Woman King

CHAPTER 25

Despite my injuries, I managed to get out of bed the following morning to work. I booted up my laptop, pulled out the draft of the poll and completed it by phone with my staff. A final version of the document had been sent to a call center in Omaha and now, almost two days later, we had the first results, which were promising: Levi was ahead in the race.

It was welcome news as I started to recover from my injuries over the following days. My eyes remained a shade of pink, but at least I no longer looked like a wandering zombie. Elsa was my constant companion, watching my every move, under the guise of needing to apply more of Nadia’s healing remedies to my shoulder.

Although I had no proof, I suspected William had contacted Gabriel and Aidan to tell them I’d kicked him out. If they knew, then Elsa did too, but she didn’t mention William, and neither did I. The last time I’d seen him or been in contact had been at my front door, when we said goodbye.

Thoughts of our last conversation continued to churn my stomach. It felt futile to try to convince him of my views, so I kept my distance. The fact that my heart was broken was irrelevant. There was no room for prolonged conflict in my life. Thanks to my walk-on role as an accidental witness to a jewelry heist, I’d already lost precious time I needed for the campaign. I was determined to focus on my work and set thoughts of William aside, at least until I could figure out how to deal with him.

By the third morning, thanks to Nadia’s magic drops, my eyes were clear. My shoulder was tender, but not terribly bruised. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I decided I looked “safe” enough to make an appearance in Palo Alto.

It felt good to be back at work, and for the next several days I spent long hours at the campaign headquarters writing direct mail pieces, and running impromptu meetings with the campaign committee, which consisted of me, Levi, Gabriel, and Richard Lyon, a close friend of Levi’s and the founder of a hugely successful venture capital fund. Lyon’s seaside home in Carmel was scheduled to be the site of our first house party, a meet-and-greet with potential donors and friends in an informal setting.

The party, which was about a week away, was being organized by Richard’s office, which was managing the catering and event staff. A separate fundraising firm had been hired to send the invitations and identify major donors. All that was left for me was to manage the press and escort the candidate—easy tasks I was more than prepared to do. It all would have been simple, if my phone were not buzzing every few seconds, signaling I had a text.

Olivia

Finish what you start

Please don’t walk away

… Again.

William.

I ignored him. By the following day, the texts had turned to phone calls, which I ignored. The missed calls turned into voicemail. Each message caused the phone to beep and vibrate. After the fifth or sixth call, Gabriel, who’d come to help me work on the party, reached across the table and grabbed my phone, holding it up for me to see.

“I assume this is William,” he said. “Aren’t you going to answer his calls?”

“No, he doesn’t approve of my work,” I said. “What’s the point?”

“Çe n’est pas bon, Olivia,” he said. “Il n’est pas un vautour.”

“He’s not a vulture? Can you explain that?”

“You know what I mean. A vulture is always buzzing around looking for an opportunity. William is the opposite; he’s a good man.”

“He’s too complicated.”

“And you?” Gabriel asked. “Aren’t you a bit complicated, too?”

I dodged the question, changing the subject. “How are the videos of the robbery coming? Any luck?”

“You must wait until after the party,” Gabriel said. “Then, and only then, will I show you what we found.”

Grudgingly, I agreed to wait, and Gabriel headed back to San Francisco.

Later that day, JP walked into the headquarters and asked to see me. We’d been emailing regularly, but this was the first time I’d seen him in person for a while. The campaign sent out press releases weekly, sometimes daily, announcing key milestones, such as a notable endorsement. JP contacted me after every release for a formal comment, and then we would chat amicably for a few minutes. He hadn’t asked me out on a date again. Now, today, for some reason, he was here in the flesh, carrying a whole lot of nervousness.

Earlier that morning, the campaign had sent out a release announcing Levi’s position regarding raising income taxes for billionaires, a popular topic of conversation since the 99% movement had taken root in San Francisco and there had been riots at UC Berkeley and UC Davis.

JP, it seemed, had decided to come in person for his quote, asking if Levi would agree to tax himself at a higher rate.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Like Warren Buffett, Levi Barnes believes the wealthy have an obligation to pay higher taxes.”

“Yes, but can a billionaire ever really relate to the average American?”

I leaned back in my chair, ready to play press secretary. “It’s not wealth that defines a person, but their actions,” I said. “Levi Barnes wasn’t born into wealth. He acquired it by living the American Dream. He was a university professor who used his education to start companies that created technologies embraced by consumers and the business community. Any entrepreneur can follow in that path.”

I watched as JP furiously scribbled in his pad. I’d grown used to the long silences while reporters tried to capture their dictation. I used to feel compelled to fill the silence with more talking, but I had learned over the years to be patient. I knew Levi has gotten his quote.

“Did you get what you needed?”

JP nodded, as he closed his notebook.

