Private Politics (The Easy Part) (4 page)

Alyse inhaled sharply.

He did a little eyebrow thing. “Ryan Scott.”

“Oh
shit
.” Oops, she hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“Yeah.” He didn’t seem shocked by her language. “Doug said he thought it seemed really fishy. He was skeptical at first, but you made him a believer.”

“Wait, this is bad. I don’t want him to be a believer. I don’t want it to be fishy because then I’ll never get another job.”

Liam dismissed this with a shrug. “Don’t think about it like that. You’re going to be a whistleblower.”

This was not at all helpful. “Call me crazy, but that was never an ambition of mine. And I sincerely doubt anyone will see me as anything other than the stupid girl who let this awful thing happen.”

She hadn’t known she felt that way, hadn’t let herself think about it like that. Once she’d said the words, however, she knew they were true. She bit her lip to try to stop the sudden outpouring of emotion before she did something truly stupid like sob.

He moved his laptop onto the table at his knees and captured one of her hands in both of his. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be okay.”

The blasé dissolved, leaving the same confidence she’d found comforting last night. She felt his warm, steady hands wrapped around hers, looked in his eyes and
believed
. Almost believed. Maybe if he’d pull her into lap and hold her she could get all the way there?

Two weird, intimate thoughts about the guy in as many minutes? It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t want him; she was just responding to the fact he was cute and calm. He wasn’t her type. That wasn’t what this was about. He just looked like he gave really good hugs.

“All right.” It was inadequate and silly, but that was all she could muster. If he thought she was going to be okay, that was all the reassurance she was getting today.

“All right,” she repeated, tugging her hand out of his grasp and back into the solitary coldness of her lap. “Promise me that whatever else, we’ll nail Ryan Scott.”

“What are we nailing me for?”

The voice came from behind and over her shoulder. Alyse closed her eyes and filled her lungs with a deep, low sip of air, not wanting to turn to face the tall, blond, no doubt immaculate and quite possibly criminal lobbyist standing behind them.

Oh shit
.

Chapter Four

Liam watched disbelief and fear twitch across Alyse’s features before she squeezed her blue eyes shut, as if she could blot the situation out of being through denial. He understood the impulse. This was definitely not an ideal development.

He stood up and offered the other man—Ryan Scott, no doubt—his hand. “Liam Nussbaum. A friend of Alyse’s.”

“The guy from Poindexter?” Yeah, everyone had heard of the blog, at least among the District’s political types. This guy seemed impressed; Liam wished the feeling were mutual.

Ryan Scott was in his late thirties. Fussily dressed, he had the look of the basic corporate lobbyist with just the barest hint of snake oil salesman: expensive suit, shiny tie, the works. He smelled like he wore cologne and looked like he got manicures. Also there was product in his hair.

A man was entitled to do all these things in the twenty-first century—hell, Parker probably did—but in this case, they had combined into something too polished. He was a walking façade and there were fifty exactly like him within a mile of where they stood, except most of the rest weren’t scrubbing money through nonprofits for their own benefit. Presumably.

“That’s me,” Liam said. Only through sheer force of will did he keep from glancing down to assess his own clothing. He wore scuffed shoes and frayed jeans and wrinkle-free shirts that failed to live up to their billing, but at least he had integrity.

“I’m Ryan Scott. Hiya, Alyse.” They evidently knew each other. “What are you nailing me for?”

The guy flashed an insincere smile and Liam contemplated the best response to the situation. Telling him the truth was out. Ten seconds into their acquaintance, Liam was more convinced than ever that something was going on at YWR and this guy was the cause. Punching him also seemed unacceptable—a bit violent. Not his usual MO. So that left what exactly?

Alyse stood up and smiled one of those dazzling grins that made him forget his name. Ryan didn’t so much as blink—which just wasn’t human. She said, “A series of profiles Liam’s doing.”

Wait, he was doing a series of profiles?

She turned toward him, still smiling, and only the knowledge that whatever she was up to was strategic helped him keep his head. “You can ask him now since we were lucky enough to run into him.” She spoke the words deliberately and one brow arched about two millimeters.

She was so conniving and smart he wanted to kiss her. Okay, so that was a normal state, but still, she was turning what could have been a disaster into an opportunity. The solution was diabolically obvious. They could just ask the guy what he was up to at YWR and there was a chance he was stupid or arrogant enough to tell them.

He turned back to Ryan, who obviously hadn’t picked up on a thing, and nodded. “Yeah, Poindexter is thinking about doing a bunch of profiles of up-and-coming lobbyists. I’d love to sit down and talk about your work.”

