Page 21 of The Senator's Rival

“That's easy for you to say!” she snapped, glowering at him. “You and Tom go to your stupid baseball games and play golf together whenever you like, and nobody asks questions because you've got me covering for you. You get to have everything, and I'm the one doing all the hard work. All you have to do is show up and smile.”

“Excuse me?” William retorted angrily, shutting the laptop and fixing her with a withering glare. “You couldn't have pulled any of this off without me. Who took care of everything so you could focus on climbing that ladder all the way to the top? I've spent decades making deals, networking, finding donors, keeping the wolves at bay. All so we could have everything that's about to come to us. And now you're getting cold feet because you want more. Honestly, I am so tired of your tantrums?—”

“Tantrums?” Margot demanded, rising to her feet and slamming her hand down on the table between them. “Anyone could have done the things you do. I could have found literally any decent-looking trust-fund baby and put him in a suit, and he could have done everything you do for me. I'm constantly compromising and suppressing who I am and what I want, while you spend almost every weekend off with your 'friend,' and you want to act like you're the one getting the short end of the stick? How dare you?”

“Margot, we are five weeks from winning the presidency,” William answered slowly through gritted teeth, squaring his shoulders and balling his fists. “You want to have a mid-life crisis about your own damn choices, do it later. This is the path we decided on together. If you wanted to flounce off and find some new-age lesbian art teacher to screw around with, you should have done it before we started all of this. Now you either get yourself together, or you will ruin everything we have spent our whole lives building toward.”

Anger was pulsing in Margot’s ears and her heart rate skyrocketed. The blood rushed to her face. She could barely hear past the noise. There was a fire raging inside her chest as stared daggers at the man in front of her. In this moment, she hated him. Resented every second she'd spent staging photo ops and playing house and convincing the world that the perfect storybook romance existed between the two of them. Margot loathed that she had wasted her youth on this sham rather than pursuing something real, meaningful, and authentic. That she had denied herself so many wonderful possibilities in life in order to get here. What had it all been for, anyway? What did she believe in?

“I'm so tired!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air in despair. “I'm tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in fear and hiding who I am. Maybe if I weren't trying to juggle all of that, I could win the election on my own merit, but instead, we attack and lie and spread fear and hatred to incite people because that's how we get votes. What kind of legacy is that?”

All the thoughts and feelings she had grappled with for decades were pouring out of her, boiling over from the pot she tried so desperately to keep covered and hidden. For once, Margot let the floodgates open and the words came spilling out, unfiltered and unrestrained, wild and untamed. Twenty years of pain, exhaustion, repression, and resentment. A lifetime of contorting herself into a shape that didn't fit for the sake of ambition, leaving no space or energy to even discover who she really was. She wanted to scream it to the world so everyone could see what was really underneath that perfectly coiffed exterior. God, she?—

“Jesus Christ,” William spat, cutting into her thoughts, and pushed himself off the chair, his eyes cold and sharp with rage. “We don't have time for this nonsense, Margot. Pull yourself together. Now.”

Without another word, he spun around on his heel, strode quickly out of the room, and up the stairs. Margot heard the door to his office slam shut with a resounding boom. Silence hung oppressively in the room and she found herself struggling to breathe evenly, gasping in ragged breaths that tore through her lungs and left them aching. Tears stung Margot’s eyes as she ran a trembling hand through her perfectly styled golden hair, causing the strands to fall free and hang around her face messily.

Still shaking, Margot sank back into her seat, holding her head in her hands. She felt dizzy, like the world was spinning too fast and she had no grasp on reality anymore. Was this really the life she had wanted? The victory she had dreamed of since she was a little girl? To become a soulless, broken shell of a person chasing fleeting power and riches? Sacrificing the rest of her life and personal happiness to claw her way to the top?

Margot was falling apart and there was no one around to pick up the pieces. There was no one she could turn to. No one she trusted. No one who saw her. No one who cared. Just Margot and her ambition, all alone at the top of the world.

13

FRANCESCA

With only a month to go before the election, the stakes were higher than they'd ever been before. It had been weeks since the first debate, which had ended in something of a tie in the polls. Both candidates had been at the top of their game during the event, dazzling the crowd and eloquently answering question after question. After the fiasco involving the false scandal about Francesca's campaign funds, she had fallen behind very slightly in the polls, but her team had mostly recuperated by now. Tonight could make or break their progress during the final stretch, however.

This debate was held in Seattle, and as fitting for the famously rainy city, the clouds had been gloomy and grey all afternoon leading up to it. Fall was upon them in full force, with strong winds, heavy rain, and brisk temperatures. The weather suited her mood perfectly, Francesca mused, as she watched the raindrops slide down the windowpane. Her leg bounced nervously as she sat with her chin in her hand, staring blankly at the cityscape sprawling out below her. The streets and buildings were blurred through the glass, looking gray and faded.

Her body felt heavy and drained from months of stress and emotional exhaustion. More and more every day, she was looking forward to November 6th, whether she won or lost--for no other reason than to be able to get a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Not to have to wake up early for interviews, make public statements, or worry about fundraising calls.

