Georgetown Academy, Season One

by Schwartz, Alyssa Embree

  “Of course you can. You don’t need her or that self-important Hobbit telling you what to do. You’re already a natural package, even if you make a few mistakes.”

  “I’ve made some pretty big ones,” Taryn muttered.

  Brooks sighed, as he leaned his long frame against the wall. “So you had a few quotes taken out of context. It wasn’t the best situation,” he admitted. “But that’s no reason to undergo a personality transplant. We managed to do enough damage control to remedy it and it’s a good lesson on taking a moment to evaluate a situation before speaking to reporters.”

  Taryn nodded glumly. “But there’s some mistakes that are…bigger than a misquote.” She swallowed, thinking her biggest mistake had been listening to Brinley to begin with. Now she was in too deep.

  Brooks looked at her questioningly, but she remained silent. He waited her out for a few beats before he started to speak.

  “My father used to study Princess Diana when we were younger. It fascinated him. No matter what happened to her—divorce, topless photos, weird interviews—the public always loved her all the more for it. He was always trying to figure out a way to do the same for his clients. He eventually conceded that some people are natural magnets.” He looked down, gazing steadily at her. “You’re one of those people. I’ve said it from the start. You’ll never hurt your dad if you just act like yourself. You’ve got the charm to bounce back from any kind of issue in the long run. Misquote or whatever else is on your mind...”

  She was more confused than ever. Of course, she wanted to believe what Brooks was saying. If she could just own up to this thing with Evan, she’d feel so much better about everything. Maybe there was a way to do it without costing her father the nomination. Like Brooks said, maybe it would humanize her. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. After all, she had gotten skewered over those quotes and this was about a thousand times worse.

  “Trust me,” Brooks said, picking up on her confusion. “If you completely change who you are, you’ll make a lot worse mistakes than if you just act like yourself.”

  “You might be right about that,” Taryn conceded. If she’d been acting like herself she never would’ve engaged in this cover-up. Admitting to having the pot candies wouldn’t have looked good, but at least it was better than looking like she lied about it. And she had no doubt her conversation with the First Lady probably would’ve gone a lot better, too, if she’d been acting like herself instead of a Brinley clone.

  “You’re naturally genuine and self-assured,” Brooks told her. “Those are two things you can’t teach or fake…It’s hard to describe how appealing that is.” He said it the same way he had yesterday at Le Pain Quotidien. Where Taryn couldn’t tell if he was referring to himself or the blocs of voters his father was so obsessed with.

  “You mean like, it’s appealing to people in the swing states?” Taryn asked. Brinley had lectured her for a good twenty minutes about the value of Ohio that morning.

  “Sure.” He paused for a beat. “And to me. Obviously.”

  She looked up at him to find him staring back at her.

  “How is it obvious?” she asked, her frustration from the last week coming to a head.

  Brooks paused, taken aback.

  But Taryn pushed forward. “When we first came back from Stowe, I thought you were going to ask me out. But then you never did. And for the last week you’ve been so hot and cold, I figured it was all just a big game to you or you were over it.”

  “You thought I was playing a game?” he asked incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”

  “Of course I like you, Taryn. I’ve liked you ever since I first talked to you that day in our kitchen when you were doing that project with Brinley. I told you that in Vermont.”

  “You’re going to tell me you haven’t been acting weird since then?”

  Brooks hesitated. “Maybe a little. But not because I was playing a game. Once your dad hired mine, I promised my father I’d keep our relationship platonic for now. Out of respect to the client relationship.”

  Ooohhhh. A wave of relief washed over Taryn. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, her stress and guilt over the pot candies momentarily evaporating. “Here I thought you were over it because I’m dressed like Brinley’s personal Barbie doll.”

  Brooks smiled. “No. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a few thoughts about what you’d look like in that short black dress you mentioned. Or the Ke$ha costume for that matter.”

  Taryn giggled. They were back to the familiar flirty banter she’d missed so much. Her heartbeat quickened as she looked up at him from under her long, dark lashes. “For the record, I think you would’ve really liked the dress.”

  He leaned in a hint closer. “Maybe you could wear it next weekend?”

  “Next weekend?” Taryn’s mind raced, trying to remember which big political event was happening then. There were so many it was hard to keep track.

  “If you’re free. I want to take you out.” His eyes met hers steadily.

  “You’re asking me out?” she asked, still almost not believing it.

  Brooks nodded. “I told my father I’d wait until the president made up his mind. But I’m not feeling patient. So as long as it’s okay with your father since he’s the client…”

  “My dad could care less about stuff like that. Besides, he knows how much I like you.”

  Brooks raised an eyebrow at her. “Interesting.”

  Taryn blushed furiously. “I mean—”

  “No,” he replied, a broad smile growing on his face. “Go on. Tell me about more about that.”

  Taryn couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “My parents and I have a very open relationship. They know everyone I like.”

  “I see. So I’m just one of many?” he cocked his head at her, teasingly.

  “I’m starting to rethink this decision to go out with you.”

  “Let me convince you then.”

  Without a second of hesitation, he smoothly leaned in and kissed her.

