Page 9 of The Senator's Rival

Margot laughed at that, tilting her head back. Her hair was beginning to fall loose from the knot at the top of her head, freeing a few delicate, shimmering golden curls. Her pink lips curled into that charming little smirk and her eyes glittered with mischief. To Margot, it was all a show—a game with high stakes, sure, but still a game. The whole world was one grand stage and spectacle to her. Margot had spent almost two hours viciously attacking Francesca's character on the world stage, yet now that they were alone, she acted like they were the best of friends.

“Nothing personal,” Margot crooned sweetly with a flutter of her eyelashes. “It's just politics. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Francesca replied, “but some of us actually care about the issues, Margot. Have you ever considered focusing on substantive policy goals instead of pandering?”

Margot took a sip of her drink with a nonchalant shrug. “I have,” she replied lightly, “but that isn't nearly as effective. I'm giving the people what they want, darlin'. That's democracy in action, isn't it?”

Francesca chuckled wryly, rolling her eyes as she took another sip of her wine. “You know, I actually believe in the things I'm fighting for,” she pointed out. “You just seem to enjoy the chaos. As long as it helps your polls, right? As far as you're concerned, anything goes.”

Margot arched a well-groomed eyebrow tilting her head inquisitively. “Don't get all high-and-mighty with me, Senator,” she retorted icily. “You didn't get where you are today without trampling over a few innocent souls yourself. This is the real world, not the Model U.N. None of us are clean.”

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” Francesca shot back, folding her arms across her chest. “You act like you're untouchable, but deep down, you must feel it gnawing at you. The weight of all those decisions, all that blood on your hands. It takes its toll over time.”

Margot smirked bitterly, leaning back in her seat and crossing her long legs with elegant precision. “Of course I do,” she answered with a sigh, “but I do what needs to be done. I don't regret anything, and I won't apologize for it. There are sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good, and neither of us is too righteous and pure to recognize that. At least I have the self-awareness to acknowledge it. You try to paint yourself as this noble crusader for justice, but nobody gets to where we are without getting their hands dirty. If you're struggling to sleep at night, I suggest coming to terms with who you are. It's good for the soul.”

“So is kindness,” Francesca challenged with narrowed eyes, “and empathy. Maybe you should give them a try sometime. See how you like it.”

“I'll worry about that when I'm retired,” she deadpanned, winking slyly at Francesca. “For now, I have a country to run. Good luck beating me with your fancy words and lofty ideals. It's cute.”

She put her delicate hand on top of Francesca’s on the table and Francesca felt a bolt of electricity between them. She pulled her hand sharply away.

“Charming,” Francesca returned drily, draining the last of her glass with a grin. “Good talk, Congresswoman. I admire your commitment to consistency. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a campaign to win.”

With that, she stood, straightening her shirt and smoothing her trousers. Margot let out a brilliant, sparkling laugh that made Francesca's insides twist in the strangest way. She got to her feet as well, shooting Francesca a crooked smirk. For a moment, Margot looked younger and freer somehow, as if this interaction had allowed her to drop a mask for just a moment and reveal herself. It was a captivating expression. Margot looked stunning in the dim amber lighting of the lounge, her fair skin illuminated by the candlelight like some old portrait of a Greek goddess come to life. Her hair shone with a fiery golden glow, her porcelain face lit up, as those piercing blue eyes gazed deeply into Francesca's with a strange kind of hunger.

“Well then, shall we?” Margot said.

They fell into step as they headed toward the elevators, neither speaking. They simply walked together in silence, shoulder to shoulder, matching each other stride for stride. The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside, selecting their respective floors and facing forward as the elevator rocketed upwards. For a moment, the space seemed to shrink around them, and there was barely enough room to breathe. Their eyes met like they were sizing each other up, two predators assessing one another in anticipation of a fight. There was something primal and electric in the air between them--the charge of two competing forces colliding.