“OK, then if you don’t mind, I have some work to get back to.”

“Wait,” he said, his nervousness reaching a peak. “I was wondering if you had reconsidered having a coffee with me, or maybe dinner. I thought perhaps after Lyon’s party next week.”

“That’s a private event,” I said in my haughtiest voice. “ I don’t recall the media being invited.”

JP laughed. “Wow, that was excellent campaign spokesperson reprimand voice,” he said. “But you’ll have to stand down, because Richard Lyon invited me.”

Not good, I thought to myself. Overconfident FOC—friend of candidate—invites reporter to lavish party in Carmel full of Silicon Valley insiders. I had to wonder who benefitted from that kind of exposure. “If Richard invited you, then we’re done here,” I said. “I assume you’ll keep everything off the record?”

More laughter. “Yeah, right. Now about dinner, do we have a date?”

“OK,” I said, “But let’s keep it light. This is more of a casual meal than a date. Deal?”

“Deal” he said, and collected his notebook and left.

The next few days whirled by. There were plenty of preparations to make and our tax policy release had managed to get Levi a space on Nightline and CNN. I had been swamped with calls from producers seeking Levi for television interviews. Levi was thrilled with the exposure and Gabriel was excited to see the campaign going so smoothly.

Gabriel had managed to keep Elsa and Aidan out of my reach, knowing that I wanted to speak with them about what they had found in their search of the videos and media coverage of the robbery. The minute the party in Carmel was over, I had big plans to install myself at the Council’s offices. Meanwhile, I had simply locked my cell phone in a drawer at home to avoid seeing more of William’s texts.

All of the activity kept me busy, and very quickly I found myself standing in the living room of Richard Lyon’s home, watching the sunset. After all of the buildup and anticipation, I was relieved that the house party was going well. The view from his floor-to-ceiling windows of the Carmel shoreline had never looked more beautiful. Even more glorious, the home was full of Levi’s supporters; the most wealthy and influential families from the region had sent at least one person to attend. The 1950’s ranch-style home was basking in the last rays of the sun and Levi was basking in the acceptance and encouragement of his peers. I was loving the energy buzzing in the room, for these people were truly hopeful that Levi would make a difference, that the government could make a difference. Maybe it was all the wine and sunshine, but the vibe in the room felt right. It felt hopeful. It felt like…victory.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught JP interviewing some of the guests and sighed. In the days that had passed, I’d grown increasingly uncomfortable with Richard’s decision to invite him, and for that matter, my acceptance of his dinner invitation. He was a thorough, competent reporter, but whether he was suitable as anything more remained to be seen. JP was certainly interested in me, but I was missing in action. It was true that he and I had something in common …we were human, but there was no spark there. I was deeply in love with someone else. Of course, that someone didn’t seem to approve of my choices in life, so from my viewpoint, there was no hope for the three of us.

Fortunately, I was too busy working the room to reflect more on the futility of the situation. Moving through the dining room, shaking hands and trading business cards, I was relishing being part of a well-funded campaign. I caught Levi’s eye and began to make my way across the room. I gestured with my hands to ask if he would like a drink, and he answered with a subtle nod while holding conversation with someone. I stopped and began to backtrack toward the deck where the bar had been set up. I took a few steps, but ran into JP before I reached the bar.

“Where would you like to go for dinner?” he asked quietly under his breath.

“I don’t know,” I said, “Maybe Il Fornaio? It’s sort of old school, but they have a nice deck.”

JP nodded, “Sounds good. There’s also a café nearby, it’s named after a bicycle in French, I thought maybe you would like that.”

I nodded. “La Bicyclette. Sounds good,” I said, suddenly distracted by an uncomfortable feeling of pressure against my skull. I turned my head in the direction of the source of my discomfort and saw something I did not expect: standing next to Gabriel in the living room was William. Were it not for his red hair, I might not have recognized him. I had never seen him wear anything but jeans and a T-shirt, but tonight he was dressed in an expensive Italian khaki linen suit that been altered perfectly to fit his frame. He had paired the suit with a striped shirt and a yellow tie bathed in the pale color of the sun at high noon. He looked wealthy, successful and above all, invited.

Although I was dismayed at his presence, William’s cleverness tickled me. For him, fitting in here this evening was likely no different than infiltrating one of the Vichy cocktail parties he’d described. He understood the dynamics of political theater well, and had managed to stroll into the room as if he had been on the guest list to begin with. There was not a single woman in the room whose gaze wasn’t fixed on him. I felt a deep twinge of regret for refusing to speak with him, for avoiding him. But really, what choice did I have in the matter?

At the moment, however, he was impossible to ignore. I smiled at JP, trying to find a way to make a graceful exit.

“I’m sorry to run out, but I see someone over there I need to speak with.”

