A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

She lowers her voice. “Good point. I wouldn’t want to re-traumatize you by inviting a bunch of people because there’s always that one person who says the most inappropriate and rude comment to you.”

 

Right.

 

Mom doesn’t realize that she’s that person.

 

“I’m sorry I’m not there, Lindsay. You know how busy this time can get,” she says, shifting into her no-nonsense voice. “I’m at the spa and there’s been a delay.”

 

I called it.

 

“It’s fine, Mom. I know how it works when Daddy’s getting ready for a campaign.” A cold wave of liquid steel fills my stomach. I know one of the reasons I’ve finally been let out is because Daddy’s about to campaign again. I’ll be expected to show up to events, to be pristine in my appearance for campaign photos and appearances. Smile, be on stage, hold hands with Daddy, film commercials, and basically, be a cardboard cut-out version of The Perfect Daughter.

 

It’s a role I could handle four years ago.

 

I wonder how much the press has turned me into The Imperfect Daughter.

 

And then it hits me: I have a smartphone. With search engine apps. I can search myself. On the island, I had limited moments when I could research. Mostly, new staff members who came in were the only way I got unfiltered Internet access. Using regular computers in the labs there was a joke. They filtered my name. I couldn’t even research myself.

 

But a staff member who needed a $50 bill would sometimes let me use their phone for fifteen minutes. That’s how I saw the video. I spent every penny of my discretionary money on bribes for access to unfiltered Internet.

 

And then there was the staffer who taught me about the dark net. The untracked underbelly of the shadow Internet, where nobody can see what you are doing or monitor your searches.

 

“Well,” she chuckles, “this year it’s a little different, dear. Your father’s campaign won’t be anything like it was four years ago.”

 

Ouch. See?

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14

 

 

 

 

 

“Right.” I don’t know what else to say. I take in a shaky breath and let out an even shakier one.

 

“Has he had a meeting with you yet?” All the gushy, over-the-top love is gone. Mom is back to being a senator’s wife. Cunning, sharp, and on top of every detail in support of her powerful man.

 

“Tomorrow. We’re having a breakfast meeting.”

 

“I see.” Oooo, that means she’s not pleased. “I’m surprised he’s waiting that long.”

 

My neck starts to tighten. A sharp pain between my eyes feels like someone’s pierced me with an ice pick. I know from stress reduction sessions with therapists that this is just a stress response. It’s a reaction. I can control this. I can’t change my mother, or take away her words, but I can change me.

 

“I hope everything heals fast, Mom. When can I expect to see you? Can’t wait.”

 

She sounds surprised as she says, “Tomorrow, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss that meeting for the world, dear.”

 

Click.

 

“I love you, too, Mom,” I mumble into the phone, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Someone snorts. I pivot, realizing I forgot that Connie was still in the kitchen with me.

 

Uh oh.

 

“That was my mother.”

 

“I gathered.”

 

“She’s excited I’m home.”

 

“Any good mother would be.”

 

Oh. This is getting interesting.

 

“And she’s going to see me tomorrow morning when I meet with my dad.” Why am I babbling? Why am I telling a stranger any of this? I feel like my body has suddenly become thousands of long strands of thin ribbon, and a strong hurricane is on its way, the edges whipping through my ribbons and sending me in every direction.

 

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts. Connie turns toward the sound, too. Drew walks in, showered and changed, wearing a dark suit, that maddening ear piece, and a blank look on his face that makes me want to scream.

 

My whole body rushes, like a wave crashing on the shore, and I’m left with hundreds of emotions all twitching and pinging, like starfish trapped on the sand.

 

“The breakfast meeting?” he asks, reaching for an apple from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen island. He takes a bite and chews, looking at me with eyes that give away no hint of emotion.

 

“Does everyone know about the breakfast meeting? Is the gardener invited, too?” I snap.

 

“It’s an important meeting.”

 

“It’s just Daddy gearing up for another campaign. I know the drill. This is his third one. I’ve practically memorized how it goes.”

 

Connie and Drew share a weird look I don’t understand.

 

“This one will be different, Lindsay,” he declares. Connie chooses this moment to go out of the room, mumbling something about ordering more wine.

 

“Really? Is he going to lose this time? Or you mean because he has to deal with the terrible tatters of his daughter’s slutty reputation from four years ago.”

 

He nearly chokes on his bite of apple.