Patrick put both his hands on the counter, leaning over it so his face was closer to Taryn’s. There was no way she could miss the gravity in his expression. “You, on the other hand, would bear the responsibility of being personally to blame for your father losing his chance at becoming vice president of the United States. Do you really want to carry that around on your shoulders?”
The words hung thickly in the air and Brinley realized she was holding her breath. He was absolutely right.
Taryn shifted her gaze away from both of them. She stared down at the iPad like she was willing the words on the screen to change. When she looked back up, she shook her head. “But I already texted Evan. She knows she has my jacket. She’s probably already figured out it was the mints.”
Patrick moved around the island to stand next to her, most likely a tactical move so it didn’t look like he and Brinley were physically on the same side against Taryn. Brinley was impressed. She should have thought of that.
“And what can she really do with that information?” Patrick asked, his voice softened. Another cleverly calculated play since the harsh approach clearly wasn’t working. “Yes, those mints were in your pocket, but you didn’t hold a gun to Evan’s head and tell her to take them. Who’s to say she didn’t know exactly what they were? And furthermore, no one can prove they were yours. Anyone could have put them in there.”
“It makes perfect sense someone at that party could have been trying to set you up to get caught with them,” Brinley added delicately, following his lead. “Everyone who was there last night has a stake in who wins the V.P. nomination. It’s entirely plausible someone would be doing a little dirty work on behalf of their parents.”
All the energy seemed to have been stripped from Taryn as she hung her head, absorbing the reality of her situation. Brinley exchanged a worried look with Patrick across the island, both of them equally nervous their words had not had the desired effect. She had a feeling he, like Brinley, was used to winning every argument, but this one seemed like it could go either way.
They all turned when they heard footsteps entering the kitchen. Brooks. He had not yet changed out of his pajama bottoms and T-shirt, but his bed-head was much more embarrassing than his wardrobe. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Taryn, too concerned with his outward appearance to notice her stricken face.
“Taryn, I didn’t know you were coming over,” he said, forcing an inflection of confidence in his voice as he tried desperately to straighten out a chunk of hair that looked like it was trying to escape off the top of his head. Under any other circumstance, Brinley would be thoroughly enjoying this rare moment of disheveled disarray Brooks was experiencing.
Taryn looked up at him, her eyes glassy. He finally put his obsessive emergency grooming aside to realize she did not look well.
“What’s wrong?” He shot Brinley an accusatory look. Of course he thought she was the root of Taryn’s melancholy. Well, she kind of was. But still.
Patrick and Brinley shot their laser-like eyes in Taryn’s direction. This was the moment of truth. If Taryn didn’t tell Brooks about the coat mix-up, then there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t tell anybody else. Usually, Brinley would’ve told Brooks herself because he would’ve been thrilled to be an active participant in covering up anything negative about one of his father’s clients. But he’d been acting so obstinate about everything Taryn-related, she couldn’t risk him knowing about this.
“I just…” Taryn swallowed. “I just…don’t really like the dress Brinley wants me to wear tonight,” she finished quietly.
Brinley caught Patrick’s eye as they both exhaled. It wasn’t a pretty situation, but unless you were one of the Huntsman daughters, there really wasn’t anything pretty about politics.
“Can you see me yet?” Brinley asked the pale blue avatar on the computer screen, as she sat on the cushioned chair at the antique cream wood desk in her room hours later.
She and Shane were at that annoying point at the beginning of a Skype call when they could both hear each other, but were still waiting for the video feed to stream.
Since she had screened his call that morning, they had made a Skype date for tonight instead, but she had momentarily debated flaking again because she was feeling stressed about the Dedication Party in the midst of Taryn’s Marijuana-Gate incident. Though she was completely dressed and made-up for the event in a short jewel-tone green Chanel frock that made her auburn hair appear even more red than usual, she was feeling so overwhelmed she couldn’t even decide which clutch to bring. Not only was it the first big D.C. event Brinley would be attending without the help of Adderall in quite some time, but the pressure for the Reyeses to come off well was weighing on her. The president would be there tonight. One more dumb comment from Taryn and Alan could kiss the V.P. position good-bye, bringing down the good name of the Madison family with him. It was enough to convince her she might need to grab a third cup of coffee before heading to the event.
But, if she were being honest, her debate over answering Shane’s call went beyond the pressure to perform tonight. She was still feeling disturbed by her warped daydream earlier. Though her physical attraction to Patrick hadn’t been as instantly strong as with Shane, clearly she was feeling some sort of gravitation toward him, especially after she’d seen his exceptional work with Taryn earlier. She could barely talk to Shane about Taryn, but Patrick was almost more on top of it than she was.
Regardless, there was still at least a little pull left toward Shane because she’d stopped sorting through her purses when she heard the familiar tinny ring tone and clicked onto her computer.
And she was certainly glad she did now that his image was finally popping up. He was leaning back in his chair, his cobalt blue eyes piercing the screen, a slight five o’clock shadow giving him a hot, scruffy look. But it was more than that. As soon as she saw him, her entire body relaxed as if she was dipping into a warm bubble bath.