Of course, should Francesca be elected, the respite would be brief before she would be inundated with even more responsibilities, but that would be a different kind of taxing. She would be firmly on the path to making real change for millions of people, both in the U.S. and abroad, with none of this endless strategizing and positioning she was used to dealing with every day of this campaign trail. No Margot Smith to drive her crazy, both in the media and in person, and on a constant basis.

That was a strange thought. They hadn't spoken directly since the luncheon at the White House, when their altercation in the bathroom had resulted in another reckless and irresponsible tryst. Part of Francesca still felt bad about how that had ended. It had almost seemed like Margot was expecting something from her, not necessarily romantic affection, but maybe not brushing it under the rug and denying it so hastily. The situation was terribly confusing. In Chicago, it had been Margot who had immediately dismissed their night together as a regrettable mistake. There was no reason to think the icy Congresswoman had changed her mind. But . . .

No, this was a pointless exercise, and it was distracting Francesca from what Juliet was saying. She sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly, and returned her attention to the friend sitting in front of her desk. They were running through last-minute debate notes and which talking points to review before they departed. According to recent polls, Margot had a slight lead going in, owing mostly to the recent debacle. It was insignificant enough to be dismissed as a potential polling error, though, and a successful showing tonight could be enough to swing it back.

“So if it comes up, just reassert everything we've been saying to the press so far,” Juliet finished, pointing at a bullet point at the bottom of the page in front of Francesca. “We have nothing to hide, and our financial reports and records have been released already, proving that there's absolutely nothing wrong. Move past it and play to your strengths. Education, healthcare reform, civil rights. You've done this a million times, Frankie. I don't know what you're so worried about.”

Francesca sighed deeply and leaned back in her chair, resting one arm over the backrest as she smiled sheepishly at her old friend and colleague. They'd made quite a formidable team through the years, collaborating closely on numerous political projects and initiatives with varying degrees of success. Francesca had always appreciated her cool, professional demeanor, analytical brilliance, and razor-sharp wit.

Without Juliet, however, none of this would have been possible. Without the whole team, really. Good folks who had put their all into this effort, often at great personal risk. She owed it to all of them to get out there tonight and to give as much as she could of herself, even when all she wanted was a good meal and an even better night of sleep. That thought helped ground Francesca in the present again. Her team, as well as her supporters, deserved no less than her full commitment. She had a purpose, a cause, and an electorate that was waiting for her.

“Thank you, Jules,” Francesca finally answered, with a grateful nod. “Let's do this. What do you say--are you ready to slay another dragon?”

“Right behind you, Frankie,” the younger woman confirmed with a grin, snapping the folder shut decisively. “Waiting in the wings with a glass of wine for you when you're done. Let's roll.”

Francesca picked up her bag, blazer, and papers, and followed the campaign manager toward the waiting car. The women smiled contentedly as they went. A short car ride took them to the venue, where crowds of reporters and paparazzi were already congregating outside, scrambling for photos of the candidates. Security ushered her past them efficiently, although Francesca made sure to wave and smile politely on her way past the crowd. Always a good idea to stay on the good side of the media whenever possible. It wouldn't hurt, at the very least.

It was a fairly typical debate setting: an auditorium with stadium-style seating set up around two chairs at the center, several flags lining the backdrop, and stage lighting that was harsh on the eyes if she looked directly at it. Francesca nodded a greeting to several of the other staff members as she walked in, going through the pre-debate ritual of shaking hands with important local party leaders, photographers, and news people. The cameramen were adjusting their equipment and doing sound checks in various locations. It would all be transmitted live, of course, directly into the homes of millions of viewers. The pressure was on.

When Margot stepped out from behind a curtain on the opposite end of the stage, Francesca's breath caught in her throat. Margot radiated pure elegance and grace. She moved fluidly toward them, waving at the assembled crowd and posing for a few photos. She looked stunning in a classic black pantsuit that accentuated her figure, with her freshly highlighted hair pinned back to frame her elegant features. Their eyes met across the distance for a moment and Francesca had to swallow, her pulse quickening inexplicably. Margot looked away almost immediately, walking over to the other side of the stage to greet some prominent congressmen who had come to support their former colleague.

Eventually, Francesca and Margot stepped toward each other to shake hands before the debate began. Francesca didn't think anything could shake her resolve, but as those blue eyes met hers for the first time in weeks, her knees felt weak. It took a considerable amount of concentration not to gawk foolishly, and that surge of regret about their last encounter resurfaced as their hands connected briefly.

Neither of them said anything to each other as they returned to their respective seats, and Margot kept her gaze turned firmly ahead. This close up, though, it was impossible for Francesca to ignore her pallid complexion, the dark rings surrounding her eyes, and the slight hollowness to her cheekbones--despite the impeccable makeup job. Something wasn't right. What could possibly have shaken the unflappable Congresswoman Smith so badly?

There was no time to contemplate further, however, as their teams checked their microphones and adjusted their notes. Excitement and nervous anticipation flurried around the room, heightening as the official moderator stepped onto the platform. A wave of applause followed as he introduced himself and began with a few opening remarks about the purpose and format of the event, and how the evening's discussion would be divided up between the two candidates.

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