Page 14 of The Senator's Rival

“Yes, what is it, Michael?” she asked briskly. “Anything I need to be aware of?”

“Well,” he replied anxiously, licking his lips and glancing around the room. “Do you have a minute in private, ma'am? It's a sensitive situation.”

Instantly, she was on high alert. Her staff exchanged curious glances as she got up from the chair and walked out of the room with him. Margot felt uneasy as she followed him to an empty meeting room in a nearby corridor, shutting the door behind them. Michael was sweating and fidgeting nervously, as if he really didn't want to deliver whatever information he was holding back. She crossed her arms expectantly, arching an impatient eyebrow while she waited. Finally, he swallowed hard and met her eyes.

“There's no easy way to break this, ma'am, so I'll just come out with it,” he sighed, reaching into the file folder he had been clutching tightly and producing a series of printed photos. “We've been contacted by a woman who calls herself 'Cassandra.' She says she has compromising photos of you from college. She's demanding a million dollars or else she will send these pictures to every news outlet she can reach.”

Margot grabbed the folder with a furious glare, skimming through the glossy shots. Like the one William had been sent earlier, they were grainy, low-resolution and blurry, but in these, it was easier to make out her facial features. The other woman's face was blurred, but they were both mostly naked, locked in passionate embraces. She could practically feel the humiliation crawling under her skin, which is what she’d feel if these got out to the public. A single photo Margot could plausibly deny as having been doctored or edited. But five of them, with both her and the other woman partially identifiable, would be a recipe for complete destruction.

As much as Margot racked her brain, she couldn't for the life of her recall who this woman might be. There had been quite a few reckless, drunken nights in college, with all sorts of pretty girls who weren't interesting enough to warrant a second date, let alone for their names to stick. Those had been such carefree days, when the only things that mattered were Margot’s studies, the next party, and which cute girl she was going to seduce there. She had been carefree, stupid, and thoughtless. A phase that she'd moved on from in her junior year--the moment she'd set her sights on a political career.

Before then, though, Margot had been rather wild in her partying, breaking free from her conservative, strict parents for the first time. She didn't miss it, she told herself. Margot had no regrets about the choices she had made since then. But sometimes she wondered what her life might have been like, had she chosen personal fulfillment and freedom over ambition.

But regret was a waste of time and something lesser mortals succumbed to. All that mattered now was fixing this mess--and cleaning up whomever was causing her this inconvenience.

“So, pay her,” Margot snapped impatiently, tossing the photos back down on the table in disgust. “It's a million measly dollars compared to what this campaign is worth. Pay her off, track down her identity, and offer her a settlement in exchange for an NDA. I'm sure we can manage that without causing a scandal.”

“Of course, Mrs. Smith,” Michael replied, nodding earnestly. “I just wanted to consult you before moving forward.”

“Who knows about this?” Margot demanded, waving vaguely at the stack of humiliating images.

“No one besides me, ma'am,” Michael assured her quickly.

“Good. Fill in Charlotte and William and have them sort out the details. No one else. Understood?” Margot clarified, icily.

“Yes, ma'am,” the frightened-looking man agreed, backing away with a pale expression. “Will do right away, Mrs. Smith.”

Without further ado, Margot spun on her heels and stalked out of the room, seething internally. Her mood was already in an abysmal state, and now this. Her heart raced as her mind churned through all the possible implications and ramifications. What gave this damn woman the audacity to make such demands?

Were Francesca Thurston and her campaign involved in this? Of course they were. The bitch must have gone snooping, trying to dig up dirt after that unfortunate encounter in the hotel. The senator couldn't leak details of that night without also implicating herself, but now Francesca knew that that certainly wasn’t Margot’s first time with a woman, she would have gone digging. She would keep her mouth shut in public, but her allies and consultants would almost certainly be investigating any signs of a sordid lesbian past to exploit her sexuality and to try to use it as leverage against her. Now they had found a perfect opportunity. How utterly shameless and revolting. Utterly disgusting.

But then, why would the woman ask for money? came a small voice deep beneath the rising paranoia, insecurity, and fury. If this was the Thurston campaign's doing, the obvious response would be to just publish the photos and be done with it. Because ruining Margot's chances at the presidential nomination and sabotaging all Margot’s hard work would be worth far more than a million dollars to her opponent. At this stage in the campaign, it would practically guarantee Francesca’s victory.

Margot wasn't thinking rationally right now, though. Her whole world felt like it was crumbling around her, and she couldn't shake off the sinking fear that her secret was now beyond her control. As she stepped back into the conference hall where her executive staff gathered, a hush fell over them all. Everyone was staring at her intently, looking expectant and apprehensive.

“Charlotte,” she announced quietly, giving the redhead a meaningful glance. “It's time to release the dogs. This can no longer wait for the right moment. Go. Do your thing. Find a way to bring that bitch down.”

Margot left the room without another word, retreating to her private office. Her blood was boiling, her palms sweating, her stomach tight. She collapsed heavily into the couch against one wall, letting her head fall into her hands. She breathed deeply, trying to steady the raging storm within. Something prickled behind her eyes, making them sting uncomfortably. It felt foreign and unfamiliar.

For the first time in twenty years, Margot Smith cried.

9

FRANCESCA

The mayhem that greeted Francesca when she walked into the office at seven o'clock on Monday morning was like nothing she had ever seen before. Staffers and interns scrambled back and forth, rushing from desk to desk, muttering panicked statements and shoving hastily scrawled notes back and forth in a frenzy of chaos and activity. Francesca blinked several times, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Frankie!” Juliet exclaimed, hurrying forward to greet her boss. “Come on. Emergency meeting. Everyone's prepped and waiting for us.”

They hurriedly made their way into the official meeting room, where a dozen anxious-looking faces were watching the door. Her team had been up all night since they received a call from a friend at a news station, letting them know about the headline that was about to be plastered across every front page in America. Anonymous sources had been gathering ammunition all weekend and now, whatever the plan had been, the gears were already moving.

“All right. Let's figure this out,” Francesca told the room, taking a seat and folding her hands in front of her, her tone calm and measured. “This is not going to derail us. It's all a bunch of nonsense with no basis in reality, but we do need to figure out how to navigate it. Let's hash out a strategy. Go.”

A flurry of voices all interjected at once. Fingers were pointed, papers shuffled, and arguments thrown out in a chaotic symphony of competing sound and energy. As the commotion roared around her, Francesca closed her eyes and took a long, steadying breath.

“Guys, relax,” she called out with an exasperated chuckle, clapping to get everyone's attention. “We've been working together for years and we've dealt with controversy and malicious rumors before. We don't need to get unraveled over this. Jules, why don't you start by giving us a quick recap of what we know?”

Juliet cleared her throat, leaning forward with her pen and notebook, “Okay, so essentially, Claire Howell, one of our former financial managers, has gone on the record claiming that you misappropriated a large chunk of campaign donations and embezzled millions of dollars for your own personal use, Frankie. She's saying we paid her off to keep quiet about the situation, and they've got anonymous sources corroborating these claims.”

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