True Colors

by Yolanda Wallace

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Sheridan closed the book she was reading. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I feel like putting my fist through a wall.”

  Sheridan rose from her seat and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s get out of here before that happens because I doubt either of us would be able to afford the repairs.”

  “Thanks, Sheridan.”

  “That’s what friends are for, right?”

  “I could use as many of those as I can get.”

  Because, aside from TJ, she couldn’t count on her family to support her. Not now. Perhaps not ever again. She wasn’t making this move on a whim. Her whole life had been leading her to a career in politics, but she had resisted the siren call until it became too strong to ignore. Like her sexuality, she was choosing to embrace her fate rather than deny it.

  “Are you ready?” Sheridan asked after Ethan finally showed up with the SUV.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Lily couldn’t hide her smile when she slid behind the wheel. The tricked-out vehicle was like a Bond car on steroids. “Do you want to call it in, or shall I?”

  “I’ll do the honors,” Ethan said. Using the transmitter in his ear, he relayed a message to the other Secret Service agents on duty. “This is Moss. Peterson and I are taking Eaglet to the nest. I’ll alert you when we arrive. Over.”

  Taylor settled into her seat. “I’ll never get used to all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

  “Something tells me you might have to,” Sheridan said. “The real question is who do you want to take the ride with you?”

  Politicians often relied on polls to help them make decisions on subjects as innocuous as what color tie they should wear during a campaign stop to which hot-button issue they should support or oppose. Taylor didn’t intend to rely on the opinions of random strangers to come up with the answer to Sheridan’s question. She planned to follow her heart. No matter where it led.

  * * *

  Robby recognized Dickson Beltran as soon as he walked into the store. From his gelled hair to his Armani suit, he looked just like the head shot on his corporate website. She wasn’t surprised he reached out to her after she turned down his generous offer. She was flabbergasted, however, to see him do it in person instead of sending yet another intern to do his bidding.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he said as he straightened his silk tie. “What will it take for me to get you to change your mind? Will this do?”

  Robby tried not to gape when he placed a check for five hundred thousand dollars on the counter.

  “Here’s a revised contract noting the amended compensation amount.” He pulled several sheets of folded paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Half a mil up front and a salary of one hundred fifty thousand dollars a year. Is that more to your liking?”

  Five hundred thousand dollars. At her current pace, it would take her more than ten years to make that kind of money. Now she had a chance to earn it in less than ten minutes. All she needed to do was sign the contract being presented to her. She balled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for the closest pen.

  “Answer a question for me,” she said.

  “If I can.”

  “How do you know Candy Ferrell?”

  Dickson blinked as if she’d caught him by surprise. Despite being a successful businessman, he had the worst poker face she had ever seen. “What does that have to do with our negotiations?”

  “When we spoke earlier, you said you contacted me at Candy’s behest. She isn’t one of my biggest fans, so I can’t imagine her wanting to do me a favor.”

  “She isn’t. She’s doing herself one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mrs. Ferrell owns a significant amount of stock in my company. Like the other shareholders, she wants me to do what’s best for the bottom line. In this case, that means hiring you. If your blog takes off like I think it will, stock prices will climb right along with it. That’s good news for all concerned, Mrs. Ferrell included. I’m sure a hefty return on investment would convince her to patch up any differences you two might have, don’t you?”

  Money had a way of changing people’s minds, but Robby wasn’t completely sold on the idea of Candy being her cheerleader instead of her detractor. “I would love to work with you, especially for the amount of money you’re willing to pay me, but I need to know if I would be answering to you or her.”

  He looked almost offended. “My name’s on the masthead. Does that answer your question?”

  “No, because it doesn’t tell me who’s calling the shots.”

  Dickson sighed, making her wonder if she had botched their attempted negotiations.

  “As I said before, you would have final say on any subject you wish to address. If you sign with me, nothing will change for you except the amount of money in your bank account and the size of your audience. If you’ve researched me and my company, which I’m sure you’ve taken the time to do, you know what I have to offer. I have an eye for talent, Robby, and I want to nourish yours. Whatever your issues are with Mrs. Ferrell, they don’t have anything to do with me. I’m interested in making profits, not friends. If you can put your hurt feelings aside and focus on the bigger picture, I can make you a force to be reckoned with in our industry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to twist your arm and force you to work with me, though. The choice is yours to make. For your sake, I hope you choose wisely.”

  “It’s a big decision,” she said. “I need some time to think.” She needed to slow down before she rushed into a situation from which she couldn’t easily extricate herself. Consulting a lawyer might not hurt, either. Someone with a trained eye would be able to spot any unwanted loopholes in the contract much better than she could. Right now, all she could see were dollar signs.

  “That’s understandable.” He left the contract on the counter but pocketed the check. “Take some time, think about what we’ve discussed, and give me a call when you’re ready to do business. If I don’t hear from you by this time tomorrow, I’ll find someone who has fewer qualms about taking my money. If you resolve your doubts, initial each page of the contract, sign your full name on the last one, and I’ll be thrilled to welcome you aboard.”

