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“I apologize, Michael. I’ve been busy.” She nods to the blonde on his arm, who watches her with a carefully concealed look of venomous envy. “Beatrice.”
God, what is it with rich people and weird fucking names?”
“Hannah.” Beatrice looks at me.
“This is Mason Carpenter. Mason, Beatrice Porter,” Hannah says. She slinks further into my side and something strangepasses between the two women. I almost laugh. My little doe is territorial.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Michael says, completely oblivious to the fact that no one gives a shit about what he’s been worried about.
“Well, I’m sorry for worrying you, but as I said, I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, I’m sure working in a hot and dirty garage is keeping you very well strapped for time to pick up the phone.”
Hannah’s eyes narrow. “Funnily enough, it is.”
“Well, your mother will want to see you.” Michael dares to look toward me. “I can take you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hannah says at the same time I say, “She’ll go with me.”
Michael seems to think about saying something before those words fall flat. Realization crosses his features and I think it’s then he realizes, we know.
“Come, Beatrice,” he says after a moment, smoothing the lines down in his suit. “I believe dinner is about to start.”
“Yes,” Hannah chimes, and he pauses. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your slice of the pie.”
“Hannah?”
Hannah stiffens.
“How wonderful,” her mother croons, stepping up to her and attempting to pull her into a hug. She hangs back, that plastered smile on her face falling.
“Mother.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t tell me you’re still upset with me. That was a real stunt you pulled lying about the charity. They were expecting you.”
She doesn’t answer. It’s then she must notice me standing beside her. Her eyes go wide for a moment, then they darken, a nearly imperceivable hated slipping through her gaze before it’s replaced with coldness.
“Carpenter,” she greets, holding out a hand. I shake it, hard enough that her eye twitches. “I didn’t think a suit was in your attire.”
“It wasn’t,” I reply coldly.
She nods, chuckling darkly. Another woman—her campaign manager from what I remember—joins us and slips close to her.
“Hannah, how lovely to see you,” she says, voice laced with tightly wound tension.
It seems our presence has caused a bit of a disturbance for them.
“June.”
“Hannah, June and I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you, yet, but we’ve recently gotten engaged. We will be the first lesbian couple in the governor’s seat in California.”
June flashes a gaudy ring that would probably cause her to sink, should she be thrown into the Pacific.
“Well, congratulations,” Hannah chimes, voice aloof. “I guess.”
“Hannah—” Laura Gaines starts, but she cuts her off.
“Sending Michael to do your bidding? Seems a little rich, doesn’t it?”