“Hey, Brin—” he suddenly sat up in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “Wow.”
“What?” Brinley asked innocently, letting a piece of curled auburn hair fall down her shoulder. She’d originally strategically designed the timing of this—ten minutes before she had to leave for the event—so he could see her at her most dolled up.
“You.” He let out a low whistle, completely flustering Brinley. It was the kind of crass behavior she associated with construction workers ogling secretaries in ill-fitting tight skirt suits from Ross. But then why did it feel oddly flattering coming from Shane?
“Uh, thanks,” she replied. What was the accepted etiquette when dealing with a catcall over Skype? Emily Post definitely never covered that one.
“You’ve got some kind of party tonight, right?” he asked. Brinley almost laughed out loud. The so-called “party” could very well be one of the most important events of the year. But unlike everyone else in D.C. who’d been talking about it all week (and trying to wrangle invitations for themselves), Shane had never even heard of it. Instead of annoying her though, his comment had the effect of deflating tonight’s significance, taking down her stress levels a few notches in the process. She suddenly didn’t feel so desperate for that third cup of coffee.
“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s a big event at the Capitol.”
“At the Capitol? That’s pretty cool,” he replied. “Are there going to be lots of people?”
“A thousand probably. The president’s going to be there, too,” she said, the nervousness rushing back.
“Wow. Lucky girl,” he said. She was so used to gliding through D.C. wearing her tiara of entitlement, she didn’t often stop to think about how special the things she got to do actually were.
“Hey, is Bernie Sanders going to be there?” he asked, referring to the Independent Senator from Vermont.
“I’m sure,” Brinley replied. Pretty much the whole Senate chamber would be there. “Why? Are you friends with him?”
Shane let out a laugh. “With
Bernie Sanders? Are you kidding? No. But I voted for him last election.”
“Should I text you a picture of him?” Brinley asked with a smile. What was wrong with her? Usually she found this kind of fan-like behavior completely vomit-inducing, but Shane was so endearingly enthusiastic about her being in the same room as the guy it made her want to be part of the excitement somehow, too.
“Only if you’re in it with him,” he said.
“Considering my father convinced the last president to veto Bernie’s bill to stop media monopolies, I doubt he’ll be thrilled to pose with me. But I could try.”
“Well, you look beautiful.” For being as hot as he was, Shane was also ridiculously sweet. It must be the Vermont thing. Guys in D.C. who weren’t half as good-looking as Shane walked around town like they were Conor Kennedy.
“You want to see the whole dress?” Brinley asked, getting ready to stand up so he could really get the full effect.
“I’d rather see none of it,” he replied, his eyes fixated on hers, and Brinley felt a shiver go down her spine.
“I miss you,” he said.
“Me, too,” she replied truthfully. What she wouldn’t give to ditch out on all the drama tonight and trade it in for another night in Stowe with Shane.
Suddenly, Katherine Madison’s voice filled the intercom piped into each of the house’s fourteen rooms. “Brinley, we’re ready to leave.”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, jumping up.
“All right,” Shane said reluctantly. “I’ll talk to you later. Though after seeing you tonight, I’m tempted to fly down there one of these days.”
The thought struck a mix of excitement and terror through her body. As much as she was dying to see Shane, the logistics of sneaking a visit in with him behind her parents’ back sounded close to impossible.
“That’d be great,” she answered quickly. She’d have to come up with some kind of excuse to hold him off before the next time they talked. Or maybe it was just an idle comment he was making. A way to end the conversation.
“Have fun tonight, Brin,” he said before hanging up.
She stared at the blank box on the screen, feeling a little like she was living a double life.
“Brinley!” her mother shouted over the intercom. “The car is out front!”
On the bright side, at least it was a glamorous one.
It’s time for the Dedication Party! Who do you want to follow there?
Ellie
Taryn
Brinley
Evan
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CHAPTER NINE
Sunday, 7:49 p.m.
Ellie followed her mother down the red carpet that roped through the Rotunda, the massive domed room at the center of the Capitol. The sheer scale of the room made Ellie feel miniature, with its two-hundred-foot vaulted ceiling and sandstone walls that gently curved around them, a frescoed painting of several notable American figures covering the canopy of the Rotunda.
They’d already spoken to over a dozen reporters and Marilyn stopped for yet another one. Ellie paused beside her, angling herself the way Brinley had taught her long ago so her fuchsia, asymmetrical sheath was most flattering as the bevy of photographers clicked away at them. After Marilyn’s impromptu speech on women’s rights, it had been decided she should do the press line with Ellie tonight, the resounding symbolism of the strong mother and daughter paying tribute to a pioneering American woman too good to pass up.
“Eleanor Roosevelt pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable for women and paved the way for someone like me,” her mother, decked out in a stunning ink-blue, twisted drape dress and a roped gold necklace, told a reporter from Washington Life as she motioned toward the newly unveiled statue. “You know, I actually named my daughter after her.”
This was the part where Marilyn gave Ellie (whose full name, indeed, was Eleanor after the former First Lady) a beaming smile that Ellie gamely returned, though it was the seventh time they’d done this little routine in the last half-hour.
