Page 72 of Tate
Something to go along with her openly bleeding heart.
She’d spent most of the afternoon fighting the desire to call him. Or better, hop on a plane to Montana.
But why? She’d won.
Except, it felt so very much like losing. Big.
And poor Sloan. She’dusedhim in her little game, like a regular politician. Wow, she hadn’t quite realized how much her mother had rubbed off on her.
She felt sticky and dirty.
What if this was her world now?
Lies? Political games?
No. She didn’t want that life. But maybe as First Daughter in the White House, she could change the world. Make it safer, healthier, fairer. It wasn’t the stage, with the songs pouring out of her heart, but maybe it could be a different stage.I’m so glad you’ve joined our team.
Yes, maybe she had.
But she’d do it without the deceit. Which meant she had to tell Sloan the truth.
Probably he wouldn’t want her either, after he found out what she’d done.
The thought left her stomach tightening. Because she was a stupid girl to not be diving headfirst into handsome, successful, and wealthy Sloan Anderson’s arms.
Sloan led her over to an older gentleman who was surveying a massive oil painting of sailboats.
“Gloria, I’d like you to meet the other state senator, Roland McGraw.” She held out her hand and he took it. A beefy man, with a few steaks under his belt, he held a whiskey in one hand and hers in the other, his touch sweaty.
“Darlin’,” the man said and looked her up and down.
“Nice to meet you.” She untangled her hand, even as Sloan settled his on the small of her back.
“Gloria is not only Senator Jackson’s daughter, but my girlfriend, so be nice to her, Senator.”
The man laughed. “Well done, my boy.” He slapped Sloan on the shoulder.
Glo tried not to be weirdly offended.
The man moved away, and Sloan edged her to another man, a lawyer from one of the big firms in Nashville. Glo had never heard of it, but when he introduced her again as his girlfriend, this time he offered a wink.
Since when had she become his official girlfriend? Although, given the time they’d spent together…
She took Sloan’s hand and pulled him toward a bronze sculpture of a flying horse. In her painful stilettos, she was nearly to his shoulder. But she felt tall enough to meet his gaze. “Sloan…we need to talk.”
But he wasn’t listening, or at least his body might be turned toward her, but his eyes were far away. “Do you hear that?”
She stilled, listening. “What? The cello? The conversation?—”
“The country music.” He walked to the balcony and looked over.
She joined him, and yes, she could hear it now, drifting up from the restaurant area, a half-floor below the lobby.
“Aw, I told them not to book a wedding tonight.”
“Sloan, it’s no big deal, you can barely hear it.”
Except, yes, as the sound formed in her ear, she could almost start singing along.