Ryan produced that oily grin again. “Oh wow, really?”

Liam almost pumped his fist in triumph. He tugged a little bit on the line, trying to get the guy hooked. “Alyse says you’re doing great things for YWR.”

“Oh, he is.” The sticky irony shading Alyse’s words was subtle. The idiot standing in front of them missed it totally.

“We’ve really turned things around for them on the Hill,” Ryan said, almost crowing. Oh yeah, this was going to work. The guy clearly loved to brag. “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Do you have a card?” Liam asked. The manicured hand
not
holding some sort of over-elaborate coffee slid into his jacket pocket and produced one. “I’ll email you this afternoon to set something up.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Nice meeting you. See you, Alyse.”

Liam and Alyse remained standing and silent as Ryan turned and walked out the door. As soon as it clicked shut, they turned toward each other and dissolved into laughter.

“What are the odds?” she asked.

“In this town, pretty darn good. I can’t go to the grocery store or get on the Metro without running into someone I know.”

“And you live in the middle of nowhere.”

“Shaw isn’t nowhere.” He shrugged rather than get into an argument with her about the merits of various DC neighborhoods. They’d witnessed enough of that the night before. “You handled him—” he gestured toward the door, “—really well.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m grateful. I didn’t have a clue what to do.”

“Ah, well, that’s because you don’t know him. I’ve dated tons of lobbyists. They’re always infinitely arrogant. I knew if we appealed to his vanity, he’d get so caught up he wouldn’t notice anything else. He might tell you everything you want to know.”

“If we’re lucky,” he agreed.

He liked it, the sound of the word “we,” on her lips. He liked saying it and not having her contradict him. But that was why this was dangerous. The anger he’d left her apartment with the night before seemed misplaced now.

Alyse was smart, pretty and strong in ways she didn’t even seem to understand, but she also wasn’t interested in him. She wasn’t using him or trying to mess him around on purpose, but she was radically self-interested right now. Ryan Scott could do them both a huge favor and confess the whole thing, ending the “we” before it even got a chance to get started. Because he could never seem to move from knowing to
knowing
he didn’t have a chance with her.

“I probably need to head back,” she said. They stood there awkwardly staring at each other.

He hoped that all the things churning through his mind weren’t obvious, though really, how could they be? “I’m attracted to you but I know it’s hopeless and that sort of pisses me off even though I get it” wasn’t one of the better-known emotions. That one never showed up on charts of universal expressions.

“Oh, okay. Thanks. For the info. And the save,” he said.

“You’re welcome. And ditto.”

Still, neither of them moved. She seemed to be thinking, worrying the corner of her mouth very slightly with her perfect teeth and drawing his attention where he didn’t want it to go. She was considering something. Was she still upset? What could he say to get her to believe she was going to be okay?

Just as he was going to ask what was up, she crossed the space between them, slid her hands around his neck and pressed herself up against him. He inhaled deeply and reminded himself this was a friendly hug. Nothing more than a friendly hug.

Except they had never been this close physically. He’d never been able to fully experience how good she smelled or feel her hair catching on the stubble on his cheek. He’d never run his hands over her lower back, brushed the soft fabric of her clothes and pulled her body flush with his. The jolt of hip-on-hip was jarring, not so much because they hit each other with any great force but from the rightness of it—which was a silly, romantic fantasy.

What choice did he have? It would be bad manners not to return a hug. But once she was gathered up against him, it was damn hard to remember why she couldn’t be all the time.

“I mean it,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. “Thank you.”

He made a noise in assent, not trusting his voice. He tried to calibrate his arms correctly. He didn’t want to crush her and he wanted her to know that he’d release her the second she pulled away, but he wanted to enjoy the only hug he would ever get from her.

Rather than detach immediately, she let her head fall against his neck and shoulder. This wasn’t about gratitude; it was about consolation. She needed comfort right now.

He was so stupid and selfish. No matter how many times he had said he was done hoping, he knew he wouldn’t ever be done. Probably because she was perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Except for the part where she’d never go for him. That part sucked. But right now, he could do something for her, giving her this hug and helping her figure out what was going on. And nothing else.

Though that didn’t stop him from pretending. Maybe he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out six months ago, right at the moment when the crush he’d been nursing since the moment they’d met had turned into a full-on preoccupation. Maybe she’d said yes. Maybe they’d been dating ever since, first casually and now more seriously. Maybe Millie and Parker gave
them
crap for the PDAs. Maybe she’d come to him first with everything at work and this was the fiftieth hug he’d given her since then.

