Page 107 of Sinful Bride

“Pardon?”

“Which. Policies?” I tap my pen on my desk. “Since they are affecting our ability to move forward and provide the United States military with enhanced firepower, I’m dying to know which specific policies you’re referring to.”

He clears his throat, shifts in his seat, and glances around the room in search of help that will not ever come. “Ah, well… you know how these things go. A little bit of this and a little bit of that, all stacked up…”

His pathetic attempt to bluff through his own bullshit falls on deaf ears. I’m way too distracted by the sudden alert on my phone informing me that the Hamishes are not at home.

Something doesn’t feel right. They could be grocery shopping for all I know, but something in my gut is screaming that this isn’t that.

Seeing their name on my screen does bring an idea to mind. And, combined with my impatience for this political tango, it’s worth flinging out there to see what sticks.

I cut off the senator’s blubbering. “What do the Hamishes have on you?”

O’Cronin freezes in his seat. He blinks at me stupidly, the blood draining from his face.

“I… I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you do.” I stare straight into the motherfucker’s soul. “Stewart Hamish. He used to be the president of the board at Chekhov International. I believe you met his wife, Ophelia, at one of the dinners my company used to host back in the day.”

He clears his throat. “The name… rings a bell…”

“It should. They’re blackmailing you, right?”

No response.

“What do they have on you?” I repeat.

It’s a few more silent moments of blinking at each other before he finally breaks.

“My grandchildren.” O’Cronin slumps in the chair as the mask of professional competence vanishes completely from his face. “Hamish, that bastard. He figured out I bribed my grandchildren’s admissions into the Ivy League.”

It’s all making sense to me now. “You pulled strings and paid the right people to make those doors open.”

He nods. “And now, Hamish has it hanging over my head, ready to drop if I don’t do what he says.”

“Even so, I don’t see how that impacts you. At least, not bad enough to warrant this shut-out you’re lobbying against me.”

The senator levels his gaze at me. He looks almost thoughtful. “You just had a child, didn’t you?”

I nod.

“So you know. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for your children.” O’Cronin tilts his head to one side. “What happens to her? When you’re found out? When all the world discovers your… many, many indiscretions?”

The only reason why I’m not insulted by his implication is because he has me caught in a thought I’ve never had before.

I’m always so confident I’ll never be caught. I’m too meticulous, too careful, too diligent. I’m smarter than the rest of these fucking fools, so it will be a cold day in hell before the feds come bursting in with actual, undeniable evidence of my “underworld” activities.

But what if they did?

What would happen to Tatyanna?

My silence seems to be some sort of confirmation for him. “So you see why I cannot allow my poor decisions to become public. Not only will my career be ruined, but so will the careers of my grandchildren. And they haven’t even started.”

I want to be pissed at this man for being so sloppy. For allowing himself, and his family, to be caught out, so vulnerable.

I just… can’t.

Not without becoming a massive hypocrite.

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