Page 32 of Power Games

But today, she opted for remaining a doormat at the mercy of her adorable grandmother. She checked into her room, before heading out to find herself an appropriate dress.

"I'm afraid we're in for a bit of a trip, Matt," she told her driver. Or bodyguard. She liked to think that Matt's job was just taking her from point A to point B, but she was mostly kidding herself. The tall, broad man had been assigned to her when she'd been eight years old. The then twenty-three-year-old Secret Service agent became her best friend over the next few years. He allowed her to retain a semblance of normalcy by allowing her to sneak out and spend some time at concerts and music stores that hadn't exactly been permitted in her schedule. Eight years later, when she went to college, her father offered him a private security position with a paycheck he couldn't turn his nose up at. Private security still protected him for about ten years after leaving office, but he liked to make sure Vanessa was also taken care of.

That was when Matt's job truly became driving around. No one was interested in her while she attended college. But after her career took off, she retained him on her dime. He flew out everywhere with her and made sure she never had to find out how the Uber app worked.

"No matter, the weather's great for a drive. Where to?"

One of the reasons she liked Matt was because he talked to her like she was a normal person. Bodyguards and drivers generally had a tendency to confuse professionalism with robotic behavior.

"Cici roped me into attending a formal event tonight. Not even sure what, or where, but as it's with Cici, I'll need something pretty."

She'd only packed for a couple of days, two pretty outfits that would have worked in most informal settings, but definitely weren't appropriate for a benefit.

"I see. Should we find a Louboutin retailer, first?"

"You've worked for me for how long? You should know by now. Outfit first, then the shoes."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Clothes first. Georgetown it is."

Matt generally let her do her thing and picked her up—but that was when she was in a safe environment, and a department store didn't qualify. Just about anyone could get in and out of the building. He parked the car nearby and stepped out, shadowing her a few feet behind. Vanessa turned to him, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, none of that, it looks weird. You may as well stand next to me."

Matt smiled and advanced.

Once she got to the fashion district, Vanessa found herself smiling. Back in her teenage years, a lot of her wardrobe had been chosen for her; she’d had a few years of freedom after that, but these days, she didn't wear one pair of jeans that hadn't been picked out for her. Part of it was that she didn't have the time to shop in person, but her agent apparently didn't trust her to pick the right thing, staying consistent with her image. She didn't take it personally, as she knew Kaia didn't get to dress herself either.

Marina would be fuming when she heard that Vanessa was attending a public, presumably heavily advertised event, without warning her first; that meant she couldn't tell her what to wear, what to say, who to speak to, or warn the press of her whereabouts. The prospect of infuriating the platinum-haired ball-buster made her feel downright gleeful.

Vanessa tried not to catch anyone's eye, and mostly failed; she waved, thanked fans politely, agreed to sign random pieces of paper and the backs of tablets and phone covers. Getting to the formal floor took an hour, but thankfully, she was in no rush today.

Halfway through looking at suitable displays, she pulled her phone out of her purse and called Cici.

"Hey, Nana, where are we going again? I'm shopping. I wanted to know if it's the sort of place where one shows shoulders."

"Shoulders!" Cici gasped dramatically. "Well, I never. The decadence of it."

"You know what I mean. And how formal am I going, church-goer or red carpet?"

"You're twenty-seven, gorgeous and your titties are still up, Nessie darling. The answer is always yes. Whatever the question."

"I note your reluctance to give me a straight answer. You know I'll just google the events around town tonight, dear Grandma."

"Oh, very well. If you must know, it's a benefit held to raise money for veterans in desperate need of our help. So there."

She wasn't buying it. If it had just been that, Cici would have told her right away.

"Organized by?"

Cici sighed. "Organized by George Franklin Wright, Junior. A very charming man, you'll agree."

"A very Republican man," she corrected.

Wright, Junior was a congressman, and everything he did had an angle, an agenda. The Congressional races had started months ago, the votes were due in within a couple of months. His party was pushing for votes. Dammit. She should have seen it coming. The Trents were very vocal Republicans, after all.

Vanessa was in a peculiar position where what she said or did could influence hundreds of thousands of impressionable souls. She was very aware of it, and she deliberately stayed out of politics for that reason.

"Are you going to make your favorite Nana go by herself, Nessie?"

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