“How about we get out of here?” he replied easily. “I saw Narc heading to the hot tub with Marie Carducci, so clearly my superb wingman skills will not be needed for the rest of the night.”
Evan laughed, relaxing a little now that they had moved on to lighter territory. “What should we do? I still have two hours before my curfew,” she said, the word “curfew” sounding as ridiculous as it had before. She had been so shocked when her dad gave her one she hadn’t tried to negotiate the time.
“My parents are at the Kennedy Center. We could go back to my house.” He said that last part in a low voice in her ear as he intertwined his hands around her waist.
Her stomach flipped with equal parts excitement and anxiety and she took a quick breath so her next words didn’t come out too eagerly. “I’ll get my coat.”
She practically skipped toward the downstairs office-turned-coat closet with relief. She opened the door to find a room three times the size of her bedroom and tastefully decorated with leather furniture and high-end computer equipment. But the most impressive feature of the room was the wall of framed photographs of Sarah and her parents in various locales with the First Family. It was hard to believe Ellie or Taryn could have similar photographs in their homes in a matter of weeks.
She sorted through a pile of coats on the desk chair until she found hers. She slipped it on and pulled out her gloves from her purse, then rummaged through it, looking for a rogue piece of gum. If they were headed toward Hunter’s empty house, she wanted a little breath freshener. Unfortunately, she came up empty, but when she felt around in her coat pockets, she was happily surprised to find a handful of mint candies, probably the ones from Kafe Leopold where she and Luke had grabbed coffee a few days ago. Thank god for small miracles.
She unwrapped a few and popped them in, wondering what Hunter’s house was going to be like. Would they immediately go up to his room? They hadn’t been alone like that since the ski trip and if that night was any indication, they probably weren’t going to spend the rest of the evening talking. She popped another mint in for good measure.
She left the office to find Hunter standing in the foyer, surrounded by six or seven people as usual, all of who seemed to be clamoring for his attention. It took another half hour for them to make it out the door, but finally the two of them walked toward his car.
“Are you okay to drive?” she suddenly asked. Portia’s interrogation of Ellie was ringing in her ears. “MacArthur always has so many cops and those stupid speed lights.”
“Is that your way of asking to drive my car?” he said with an eyebrow raise.
She laughed, looking up at him as they reached his BMW X something or other. She leaned against the passenger side door of the SUV, a smile playing on her lips. “Is that you saying you don’t trust me?”
He responded by kissing her and she was grateful once again they had escaped that stupid party and that she had eaten a few more mints while Hunter was talking to his super fans in the foyer. They stood there, leaning against the car and making out for at least ten minutes, unfazed by the forty-five-degree weather. It was hard to believe she’d been so anxious about everything earlier. Kissing Hunter painted a momentary ray of sunshine over anything bothering her.
When they finally pulled apart, he put the keys in her hand.
“I don’t think I finished my second beer, but you’re right. If a cop pulled me over, it still might register. Not to mention I’m a little nervous your dad has someone from Langley tailing us.”
Evan rolled her eyes with a smile. “Please, he would never trust the FBI with something that important. He’s still mad at them for turning Timothy Leary into an informant.”
She got into the driver’s side and he chuckled while it took her a few very long minutes to adjust the seat to fit her much smaller body.
“You aren’t one of those guys who has a name for his car, right?” she asked as she pulled away from the sidewalk and drove back toward MacArthur Blvd.
“My dad refers to his Audi as Iron Man, so I think that pretty much deterred me from wanting to name my car.”
Evan laughed, wondering if she would ever be able to look at Bill McKnight as simply Hunter’s dad and not the attorney general of the United States. “At least he named it after a guy. Why do men always name their cars after women?”
Hunter’s eyes twinkled. “Do you want the Newt Gingrich answer or the EMILY’s List answer?”
Evan looked at him curiously. “Both.”
“The Newt Gingrich answer is it’s because they’re expensive to keep up and when they get old, you trade them in for a newer model.”
Evan swatted him. “Okay, EMILY’s List answer, please.”
“It’s because men associate cars with power and beauty.”
Evan giggled and before she knew it, her giggling had morphed into full on belly laughter.
Hunter gave her a strange look. “Alright, it wasn’t that funny.”
“No, I know,” she replied, trying to keep it together. What had come over her?
As she rounded the corner of the dark, windy street, she glanced in her rearview mirror and realized a police cruiser was a few cars behind them. She was glad she had insisted on driving, although she was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming fear that the cop was following them.
Before she could give her paranoia another thought, she began to giggle again and was hit by a wave of dizziness. She blinked a few times and took a deep breath, willing the road ahead of her to get less hazy. Her hands felt heavy as they gripped the steering wheel and when she looked down at them, she got distracted by her elbows. She saw they were attached to her arms, but she wasn’t completely convinced they actually were.
She heard Hunter saying her name and wanted to answer, but her tongue was thick like she’d swallowed a sock. But why would she swallow a sock? She giggled at the thought of doing something so crazy. It probably wasn’t even humanly possible to swallow a sock. Unless it was one of those cute baby socks. Baby clothes were so cute. But she didn’t like how they were now making baby clothes to look like teenage girl clothes, but smaller. Babies shouldn’t wear skinny jeans. But baby UGGs were adorable. They were the one exception. Wait, what had gotten her on the subject of baby UGGs? She struggled to remember, racking her brains, but quickly got sidetracked because she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to be remembering in the first place. Something about socks? What was wrong with her?
