Page 21 of The Love You Fight For
There are no cracks in her façade. No tells to belie her true feelings. It’s almost scary, how easily she can fake it. How flawlessly she can sell the lie. My dad’s words about the senator from moments before replay in my mind—no better than a backwater charlatan—and I wonder just how far Sam’s apple fell from her family tree.
On the television screen, in her designer clothes and diamond stud earrings, her blond hair curled and her crimson lips smiling, she is nothing but the beautiful, poised, proud daughter of a presidential candidate, and everyone in the nation believes it. It’s almost unfair that someone so cold and deceitful can be so beautiful.
It’s even worse that she’sexactlymy type.
When I started dating Sable, I actively avoided anywhere Sam might be because I felt guilty as hell for being so attracted tosomeone who wasn’t my girlfriend. Even when we were in high school, and Sam was in a toxic, fucked-up situationship with my best friend, I couldn’t deny her beauty. But now that we’re older? She’s a fucking knockout, and damn if it doesn’t make me angry.
A memory flashes through my head.
Fogged windows and cheap wine. Hot breath. Desperate hands. Deep red lipstick stains on the collar of my white T-shirt.
“That family is bad news,” Tiffany says, pulling me from my thoughts.
Her statement makes my stomach twist.
“Every one of them,” my dad adds.
Michael hums in agreement.
All I can do is sit quietly and wait for the news segment to end.
SIX
“Good morning, Samantha.”
“Ashton,” I greet curtly, tossing a thick file folder on the table in front of him, then leaning my hip against it. “I took the liberty of printing everything out for you since you don’t seem to know how to work a shared drive on the internet. That’s the only possible explanation for why you haven’t viewed my plans and suggestions. I know technology can be hard, Ashton, but it’s in your best interest to figure it out. Daddy is trusting you, after all.”
Ashton grins at me as he scoops the file folder up and drops it into a drawer in the desk. He never opens it. Never so much as glances at it. It makes my blood boil. I force a smile.
“Do you need assistance in opening file folders, too? Gosh, Ashton, I’m starting to think you might be in over your head as Daddy’s campaign manager.”
Ashton stands from his chair so he’s towering over me, but I don’t step away. He grins down his nose at me, and I make a mental note to wear higher heels tomorrow. And to find a way to remove the lifts from his loafers.
“I assure you, I am more than capable, Samantha. Your father has trusted me with this job, and I will not let him down.”
He runs his eyes over my face, assessing andcataloguing. Judging. Looking for flaws. Trying to read me. I don’t flinch away despite the fact that I want to. Despite the fact that his cologne is too strong, and his closeness is giving me the creeps. I stand my ground and keep my voice calm.
“My experience on this campaign team is vital, and my plans sh?—”
“Your experience on the previoussenatecampaigns is useless, Samantha. Small potatoes. This is a much bigger ballgame. The stakes are higher. What you’ve suggested...it just won’t work again.”
I cock my head to the side and raise an eyebrow.
“You didn’t even look at it,” I say slowly. “How do you know it won’t work?”
Ashton’s smile widens to show off all his perfectly straight, too white veneers. I want to punch him right in the mouth, but I don’t want to ruin my fresh manicure.
“Samantha, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Senator Harper gave you the role he believes you’ll best serve. You are to be myassistant. Let the rest of us worry about the campaign strategies.”
It takes all of my carefully crafted composure not to explode on him, with his smug grin and his pompous tone. He’s lucky I’m still riding the high of my morning Pilates class endorphins. I should have choked him to death with his tie last week when I had the chance and let my father clean up my mess. Lord knows he does it enough for Chase.
I hate myself for what I’m about to say, but it’s the only leverage I have right now. I straighten my shoulders and keep my breathing even, then give him a practiced smile.
“I’ll have to speak to my father, then.”
“You do that.”
I walk away, keeping my steps leisurely. I put an extra sway in my hips because I can feel his beady little creeper eyes on me, and I don’t want him to know just how irritated I am.