  And as Taryn wrapped her arms around him, all she could think was…It was worth the wait.

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  CHAPTER NINE

  Sunday, 7:05 p.m.

  Brinley was trying to remember Shane’s advice to “have fun” as she nervously tapped the sole of her jeweled Sergio Rossi heel on the stone floor of the Capitol’s Rotunda. She stood just behind her parents, next to Brooks in a sharp navy suit, waiting for their turn to begin the press line. Though it wasn’t her own performance she was anxious about. Just ahead of them was the Reyes family, already smiling for the photographers, and Brinley’s neck muscles tightened as she watched Taryn almost trip over a small wrinkle in the carpet. Thank god she caught her brother Ryland’s hand before she could stumble.

  Brinley’s father had taken elaborate measures to meet the Reyeses at the exact moment they’d arrived, enlisting Patrick to wait inside and act as a lookout, so they could oversee the entire process and ensure there were no gaffes or unsightly photographs taken. Of course, Brinley would’ve preferred to be leading them into the event as opposed to trailing them like the hired help, but her father insisted Alan Reyes needed to look powerful. Being paraded around on a leash wouldn’t do that for him. Tonight was essential for the Reyeses, and the Madisons by extension. If her father didn’t win this for Alan, would Brinley even get invited to a party like this next year? After her conversation with Shane, she had to admit she appreciated the
opportunity to be here even more than she usually would.

  Brinley rubbed her hands over her temples, feeling a headache coming on. As beautiful as the Rotunda was with its two-hundred foot domed ceiling, centuries-old sandstone walls and columns giving way to a circle of windows and oil frescos, it was a horrible room to do press in. The vaulted ceiling magnified every footstep and click of the camera and the noise was almost deafening.

  In the Northwest arc of the immense, circular room stood the statue of Eleanor Roosevelt for which the event was being held tonight. Frankly, though, whether it was that socialist Eleanor Roosevelt or the father of democracy, George Washington, whose monument stood in the center of the room, Brinley didn’t see what the big whoop was over a piece of chiseled stone. Though she could talk with the best of them about the most interesting exhibits at the Louvre, unless she was hearing about the record price a painting had sold for at the most recent Sotheby’s auction, most works of art didn’t really capture her full attention.

  Taryn smiled for the cameras with her family. It was a slightly more demure smile than her usual natural wide-mouthed one, yet another small detail Brinley had coached her on. She needed to look like she belonged at this thing, not like she was a rabid fan at a One Direction concert.

  “You really did a number on her,” Brooks whispered, disapprovingly. But even as he said it, he couldn’t tear his eyes from Taryn, despite the fact Mary Anne Huntsman, who had long been on Brooks’s short list for potential future-wife material (and who Brooks hoped would see past their decade-old age difference), was on the red carpet up ahead in a gorgeous silk crepe black dress.

  “What? You don’t think Taryn looks good?” Brinley asked him, impishly. “From the way you can’t stop staring at her, I’m finding that a little hard to believe.”

  She’d selected a red Ralph Lauren flared cocktail dress for Taryn with a boatneck collar and styled her hair into a classic chignon. Topping off the more conservative look was a pair of nude Miu Miu peep-toe heels Taryn had been photographed in before, giving her that whole Kate Middleton recycled-clothing effect, which would hopefully serve to ingratiate her to everyone in the middle states.

  “She always looks good,” Brooks said. “You could put a Lauren Bush burlap FEED sack on her and she’d stand out.”

  Jesus. He’d really drunk the Kool-Aid with her. But it made Brinley wonder if Shane would say the same about her. She wished he were here, looking at her the way Brooks was looking at Taryn, though she knew that could never happen.

  “But she doesn’t seem comfortable,” Brooks continued. “And that’s going to show up in the photos.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she snapped. However, as she watched Taryn more closely, she begrudgingly had to admit he might have a point. Taryn wasn’t relaxed. Her body was rigid with stress and she kept casting her eyes downward, guiltily, as if she didn’t deserve to be standing on the red carpet. But it wasn’t because of the dress Brinley had forced her to wear. Clearly, Taryn was feeling wildly uneasy about the secret she was keeping about those pot candies. Still, it was better this way. She’d rather Taryn look a little awkward in some photos than air her dirty laundry and lose her father the V.P. seat. And if Brooks was in his right mind, she was sure he’d agree.

  “Brinley, the flare on Taryn’s dress is wilting slightly,” her mother murmured. “Go take care of that, please.”

  “I’m not her seamstress,” Brinley huffed. Shane had made her feel like Cinderella before she left the house and ever since she’d shown up here, she’d been relegated to the role of ugly stepsister.

  “Now.” Her mother’s tone left no room for further argument.

  Brooks smirked. “I think I saw a few stray pieces of lint on there, too. Deal with it while you’re over there.”

  Once they finally cleared the press line, they made their way into the party in the National Statuary Hall, another massive, high-ceilinged room, this one semi-circular with statues of various American historical figures lining the walls.

  As Thomas Madison stood next to Alan, scoping the room for the best spot for them to hold fort, Brinley did a little of her own scoping, looking for Bernie Sanders and smiling at the thought of making good on her promise to Shane.

