Page 14 of Dissension

As far as events go, it isn’t a dull affair. She loves to see the spritely, hot-blooded ponies racing about with energy and passion. Kara started attending about a month back, when Dietrich asked her to pass along some contracts with one of his business associates whose lawyer also attended the matches.

It seems many affluent people from around the city attend, looking to unwind, drink, and conduct minor chats about business deals. A world so far removed from what Kara is used to.

Standing to the side of the playing field, Kara watches the proceedings, holding her large carryall purse at her side. She sips water, even though she’d love to drink like everyone else around her. Every once in a while, she’ll get a certain thirst nagging at her, the desire to dull her senses. It’s hard to avoid alcohol altogether, but she’strying.

The polo ponies race hard, the men leaning precariously far over the sides of their mounts to swing their mallets. The animals are soaked through with sweat in short order, eventhough the ponies get swapped out after seven minutes of fast action.

It looks like a major adrenaline rush to Kara, something she imagines she’d enjoy herself. Adrenaline, a thrill. Things that she lives for, thrives on. Danger.Why is she so attracted to danger when she should be repulsed?Another mystery of the universe.

The fact that she’s standing alone, not entirely dressed properly for the occasion, draws unwanted attention. A group of women a few feet away have been giving her questioning glances and Kara cringes inside, wondering if they are about to approach her and ask if she’s a waitress of sorts.

Instead, it’s a little tamer than expected when they finally approach her side. “Is this your first time here, dear? Isn’t it just so exciting to see the horses?” The woman and her gaggle of friends have a few years of age on Kara, their wedding rings giant enough to knock someone’s eyeball out. Their hats are extravagant, each dress looking like something straight out of a fashion magazine.

Kara shakes her head, never quite sure how to talk to groups of women like this. Politeness is always a good strategy. She gives a slight smile, distracted as she stands up on her tiptoes to watch Dieter zoom by on the bay he’s currently riding. “Not my first time, but relatively new to the scene. Who knew polo was so fun to watch?”

The woman in the pale pink dress tilts her hat upwards so she can better look at Kara. “Are you here with anyone? You can hang with us, we don’t bite,” they all giggle at that. “The match is more fun to watch with friends.”

Frankly, Kara doesn’t want to join them. They all look like trophy wives who have never worked a day in their lives, let alone in their own households. She’s certain she has nothing in common with them. They’d look down on her the minute theyfigured out she isn’t from money, nor does she have any to speak of. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m here with one of the riders; I’d like to focus on him.”

The older women watch her move further away, closer to the field. She doesn’t like how their eyes seem to dissect her, already trying to figure out who she’s with. Knowing Dietrich’s reputation with the ladies, Kara would rather not get involved.

Shielding her eyes with her hand, she watches the field, pondering how to remind her client that they have to go to the police station for an unpleasant chat about torture-for-profit linked to the very club he finances.

Dietrich is leaning so far over the side of his slight mare that Kara feels anxious that he’s going to fall right off. He doesn’t, he never does, but regardless, it makes her worry. His blonde head is covered by his bright helmet and she imagines his face is red under the visor, barely protecting him from the sun.

Probably cooking his ridiculous brain, as it were. Maybe that’s why he’s such a nut? He races around on polo ponies in this godawful heat wearing a helmet that is certain to be frying his brain into mush.

Her eyes fall to his tightly gloved hands, the sparkling watch on his wrist as he swings his mallet, sending the small ball soaring. A flash of white as he grins widely in triumph, spurring his polo pony forward. Kara huffs, feeling her cheeks flush; she’s not going to admit that she likes watching him ride.

Shedoesn’t. Absolutely not.

As she’s tempering down her rather gross thoughts about her odious client, Kara hears a familiar voice that sends a strange shiver down her spine. A voice that she’s only heard one other time, cultured, pretty.

Turning slightly with dread, Kara sees her, only a few feet away, straight out of a nightmare. Standing like a nauseating picture of perfect elegance, Kara sees Nicholas Havenwood-Calais’ fiancée standing amongst a group of finely outfitted women. They stand fanning themselves under their absurdly large hats, drinking and barely observing the match.

Sickness pools in Kara’s belly, a zing of twisted envy and guilt. For a moment, she’s terribly glad that she isn’t drinking, because she’s certain she would have vomited up all of that liquor on the spot, the way her insides rebel.

Pale eyes catch sight of Kara and she cringes mentally as Claire tilts her head, her white hat like a halo around her face as she tries to place Kara’s face.

Then, recognition changes her expression and Claire waves with a practiced smile. Kara waves back numbly, hoping her face doesn’t show the horror she’s feeling as the other woman excuses herself from her friends and begins walking over.

Oh, please no.

Chapter 8

“I know we’ve met before, but it’s slipping my mind,” Nick’s glamorous fiancée says in greeting when she approaches Kara. “Where have we met? I’m not in town often these days.”

Why me? Why do these things happen to me? What is she doing here?

Forcing a grin onto her lips, trying to hide how completely uncomfortable she is, Kara says, “Ah, yeah. We met briefly at the office party for the Calais, Vickers, and Yates law firm a few months back.” Figuring that Claire likely doesn’t recall her name, she adds, “I’m Kara Hayes. I’m here with-”

A lightbulb visibly turns on inside of Claire’s head. Her pale eyes light up and she smiles in recognition. “With Bittinger. That’s right. I remember you.”

God, I hope she doesn’t have a clue that I’d been sleeping with her fiancé for months. The things he did with me…does he do them with her? Does she know what he’s like?

The guilt is suffocating, twisting and turning Kara’s insides. Her father hadn’t been a faithful man and Kara’s disdain for infidelity grew ever darker from seeing his treatment of her mother.

Trying to figure out what else to say to her, Kara tries to keep from shifting anxiously. “You mentioned you aren’t in town often…do you not live here?”

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