Hunter was still calling her name and it took forever for her head to turn in his direction. Her eyes finally landed on him and she registered the worry on his face, but for some reason, it didn’t particularly concern her. Before she could ask him what was wrong, her head snapped back against the seat.
She had just rammed Hunter’s BMW X whatever into a massive telephone pole and the sound of the police siren behind her was thumping deafeningly in her ears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sunday, 10:32 a.m.
It was Sunday morning, typically a day of rest and relaxation, but Brinley had already been bustling around her bedroom for hours, hard at work on Operation Taryn. She had been skeptical when Taryn called her for help yesterday following her atrocious sound bite that was right up there on the cringe-worthy scale with the Palin/Couric interview. But any fears Brinley had that Taryn wasn’t one hundred percent committed to her father’s campaign were quickly assuaged last night at Sarah Corliss’s house where Taryn proved to be an excellent pupil, the reality finally seeping in to her smog-clouded brain that whatever she did in the next week could affect her father’s chances at winning. And not that Brinley would ever admit this to Brooks or anyone else, but spending the evening with Taryn was not as miserable as she had anticipated. But that probably had less to do with Taryn growing on her and more to do with the fact that Brinley was a sucker for a good makeover story.
As soon as she woke up a few hours ago, she began putting together an impressively bound Lookbook for Taryn of possible clothing, shoe, je
welry, makeup and hair options for that evening using a combination of images from runway shows and fashion spreads. She then settled herself in at her computer and devised an extremely comprehensive checklist of dos and don’ts for the party (DO compliment Cindy McCain’s new haircut, DON’T stare at Paul Ryan’s widow’s peak). Finally, she went online and printed photographs of every high-powered person attending the event so Taryn could greet them by name, further proving she and her family were a natural fit in this world. If Alan followed her father’s advice and Taryn followed Brinley’s, hopefully the Madison’s social status would remain secure and Brinley would never again have to live through being denied an Express Lift facial when she needed one.
The printer spewed out the last page of photographs and Brinley perched on her tufted ottoman flipping through the pages and admiring her work. Her phone buzzed next to her and she glanced down to see it was a text from Shane. Having some very unholy thoughts about you this Sunday morning.
They had been Skyping and texting every day since Brinley had reached out to him and usually she would like nothing more than to begin another texting marathon, but she was too distracted with her mission to focus on coming up with an appropriately sexy and clever response.
Working on Project Taryn, she typed back one-handed as she labeled the photograph of Lindsey Graham.
Starting to get a little jealous of this girl. Want 2 chat in a few?
Brinley had briefly explained to him her plan to transform Taryn, but she wasn’t sure he fully understood the gravity of the situation if she failed. After he stopped laughing at how upset she was over her inability to get a last-minute facial, he told her she was just being paranoid and Kim-Yee’s schedule probably had nothing to do with her father’s last loss. She knew better, though.
She glanced at her rose gold Fendi watch. Taryn would be over soon, but she could probably spare a few minutes to chat with Shane.
She quickly typed out: Call me in five.
She gathered her Project Taryn arsenal of weapons and padded down the staircase so she could quickly grab another cup of coffee. Ever since she kicked the Adderall, Brinley found herself using coffee as a last resort crutch for an extra boost when she felt stressed. Luckily, Paula always made sure there was a fresh pot of Indonesian Kopi Luwak coffee beans brewing.
When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to see Patrick sitting at one of the French bistro-style counter stools, intently focused as he read something on his iPad. He was more dressed down than she’d previously seen him in brown twill pants and a tan shawl-collar sweater that exposed a white button-down underneath.
She definitely admired his sense of style. And his business sense. Without him in her corner yesterday, she might have never eventually gotten through to Taryn.
He looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Brinley.”
She returned the smile then poured herself a cup of steaming coffee. “Does my dad ever let you sleep?”
“Not this week. But I don’t mind. I live for this stuff.”
She looked down at the two-hundred-page instruction manual she had prepared for Taryn and couldn’t help but relate. She sat down next to him, crossing her legs as she placed her mug on the massive granite island. Thank god she had changed out of her pajamas and into skinny black pants. Not that she had a thing for Patrick, but it would be incredibly tacky to trounce around the house in what she wore to sleep with a guest present.
“How are things going with Alan?” she asked, mainly to fill the space between them because she had suddenly started to wonder what Patrick wore to bed and the rogue thought caught her off-guard. Her mind had briefly wandered to him after breakfast at Le Pain yesterday, but she had dismissed it as her merely feeling gratitude toward him for taking her side over Brooks’s in regards to Taryn. Could it be more than just appreciation she was feeling?
“I don’t agree with his policies, but he’s a smart guy and an amazing politician. People love him. It’s neck-and-neck at this point, though. Everything matters now.” He angled his body toward hers so he could look at her straight on. “How did things go with Taryn last night? Did you end up taking her to that party?”