  As she scanned the crowd for him, she noticed Patrick a few yards away, in a dark suit with an English-striped red tie, chatting up the former head of the Federal Reserve, who happened to be another old friend of the family, probably securing himself a future plum position in the Treasury Department should he ever want it.

  When Patrick spotted Thomas and Alan, though, he wrapped up the conversation and approached the group, his Acqua Di Parma cologne subtly announcing his presence seconds before he reached them.

  “Hello, all.” He shook hands with her father and Alan. “Thomas, thank you again for the invite.” Though her father obviously didn’t make a habit of bringing interns to top-tier political functions, he’d made an exception tonight. He viewed Patrick as a mixture of godson and protégé, and knew Patrick rolled in some pretty powerful New England circles himself.

  Patrick followed up with a handshake to Brooks that seemed like it might devolve into an arm wrestling contest. Finally, he turned to Brinley, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, his eyes lingering as he pulled back in a way that was both approving and flattering. Brinley was surprised to still feel a chemical pull toward him. She assumed her draw to him would be lessened somehow now that she’d just experienced such a strong attraction to and affection for Shane, but instead, it remained there, competing side by side. However, Shane definitely had the advantage. Although the fact Patrick was the one who was physically present gave him a few extra bonus points for the moment.

  “I scoped out the room before you arrived,” Patrick told her father. “There’s a statue of Junipero Serra over there toward the left. Dedicated by the State of California. Influential Latino member of American history. I thought it might be a nice place for an impromptu photo op.”

  Thomas Madison nodded his head, approvingly. “Well done, Patrick.”

  Within minutes, the Reyes family was smiling in front of the statue, several photographers surrounding them.

  Patrick stepped back, admiring his handiwork, his hand touching Brinley’s for just a second, and another quick rush of attraction hit her.

  “This was a good idea,” Brinley told him, impressed. For Patrick to think of a move that had never occurred to her father was doubly remarkable.

  Patrick shrugged. “With this event being in honor of Eleanor Roosevelt, I’m sure Marilyn is going to milk the female angle all night. There’s no reason for Reyes not to do the same. If someone tries to call him on pandering, they have to call her on it, too.”

  Shane hadn’t known what this party was for or about, and meanwhile Patrick understood the innermost complexities of it, successfully strategizing alongside her father.

  “Brinley,” her mother trilled, nodding toward Taryn’s dress.

  Brinley barely suppressed an eye roll. “Pardon me,” she said to Patrick before stomping up to Taryn and fluffing her skirt out once again.

  For everything she was doing for this girl, she better host her eighteenth birthday party poolside at One Observatory Circle.

  Brinley fanned herself as she stood at one of the tall cocktail tables in a quiet corner of the room, a breeze coming from a nearby doorway. There had been a huge hubbub when Ellie and her mother entered the party, with Alan and Marilyn exchanging a politically-loaded handshake. Brinley and Taryn had been right in the center of it all, cameras flashing, party guests pushing and elbowing until Taryn had escaped to the bathroom, promising to meet Brinley back here shortly. Brooks had remained with their father and Alan, but Brinley noticed he’d somehow gotten stuck in a long conversation with Isobel Reyes a few tables over. From what Brinley could tell from her vantage point, he was doing everything in his power to get on her good side, including keeping a straight face while Isobel regaled him with a story about he
r third eye.

  She looked away before she physically gagged up the carrot stick she was munching on and noticed Patrick making his way toward her from the bar, holding two glasses and weaving through the crowd impressively without spilling a drop.

  He had a confident swagger similar to the one her ex-boyfriend Graham had. That kind of cockiness used to be something Brinley found irresistible, but since meeting Shane, she wasn’t sure it still held the same appeal. It almost seemed silly, like a macho way to try to assert power, when someone who was actually confident like Shane didn’t need to. She added a point to the Shane column of the mental chart she’d begun tallying earlier.

  “I figured you might be thirsty,” Patrick said when he reached her, handing Brinley a champagne flute. “Kir Royale okay?”

  “My favorite,” she said before taking her first sip.

  “I had a feeling,” he replied and Brinley couldn’t help but compare him to Shane again. Shane had brought a bottle of inexpensive but surprisingly tasty wine to their date in Stowe, but good champagne was the real path to her heart, especially when it was laced with a little bit of crème de cassis. Of course someone like Patrick would naturally know that. She added a point to his column.

  “You look stunning tonight, by the way,” Patrick told her. Considering how blunt Patrick was, Brinley knew he actually meant it.

  “Thanks,” she replied, feeling a slight pang of guilt. But again, it wasn’t like Shane could ever be at an event like this. Even if Brinley admitted to dating him, he wasn’t the type of escort her parents would approve of and gladly give a ticket to.

  And it wasn’t like she and Shane were exclusive, anyway. For all she knew, he could be banging some ski instructor behind the front desk at this moment. But the thought made her so nauseated she quickly put it out of her head.

  Before Brinley could engage Patrick any further, she noticed Taryn standing in front of a statue of Jason Lee, deep in conversation. When had she walked back in here? She’d been so preoccupied with Patrick, she hadn’t even noticed.