Page 19 of Small Sacrifices

It's incredible to witness. Clearly, she's livid, but her voice is completely level. She's not smiling, but she's not frowning either. She's just blank. The epitome of professionalism. Reid loves it so much.

Mr. Wright does not, if the way he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow is anything to go by. Even his lips are pursed when he takes a breath to say: "Of course, ma'am."

The words drip false politeness like honey. Andnow,Lieutenant Governor Coleman is smiling, kind and wide.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Wright. A pleasure, as always." She turns to Reid. "Nice to have met you, Mr."

"Maxwell," Reid says.

"Mr. Maxwell. Good luck with the parents. It would be a shame to alienate them."

"Of course, ma'am. Thank you." He tries his best to smile in a way that his nervousness won't distort. Because what was that last sentence? Why would he alienate them? What is she doubting here, his motives or his skill?

But then, Mr. Wright grunts. "Don't worry. We'll get the information he needs. He's not doing this alone."

And then, suddenly, Reid realizes she may not have even been talking to him. It lifts a weight off of him. Thank God. Maybe she has a similar opinion of Mr. Wright as he does. Not that he's going to ask, but it feels nice. A bit like he has another Marisol, a secret ally.

"See that he isn't," Coleman says. Reid doesn't grin. He really doesn't. But he has to expend a lot of energy and attention on it.

"Of course." Mr. Wright's tone reminds him of what Everett said about politicians when they first met. It's warm and polite and completely fake. As is the smile Lieutenant Governor Coleman directs his way. Then, she turns on her heel and walks out, blue scarf billowing behind her. Reid feels powerless to do anything but watch her do it. Is he in trouble now?

Coleman seemed to agree with Reid, and what she instructed Mr. Wright to do would work in Reid's favor—if Mr. Wright follows through. But will he? They're alone again, and the smile is melting off Mr. Wright's face.

Reid wants to ask, but he feels paralyzed. The words just won't come. He has to wait until Mr. Wright lets out a deep sigh to learn his fate.

"Alright. I want you to stop what you're doing until we have something we can tell the parents. It'll be better that way."

Reid nods and breathes. Best not to think right now. He'll only get angry. "Yes, sir."

It gets him an indulgent smile. "Good. You can help your colleague research Agrifarm since you work so well together. Maybe dig up some dirt to distract people with. Stick your nose in, you're good at that."

He makes it sound like it's supposed to be a compliment. It isn't, and Reid has no idea how it ever could be. But that doesn'tmatter, does it? He just got what he wanted. Roughly, anyway. So he says, "Thank you."

The tilt to the corners of Mr. Wright's mouth is disgustingly self-satisfied. "Well. Right. Off you go, then. I need to make some phone calls."

When he tells Marisol about this, all she cares to muster is an apathetic eye roll. "That man, I swear."

She doesn't say what she swears, so Reid assumes it's just a figure of speech.

"But that's a good thing, right?" he asks her. "If he now has to see to it that I can work properly. And someone knows that I'm doing the work!"

"It's good if you do it well," Marisol says.

It sends a bolt of tension zinging down Reid's spine because—well. He kind of assumed that he would do it well. He's been doing well so far. Does Marisol not think that he can do it?

When he asks her that, she sighs. "I think there's a difference between doing good work and achieving the desired results. Not always, but sometimes. And I can guarantee you that Mr. Wright would see that differently. For him, results mean you did good work. No matter what you actually did."

"But that's unfair!" Reid says.

Marisol rubs a finger across her lash line, catches herself and curses in Spanish. Reid has to bite his lip to prevent himself from smiling. It seems that she has forgotten that she isn't wearing any make-up today. At least he thinks so. She doesn't shimmer as much as she usually does.

"He does plenty of other unfair things," she reminds him once she's convinced that she didn't smear anything. Which is a fair assessment, but not any less upsetting.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asks. Because he'd be happy to do it. It's just that Marisol always seems to work with a ruthless sort of efficiency. Reid doesn't want to disturbher process and annoy her by getting underfoot. Instead of the expected "no," Marisol covers her face with both hands and groans. Loudly.

"There absolutely is." This time, she rubs her eyes without fear. "Do you have any idea how many documents I've had to trawl through? There are thousands of newspaper articles, dozens of studies, binders full of tweets and their quarterly reports are roughly the length of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and about as easy to read."

"So you want to give me something to read and take notes on?" he asks. The temptation to cross his fingers behind his back and pray to the heavens that she won't give him the reports is intense.

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