As her mother continued discussing Eleanor Roosevelt’s legacy in championing human rights, Ellie tried to look interested. She’d actually found the party pretty exciting when they’d first arrived. Events like this, in the Capitol building, with the president in attendance, were far more elevated than the usual D.C. social fare and being among the first to view the statue was an honor.
But after working the press lines with her mother for thirty minutes, hearing the same questions over and over, the excitement was waning and the anxiety was setting in. This was one of the most intense press lines Ellie had ever experienced, the sheer number of reporters and photographers jockeying to talk to them completely overwhelming. Plus, her eyes kept wandering to Hunter’s parents, who were a little farther up on the red carpet, posing with tight smiles for photos, blatantly ignoring the frenzied reporters who were yelling out questions about Hunter and Evan’s car crash. She’d seen Hunter slink in with his parents, but the photographers had descended on them so quickly that he’d exited to the hallway and avoided the red carpet all together. And Evan, who Ellie knew was supposed to be there as his date, was nowhere to be seen. Ellie had already tried calling her multiple times that day after the story broke, but never heard back. She’d even tried the landline, speaking briefly to Evan’s mother, who’d at least assured her that Evan was physically okay from the accident, but gave her no other details. Hopefully, once she found Hunter inside, he could explain what had happened because no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t figure out a way to believe Evan had crashed a car while high.
As she nodded along to whatever it was her mother was now telling this reporter, Ellie found her eyes searching for the other person she was hoping to speak with tonight. Gabe would be here with his family, and she didn’t know if he was planning to continue ignoring her or not. He hadn’t returned her phone call from Friday or reached out in any way this weekend, though she didn’t know if it was because of anger over her mother’s comments or lack of opportunity from being too busy consoling his mother. She was hoping to find some way to covertly talk to him tonight, as well. At least to get back on the same page, if that was even possible anymore.
Her mother gave the symbol to Jasmine to wrap it up, and within minutes, they were walking down the corridor toward the National Statuary Hall, where the reception was taking place.
If Ellie was expecting the attention to die down once they were inside the party, she was dead wrong. The massive semi-circular hall was already filled with throngs of people, drinking, gabbing and grabbing canapés off passing waiters’ trays. Colossal marble pillars and a multitude of statues and busts of important members of American history lined the perimeter of the room. Her mother had barely walked more than two steps before she was mobbed by guests, all dying to talk to her. Ellie was used to her mom being popular at functions like this, her many years in D.C. giving her thousands of acquaintances to make small talk with, but this was on an entirely different level. It almost reminded Ellie of the way Nora and Liesel glommed onto her in the hallways of G.A. But instead of two status-conscious teenagers, it was hundreds of full-grown adults angling to get a word in with Marilyn.
Ellie stopped behind her mother, mainly to avoid getting crushed by the crowds, letting her eyes wander up to the golden arched ceilings, the ornate chandelier casting a rosy glow on the entire room until the Reyes family finally caught her eye. Taryn, her brother, and parents were smiling for several photographers in front of a statue of Junipero Serra, the founder of Spanish California. Ellie took one look at Taryn in her fiery-red flared cocktail dress and immediately felt inadequate. The style was more conservative than
what Taryn usually wore, with a boat-collar neckline and a hem that grazed her knees, her chic chignon accentuating both her amazing cheekbones and the simple diamond studs she wore in her ears. Ellie had no doubt she’d be cast as the loser in whatever poll about her and Taryn inevitably circled the school tomorrow.
The Madison family stood off to the side, watching the Reyes family like they were their prize stallions. Suddenly, Katherine signaled to the photographers to stop and Brinley quickly ran up to Taryn, dutifully fluffing her dress out for her.
Knowing how much Brinley had always intensely disliked Taryn, seeing her tend to her like this would’ve made Ellie laugh had it not stung so much. To her surprise, she’d seen Brinley parading Taryn around Sarah Corliss’s party last night like they were close confidantes. She knew Brinley and Brooks sometimes assisted the children of their father’s clients, but for some reason, the idea that Brinley would take Taryn under her wing had never really crossed Ellie’s mind before.
When she finally had a moment alone with Brinley while Sarah was apparently showing Taryn sorority photos of her mother and FLOTUS, Brinley had acted like her mentorship of Taryn was no big deal and just part of the political game, so Ellie had tried to do the same. But nonetheless, it still was piercingly hurtful to watch the girl she called her best friend coaching someone in the opposite corner.
Brinley fluttered away from Taryn and Ellie watched as the photographers continued taking photos of the Reyes family, taking note of how well Taryn seemed to work her angles. Marilyn, still in the midst of greeting the milling party guests, let her eyes travel to where Ellie’s were and sized up Alan Reyes in the same way Ellie had just done to Taryn.
Until, suddenly, Alan Reyes looked up and caught eyes with her mother, giving her a friendly wave.
“Here we go,” Marilyn murmured under her breath, waving back. Alan gave the photographers one last smile, then took his wife’s hand, striding toward Marilyn, with Taryn and her brother in tow.
Georgetown Academy, Season One Page 51