She was about to answer when her phone buzzed next to her. Shane calling. She got up to top off her coffee and her fingers quickly found the “ignore” button on her phone. It’s not like she could risk Patrick asking her questions about who was on the other line.
“Surprisingly well,” Brinley answered, ignoring the pangs of guilt nipping at her for avoiding Shane’s call. An image of their ice skating date flashed in her brain, followed by one of him kissing her in the snow under the stars…until suddenly, Shane’s face morphed into Patrick’s. She shook her head as if that would recalibrate her vision, then blinked several times. What was that about?
“Are you okay?” Patrick asked, jolting her back to reality.
“What? Yes, I’m fine,” she answered quickly.
But he continued looking at her, not letting the issue go. “You have a really weird look on your face.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about how Sarah Corliss was a great asset last night. She gave Taryn some excellent pointers,” Brinley covered hurriedly, sitting back down next to him. She scooted her stool a few feet farther away though, the morphed image still disturbing her.
He opened his mouth to comment, then stopped like he had an epiphany. “Sarah Corliss. That’s right. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together until now. That was the party Bill McKnight’s son went to last night, wasn’t it?”
Brinley looked at him quizzically. “Yeah, Hunter was there. Why?”
“You didn’t hear what happened afterward?”
It was clear by his tone it was not something good. He slid his iPad over to her and clicked on the front page of the Post. Brinley’s jaw dropped at the headline.
Attorney General’s Son in Marijuana-involved Car Accident.
Her eyes scanned the article rapidly, her disbelief growing with every word on the page. According to the report, Evan had been driving Hunter’s car high and rammed it into a telephone pole on the way home from Sarah’s party. Neither of them was injured, but Evan was subsequently booked for driving under the influence of marijuana by a Metro PD officer who had witnessed the accident.
“This makes no sense,” Brinley said, shaking her head. “Evan Harnett doesn’t even drink.”
“Probably because she’s too busy smoking weed,” Patrick shrugged unsympathetically.
Brinley tore her eyes away from the article when she realized Taryn had entered the kitchen. She had been so enthralled with Evan’s Al Gore III style drama, she hadn’t heard the doorbell ring.
“Have you talked to Evan today?” Brinley asked her, though she did allow herself a moment to take in Taryn’s impressively understated outfit of jeans and an asymmetrical black sweater, not a feather or faux fur detail in sight. She had lectured her last night about toning it down and was pleased Taryn had paid attention.
Taryn shook her head. “No, I actually texted her this morning and never heard back. I took her coat last night by accident. I guess we have the same one. I found a Kafe Leopold receipt with her name on it in the pocket.” She paused. “Why?”
Brinley slid the iPad across the counter to her and the same expression of disbelief worked its way across Taryn’s features. “No way. That’s crazytown. Evan would never get high.” Taryn’s face suddenly went ashen. “Oh god.”
“What?” Patrick asked, standing up and already anticipating going into damage control mode.
“My jacket. Evan took my jacket last night.”
Brinley had a feeling she didn’t want to know where this was going, but she still asked, “So?”
Taryn wrung her hands nervously, her breath coming in little gasps as the words tumbled out. “My friend, Lauren, in L.A. sent me a bunch of edible pot candies yesterday because she thought I seemed stressed. So I threw them in my jacket pocket when I left for the party.” Taryn slumped
against the counter and put her head in her hands. “They looked like mints. Maybe Evan thought they were and ate them.”
Brinley stared at her in utter shock. This could not be happening. Here she was working night and day to do her part in getting Alan the V.P. position and his own daughter managed to do something so incredibly careless.
“You cannot tell anyone about this,” Patrick said sternly to Taryn, right as Brinley had shot up from her stool and opened her mouth to say the exact same thing.
Taryn looked at him like he had told her to hide a body. Brinley was glad she’d had that second cup of coffee. She needed to be on her A-game right now.
“He’s right. Not a soul, Taryn,” Brinley said, trying to keep her voice in check though her heart was racing. If Taryn came forward with this, Alan would be done, solidifying a second loss in a row for Brinley’s father. Clients would be hesitant to hire him, his record would be tarnished, and the tiny pimple on Brinley’s chin would not be the only blemish on her reputation.
Taryn’s huge brown eyes flashed defiantly from across the counter. “But this is on Evan’s record now! And she probably didn’t even know what she was doing! I have to come clean—”
“If you tell the cops it was your pot, your dad might as well withdraw his name from the president now,” Patrick interrupted fervently. “Because a single mother looks a lot more appealing than a guy with a pothead daughter.”
“They were a couple of candies! And technically, they weren’t even mine!”
“That’s not the point, Taryn,” Brinley snapped. “No one is going to give you time for an explanation. Yes, it’s an unfortunate situation, but Evan will be okay. She’ll get fined a small amount and then she’ll probably have to wear one of those hideous orange vests and pick up trash along the Beltway. She does volunteer work all the time. It won’t be that big of a deal for her.” Truthfully, Brinley did not relish turning Evan into collateral damage, but she could see no other options. The scope of repercussions for Evan versus Alan solidified it.
Georgetown Academy, Season One Page 50