She shifted against him and the fantasy faded. It wasn’t like he needed a story to make this moment meaningful. Alyse, in his arms, wanting to be there, was enough. He was so far gone for her it wasn’t even funny.

He breathed in again, trying to untangle the scent of her shampoo from that of her perfume from the smell that was unique to her. It was a delectable layering of flowers and musk designed to drive a man insane. So why wasn’t there another man? Why were his the arms she sought comfort in?

Rather than ask, he tightened his grip infinitesimally and exhaled, her soft hair fluttering against his breath. Beautiful, like every part of her.

Finally, and he hoped a little bit regretfully, she released her arms from around his neck and pulled away. He shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull her back.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her attention was riveted to the floor, where she trailed a toe over the ground between them in little swirls. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days. I guess I needed that.”

“I’m the hugs-on-demand guy. Whenever you need them. Whatever you need, Alyse, I’m here. For you, anything.”

Over the years, he had watched his friends who were better with women evade, cajole and generally not say what they wanted and get it anyway. With this woman, he was George Washington and the cherry tree. He could not tell a lie, nor did he wish to. If there was the slightest chance, he was in. Now he’d made that almost obnoxiously clear.

She made eye contact and nodded once, short but committed. “I know.”

Two words, two syllables. No utterance could be more simple, yet nothing about it had been. He had watched her closely over the past six months and he felt like he understood her despite the barriers she erected. But those words felt honest and revealing like almost nothing else she had said to, or near, him had. She knew, knew it all. Knew how he felt, knew what he would do for her. She was apologizing for not wanting it, which of course she didn’t need to do. And yet there was sadness in her voice, as if...well, hell, he didn’t know.

By the time he had worked through the thought, she was gone.

He sat down and tried to get back to work, but the words for the post he had been writing wouldn’t come. Her scent lingered—maybe, hopefully, adhered to his clothes. She was in his eyes, on his hands and humming in his ears. He was sinking into the crush and didn’t want to stop, even knowing she would almost certainly stomp on his heart.

He abandoned the post and turned to Doug’s emails, rereading them for a missed clue. In this way at least he might be able to help her.

* * *

“I set up another J-Date profile for you.”

Liam shuffled through a pile of books in his living room later that night while his mother chattered away on the phone. He had had dinner plans with Michael, who’d shared a room and then an apartment with Parker and him in college. Michael was stuck in a campaign staff meeting and had canceled, however. Nothing like a Friday night cleaning your apartment and catching up with your mother.

The decision about which books to display, which to stick in storage and which to give away was surprisingly fraught. He didn’t think he was obsessed with self-image. Friends described him as an anti-hipster, but putting
Infinite Jest
on the living room bookshelf—what did that communicate? He’d read it, all of it, and found it pretentious and brilliant by turns, often at the same time. But wasn’t putting it out there for public consumption the most pretentious move of all? He needed to get an e-Reader.

He stopped moving books around and processed what his mother had said. She was back on the marriage and dating thing?

“But I deleted the last one.” His words interrupted what had been a several-minute-long monologue.

“Yes, I know. That’s why it’s
another
one.”

“I’m not sure what precisely you’re hoping to accomplish. Celebrate how well you did with Ben and Isaac.”

His older brother’s wedding had been scarcely six months ago. It was his younger brother Ben he should resent. That bastard had gotten married right out of college, thus making life awful for the older two.

Okay, so he could admit that was an exaggeration and unfair to his mother to boot. His family was more culturally Jewish than anything. He remembered entire years when they’d never darkened the door of a synagogue. His bar mitzvah experience had been pretty laid-back. The pressure to marry a nice Jewish girl hadn’t really been there as it had been for some of his friends.

Until it was.

It was as if his mom had woken up one day and realized that her sons might not get married. Or might marry gentiles, as Ben had. Then it was a minor drumbeat in the background of their relationship for years. Just an idea that almost every conversation would snag on for a brief moment before pattering on.

But once Isaac had gotten engaged, his mother’s efforts had increased in pitch and intensity. The J-Date profile was the most dramatic and annoying example.

“What I’m hoping to accomplish is you being happy.”

“Because I’m not?”

“You’re not.”

He set down the books in his hand and flopped onto the couch to consider this. He ran a blog that had tens of thousands of unique visitors a month and supported a staff. He’d managed to turn his hobby into his job. Sure, they could use a breakout story, but for the moment and as the long as the page view gods remained beneficent, Poindexter was successful. He glanced around his apartment, large and nice, in a neighborhood he loved, and in the city he idolized. Why precisely wouldn’t he be happy?

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re nearly thirty-two. You should be married.” He guffawed and she tried again. “You should be dating.”