced one another. Sutton was wearing an exuberant grin, something that made her eyes spark, and the excitement Charlotte could feel rolling off of her made her feel inexplicably lighter, despite the situation.
She hadn’t been able to see this side of Sutton at all in their interactions yesterday at the coffee shop or earlier this evening, but she thought that she could imagine Sutton looking like this quite a bit. Mischievous.
But she didn’t quite understand the excitement, not when a confrontation with Naomi generally made her feel . . . well, not excited. She lifted her eyebrow in question.
“It’s just – I’ve never heard someone talk to her like that before.”
The wonder in her tone made Charlotte feel a little mischievous herself. She lightly nudged Sutton with her shoulder as she murmured, “Well, stick around.”
The teasing words made Sutton blush. But she couldn’t focus on that sort of cuteness, because there was a grim truth to her words; there would be a lot more to deal with when it came to Naomi in the coming months.
Even now, she could feel the back of her neck prickling, feeling eyes on them. She smoothly led them through the doors of the ballroom, into the loud sounds of members of
the wealthy and elite society of New York mingling amidst the music performed by the live band who were now performing at the dais in the front of the room.
As soon as they entered the room, she felt the change in Sutton. When she turned her head to look at her again, she could see the excitement start to fade into a speculative look.
“So . . . you’re a Thompson.”
For a few seconds, she stared back, slowly taking in the way Sutton looked at her. Serious, pensive, and curious. Both familiar and tentative at the same time.
She wondered if she looked at Sutton the same way.
“And you know Naomi Young well enough to talk back.” Her question went unasked. How? Just who are you, Sutton Spencer?
It was an unfamiliar sensation, wanting to know more about a woman, and not for any gain other than her own personal curiosity. But she’d already been feeling that with Sutton for a month now, so she supposed that it continuing in person wasn’t that odd.
Those intense eyes stared into her own for a few seconds as she could see the color creep up on pale cheeks, Sutton opening her mouth to answer. Whatever the answer was, a little frown line appeared in between her eyebrows, and Charlotte wanted to know more – a puzzle was her favorite thing, after all.
But over Sutton’s shoulder she could see Jack Spencer striding in their direction. He didn’t overtly look worried, but she could read someone like Jack – practically an open book – from a mile away. There was concern in the way his eyes slightly narrowed and in the determined stride he took toward them.
It was probably for the best. Despite the fact that she didn’t have the chance to have a real conversation with Sutton, she still needed to process everything. And in a room full of people like this, it wasn’t the best location for an open discussion.
She didn’t realize their arms were still interlocked until she went to lean back, and she looked down at the point of contact in surprise.
Which Sutton must have interpreted some other way, because she cleared her throat, “I – uh – sorry.” She pulled her arm back, before smoothing her hand down her dress in the same manner that she’d done at the café yesterday, over her jeans. She gathered that it was a show of Sutton’s nerves. “Can we . . . I just –”