“Can’t wait,” I say, forcing a smile. But it’s just like the lie he told about Kiera. So obviously not true.
If he picks up on that, he holds it in. Because he’s wearing his public persona smile right now. I learned to recognize it early. Fake.
“I’ll get this over to Steven and he’ll be your handler from here.”
And then he walks out.
I don’t like that word. Handler. I’ve known Steven my entire life. But he’s my father’s friend, not mine.
My phone dings again. A quick look lets me know that Hayes is downstairs waiting.
I didn’t even get to take my coat off, but it’s already evening. And I don’t want to be here. So I pick up my briefcase and make my way down to Hayes’ waiting car pulled up alongside the curb in front of the building.
I get in. “Jesus Christ. I don’t think I realized it before today, but I don’t like my father.”
Hayes just offers me a glass with Scotch over ice. “You signed the papers?”
“How’d you know?”
“I saw Bennett and Camille come out. He told me. Did you sign?”
“I signed.”
“Good.”
“How is that good? I told you, I don’t want to run for office. And he’s already up in my shit about Kiera.”
“Did you tell him about the book?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good. Forget about him until Saturday. I have a plan.”
“What plan?” I ask, taking a long, much-needed sip of my drink.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll go over it tomorrow. Tonight we’re going home and forgetting about all this bullshit.”
“Home?”
“Sofia’s place. Kiera’s there. And that’s where we’re gonna stay. At least this weekend.”
I relax a little. Sink down into the soft leather seats of the car. Think about last night. Not the weird parts. And by weird I don’t mean the fucking foursome we had. I mean… Emily. The book. That kinda weird stuff.
“Sounds nice,” I say.
Hayes nods, looking absently out the window. “Yeah, it really kinda does.”
I picture how we’ll spend the evening. Dinner? Drinks? Sex? It all sounds great. But all this comes with so many questions. And this time none of them are about Emily and the book.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
Hayes glances at me, then returns to looking out the window. “We’re living, Connor. That’s all this is. For once in our lives, we’re living.”
I think about that all the way up to Sofia’s Upper East Side apartment. Wonder if he’s right. I haven’t felt this… melancholy, for lack of a better word, in a very long time. Maybe never. But I don’t feel like I wasn’t living these past ten years. I did a lot of shit. Went to law school with Bennett. That’s what I did first, though I never practiced. Just passed the bar and hung those accolades up on my office wall. But it was planned that way. It was just the required background for an eventual political career.
I dated some girls. One for a few years.
What was her name?
I huff out a laugh. Embarrassed, ashamed? For not remembering.
“What’s so funny?”
“Did you know I dated a woman for almost three years and right now I can’t even remember her name?”
He looks at me like, And that’s funny why?
“It’s funny because you said… we’re gonna live now, you know. And I was thinking, hey, I’ve lived. I’ve done plenty. Got that law degree on my wall to prove it. But I swear to God, I can see this girl’s face and I can’t even remember her name.”
“It’s like you blocked her out.” Hayes sighs.
“Lisa,” I say. “No, Liza. Yeah. Fucking Liza. She was a…”
But I don’t have the word ready so I need a second to think.
“She was a what?” Hayes says.
“A wife, ya know? That type of girl.”
“Let me guess, your father loved her?”
Did he? “Yeah, he kinda did.”
“So why’d you break it off?”
I shrug. “It just felt so fake, ya know? She was boring.”
“Stepford Wives often are,” he deadpans.
And I laugh. Because he’s right. And those are the words I was looking for. “Yeah, that chick was no Kiera. She’s never gonna write an erotic story.”
Hayes is quiet as we slowly make our way through rush-hour traffic. Then he says, “Did you ever read Sofia’s erotica?”
“No. I didn’t even know she wrote that stuff until Kiera told me. I thought she was sitting up in her princess tower penning literature all these years.”
“Did you ever read Kiera’s stuff?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Why have you?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s pretty dark shit. You know, Stockholm syndrome kinda shit.”
“Wait, this is Kiera? Or both of them?”
“Both.”
“Huh,” I say.
“Why?”
“It’s just… Kiera’s kinda dark like that so I get it. But Sofia.” I shake my head. “Never pictured her writing anything other than boring tales of boring women.”
“You know what’s really funny?” Hayes asks me.
“What?”
“Camille writes uplifting shit.”
I laugh. Kinda loud. “Get the fuck out of here.”