Page 31 of Power Games

He chuckled. "I take it Vanessa said a thing or two."

Aiden smirked. "Nah, she didn't say a word. It was easy to guess, though. She's never called me, and suddenly she wants me to meet Charles Grant, philanthropist extraordinaire, the face of the new generation?" He shrugged. "I'm not stupid. Tell me, though. How did you manage that?"

"What?"

Aiden sent him a knowing glance. "Vanessa McNamara. She never, ever gets involved in politics. Not since she turned 16. If there's a political agenda, she opts out of the guest list. The rumor is, even her old man can't get her to fall in line. But she gave you my name, and then called me?"

Charles paused. "We're friends."

The man seemed impressed. "Good for you. But your friend is your opposition's greatest weapon, if her brother runs. Even without her showing her face or saying a word about his campaign, his team will milk her popularity to get votes."

Charles winced. "If you're suggesting we should try to sway her to support me instead of her brother, that's not going to fly. I won't ask."

Aiden sighed. "All right, fine. We'll put a plan together. Let's talk next week. For now, more beer sounds good."

12

Queen of Hearts

Vanessa didn’t often return to DC. Her schedule didn't allow for many days off and she certainly didn't feel like spending them with her strange family, but Cici was in town—a rarity.

Grandma Cici was, no doubt, her absolute favorite family member. Narcissia Trent, wife to an earl, had given birth to three children: her eldest, Uncle Marvin, who'd inherited the title when his father passed away, was always jovial, often drunk, easygoing, and was happiest on the back of his horse, surveying his lands. Her second son, Theodore, Vanessa's father, left England for college and never came back. Her youngest, Aunt Lola, had started a decadent lingerie brand in Rome, and Cici lived with her. The beautiful, formal woman was an odd mixture of dry humor, filthy tongue, formal verbiage, austerity, and elegance.

Cici rarely travelled to the States, so Vanessa had packed a bag and flown home.

She often forgot how much she loved the city. Those who said America didn't have much history should hang out in DC. It might not be very old, but it was real, vibrant, and all theirs.

Cici usually booked a hotel rather than stay with her son, thankfully. Vanessa called to check which hotel she’d picked and got herself a suite at the same place.

"Oh my, just look at you!" the older woman exclaimed, opening her arms up for a hug. "These cheeks, these eyes! You've stolen everything from me, you little minx."

They were even the same size.

"I'm pretty certain I own a skirt and shoes like that too," Cici added with a snort. "You know, you're at the peak of your form, young lady. Why aren't you flaunting what our good Father gave you?"

"I'm pretty certain I heard you tell Mom to hide the goods, because no one was buying meat on display."

"Well, that woman certainly needed to hear that. No offense, sweetheart. Stella gave birth to you and, therefore, I must love her. I just don't like her very much."

As that happened to sum up her feelings about most members of her family, she couldn't say much about that.

"Trust me, I get it. Now, tell me what you're doing here. Did you miss us so terribly?"

Cici rolled her eyes. "If I had, I would have called you and told you to get your ass over there. We have better wine and better food in Italy, so there. No, no, I had to come because of a tedious little event I was asked to attend on behalf of the Trents. I may be eighty-seven, and married to a Crawford, but once a Trent—"

"Always a Trent. So you’ve said."

She avoided that part of her family altogether if she could help it. They were more pretentious than her father and more psychotic than her brother, a combination that didn't hold much appeal.

"I'm so glad you're here, pumpkin," Cici said while pinching her cheek. "You'll be my plus one."

That wasn't a question. Vanessa groaned, knowing how pointless it was to debate with her grandmother once she'd made her mind up.

"I can't stand the Trents."

"Hush, none of them will be here, hence why they sent me. You know how they barely consider anything outside of New York City part of America. We'll have fun. There's always decent food at events that cost ten thousand per plate. And if all else fails, I'll bring my tarot cards. Tonight. Be ready at six.”

One day. One day, she'd learn to say no to the octogenarian.

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