Suddenly, there was a whirring noise and a sickening jolt. The elevator shuddered and ground to a halt. The lights blinked and flickered, then cut out entirely, leaving only the red emergency lights to illuminate their faces. The women exhaled in tandem, two pairs of eyes darting around in confusion. Both of them turned their heads, scanning the walls for any kind of clue as to what might have happened. Around them was only a dull, hollow silence.

After a beat, they glanced at each other, silently confirming the obvious. Yes. This was bad.

6

MARGOT

Of course, this had to happen tonight. A broken elevator was exactly what was missing from this already stellar situation. It had been a long, exhausting day preceded by long, exhausting weeks of preparation and travel leading up to the debate. The event itself had taken every ounce of energy in Margot's reserves to push through. Then she'd had to spend an hour pretending to care about William's golf game over dinner, so that the hotel staff could get a nice little story to tell about how loving and devoted they were. And now, as the cherry on top of the cake, fate had seen fit to deliver her and her opponent a power outage.

Over the speaker, the hotel manager spoke hurriedly and apologetically, telling them that they should be back online in twenty minutes. He sounded utterly distraught about the whole thing and blamed it on construction work having damaged the electrical wires feeding into the building. Meanwhile, Francesca was on the phone with her security team, who were demanding that they be allowed to evacuate the women immediately.

This was a matter of national security—both presidential candidates, a congresswoman and a senator, trapped alone together in an elevator. The conspiracy theories wrote themselves. The media was probably all over this already, covering the story with intense zeal and fervor, fueling all sorts of wild speculation about foul play and assassination plots. It was a ridiculous notion, of course. There was no danger, just a wildly inconvenient technical problem caused by somebody's negligence.

Honestly, that was far more irritating. If Margot was going to be inconvenienced like this, she would much prefer it be because someone tried to kill her rather than because city workers couldn't be bothered to double-check their work. There was nothing that infuriated Margot more than incompetence.

“Let the mechanics handle this one, George,” Francesca spoke sternly into her phone. “Stay alert and have a team ready in case there are any complications. But yes, Mrs. Smith and I are both fine. Nobody else in the building should be concerned. Thank you. Keep me posted.”

Margot leaned against the wall with her arms folded, examining her flawlessly manicured nails. Inside her, something uncomfortable and dark was stirring. Ever since she was a child, Margot had hated being enclosed in spaces like these. They were suffocating, oppressive, and isolating. In those cramped quarters, it was almost as if the walls themselves were squeezing around her, trapping her like some hideous, claustrophobic vice.

That was all paranoia, though, Margot reminded herself. A childish fear with no basis in reality. She took a deep breath and looked up, pursing her lips with her usual display of unflappable composure. She was in control of herself. Even if she was scared—and she wasn't, obviously, that was just a stupid, irrational instinctual reflex of the animal brain—she wouldn't let it show. Especially not in front of Francesca Thurston.

“Well, seems like we're stuck here,” Margot said flatly, arching a questioning eyebrow at Francesca, who nodded in confirmation.

“Looks that way, unfortunately,” Francesca sighed with a rueful chuckle. “No point making a fuss. We’ll just have to wait for them to fix it.”

Francesca seemed completely relaxed. She exuded the same casual confidence and warmth that she did on stage, her demeanor radiating calm strength and confidence. There was something reassuring about her presence that Margot had admired from the start, as much as she loathed to admit it. Despite her dislike of the woman, she understood why the voters found her so compelling. The senator projected an air of wisdom and reliability, combined with an effortless charisma and a passion that drew people in. People trusted Francesca. They wanted to follow her and be inspired by her. There was something incredibly dangerous and powerful about that kind of magnetism.

Margot had it, too, but she'd worked hard for it. Countless hours of media training, elocution lessons, acting classes, and private coaching in public speaking. Thousands of dollars spent on image consultants, coaches, stylists, and more. All to produce a carefully crafted persona that conveyed competency, elegance, intelligence, and sincerity. It had worked like a charm. For as long as Margot could remember, though, from their earliest days on the national stage, Francesca had come naturally by what others struggled for and clawed at to attain. It was enough to nauseate a person.

---