JP turned his gaze to William and locked on. It was just my luck to have an intrepid reporter and a stubborn vampire sharing the same room. What were the odds?

“Who is that?” he asked, no doubt noticing William was an unfamiliar face in a sea of insiders.

“No one,” I answered casually, “A friend of a friend. But I do need to go and say hello.”

I walked across the room, trying to keep my face as blank as possible, my body relaxed, my head held high. I acted as though I didn’t have a care in the world. JP’s curiosity was burning a hole in my back, his uncertainty about my truthfulness palpable

“Gabriel,” I said, offering a relaxed smile for the room to observe.

“Olivia,” Gabriel said. “As you can see, that is to say, I invited William. I believe the two of you need to speak,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a sympathetic expression.

I looked at Gabriel and then back at William. He had the advantage, as they say, of the element of surprise. I was on the clock, being watched by a prominent reporter and a room full of wealthy donors. While I was tempted to be petulant, I couldn’t afford to make a scene or express even the slightest emotion in front of this audience. William was the one who had made my life sound so unworkable. But here, there was no opportunity to rebuke him, and to be honest, I’d missed him.

“I don’t believe there is anything to discuss,” I said lightly. “We seem to have reached an impasse.”

Gabriel smiled nervously, “Pas grave. I think I may have softened the beaches in that area.”

I was on alert now. “Vraiment? I hope you didn’t promise anything on my behalf, Gabriel,” I said in hushed tones. “I must be free to make my own decisions.”

“I only promised that the Council would not let you do anything alone,” Gabriel said, sounding a tad defensive. “And we won’t. The robbery is a matter of concern for the organization. There is no need for you to investigate this by yourself, or take any unnecessary risks.”

I looked at Gabriel and then at William, who had been standing silently during this exchange. My focus had been about managing my emotions, so much so that I had failed to read his. He was quite angry. Apparently, looking on silently while I restated my position was not what he had in mind.

“Gabriel,” William said crisply. “Olivia is leaving with me. Can you please make her excuses?”

Kidnapping may not have been what Gabriel expected as the outcome of the evening, but the French are never vexed for long.

“I suppose that will be OK. The event is almost over, and has been a tremendous success. I will tell Levi that you caught a ride with a friend.”

I let the two men enjoy plotting my exit for a moment, before I made it clear I would not be cutting out early unless it was on my own terms.

“If you fellows don’t mind, I will make my own exit from the party.” I glanced at my watch. It was 7:30. The event was set to end in a half hour. I didn’t think it would harm things too much if I left in the next ten minutes. But first I had to think of how I was going to break my dinner date with JP.

“William,” I said, a terse smile on my face. “I am going to make another pass through the room and check in with Levi, then I will be ready to leave. I will meet you at the front door in ten minutes.”

He nodded, fixing me with a stare that was unfamiliar. His eyes revealed a look of profound exasperation. Clearly, I had pushed my luck by avoiding him for so long.

I came up behind Levi, his long-ago requested drink in my hand.

“I am going to leave in the next ten minutes,” I whispered into his ear. “A mutual friend of Gabriel’s has offered to give me a lift back to San Francisco.”

“Tonight has been fantastic,” Levi said, beaming. “This thing is in the bag.”

His remark spooked me. Even without the supernatural connection, campaign consultants are a superstitious lot. We don’t believe in tempting the gods by calling a race too soon.

“Shhh,” I said. “You’ll jinx us. You have to knock on wood and hope for the best.”

Levi laughed. “Next thing I know, you’ll be reading my horoscope. Now go on, I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”

I smiled and walked away, tapping a wooden chair as I passed, hoping the gods would accept the gesture. Moments later JP caught my eye and walked over. I was working furiously to maintain a neutral expression as I tried to concoct a story that would sound even vaguely convincing.

“Listen,” I said, trying to sound serious, but not too grave. “I hate to do this, but it turns out I need to return to San Francisco to deal with a few things this evening. I’m really sorry. Can I take a rain check?”

JP didn’t believe a word I was saying. I could feel his skepticism as he gripped his reporter’s notepad.

“What could be so pressing that he would ask his campaign manager to leave a fundraiser early?”

Ouch, it looked like we might not be able to be friends after all. Again, I strived to keep my face relaxed. I managed to laugh and placed my hand on his arm. “He didn’t ask me to leave,” I said. “I remembered something I need to work on before tomorrow. That’s the nature of campaigns, I’m afraid. Things like this happen. But I don’t have to tell you that, right?”

JP was debating. He was scanning the room for William. William, meanwhile, was waiting in the corner, his eyes locked onto me. My excuse seemed thinner in the harsh light of the living room, and for a moment I thought JP was going to take another pass at breaking me down, but he didn’t.

“Rain check, then,” he said smiling.

“Rain check,” I agreed, and headed for the door.