  Dickson made the agreement sound like the deal of a lifetime, but Robby couldn’t shake the feeling that accepting it would be a grave mistake. She couldn’t imagine Candy being a silent partner, but half a million dollars could buy a lot of earplugs.

  She put the contract away so she could stop staring at it and concentrate on closing up. She locked the door, set the alarm, and turned off the lights. Then she trudged upstairs, each step harder than the last. Instead of laughing all the way to the bank, she felt more like crying. Because the person she wanted to share her good fortune with the most was the one who had benefited the least: Taylor.

  Writing about Taylor had gotten her the increased exposure she needed, but it had also helped tear them apart. Now Taylor would never trust her with her secrets, let alone her heart.

  She wished she had a reset button so she could go back and make things right. If given a second chance to relive the past few weeks, she would tell Taylor everything the first day so Taylor would know exactly what she was about from the get-go instead of being blindsided later by everything she had tried to hide. But decisions were always easier to make in retrospect. In real time, they were a hell of a lot harder.

  Miles had tried to tell her she was playing with fire where Taylor was concerned, but she had been convinced she wouldn’t wind up getting burned. So much for that theory. In the end, what had her actions accomplished? The financial stability she had always craved was within reach, but all she had to show for it were a few pieces of paper and a broken heart.

  Chapter Thirty

  Taylor wanted to get away. From Robby. From Washington. From her life. But Portia was doing her best to bring her back. Taylor stopped shoving clothes into her suitcase
and devoted her full attention to Portia’s calm, rational voice in her ear.

  “You’re acting impulsively,” Portia said. “Slow down, take a breath, and let’s talk this through. Why are you leaving? Because you want to go back to Missouri, or because you want to get away from Robby?”

  Taylor shifted her phone from one side of her head to the other. “I’m not running away from my feelings, PT.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Taylor should have known better than to try to pull one over on her. Portia could always see right through her, even when they weren’t in the same room.

  “What’s going on?” Portia asked. “Tell it to me straight. I only have an hour for chow, so I don’t have time to wonder if you’re lying to me or not.”

  “I’m not lying. There’s just so much going on I don’t know where to start.”

  “Then let’s take it one step at a time. What are you planning to do about school?”

  “Take some time off until I figure out where I’m going to end up spending most of my time. If it’s here, I’ll stay at Georgetown. If it isn’t, I’ll drop out, enroll in the University of Missouri, and transfer my credits so I won’t have to spend too much additional time earning my master’s degree.”

  “Okay, I’m with you so far. Now for the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Are you going to run for Dan Lowry’s seat or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was hoping you were going to say no.” Portia blew out a breath. “That’s a big move, Taylor. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”

  “For the position? Yes. For the campaign itself? No. That’s the part I’m dreading the most. My life’s already being dragged through the mud. It will only get worse when I run.”

  “Then why are you willingly putting yourself through it?”

  “Because I have to.” Taylor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I could tell you all the reasons I want the job, but I’m sure you already know what they are. I could tell you I’m scared of what might happen, but I’m sure you already know that too. I might not win Lowry’s seat or any other positions I have my eye on in the future, but I’ve got to try. If I don’t, who will?”

  “Famous last words. Try not to make them literal, okay?”

  Taylor cringed, remembering someone had threatened to kill her if Robby pursued a relationship with her. Robby was out of the picture now. If another woman came into it one day, would her presence mitigate the threat or exacerbate it? If that was the case, the game she and Sheridan were playing was far more dangerous than she might have imagined. She needed to come clean about her relationship with Sheridan. She didn’t want to put Sheridan’s life at risk. And, above all, she didn’t want to live a lie.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Portia said, “it’s a hostile world out there.”

  “That’s why I need you on my team.”

  Portia laughed. “Concentrate on winning the race first. Then you can worry about picking your team.”

  “Too late. I’ve already started.” Her phone buzzed. “Finish your meal, PT. I’ve got another call coming through.”

  “Talk to you later. And whatever move you make next, make sure it’s the right one, not a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “You got it.” She ended the call with Portia and hit the Accept button to take the incoming call.

  “It’s me,” Steven said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in my room. What’s going on?”

  The panic she heard in Steven’s voice put her on high alert. She reflexively locked her door, even though a Secret Service agent was standing guard outside it and others were patrolling the grounds. Then she remembered the cryptic comment Lily had made at Camp David. “If I’m right, it means we’re looking for one of our own.”

  Maybe Lily hadn’t set her sights on a random agent but someone much closer. Perhaps even a member of her own team. If so, it could explain why she was being so closed-mouth about her investigation—and her suspicions.

  After an uncertain start, Taylor had learned to trust each of the agents on her detail implicitly. Now that trust might turn out to be unfounded.

  “We have a situation,” Steven said, seeming to confirm her fears. “Stay put and don’t talk to anyone until I get there. I’m on my way.”

  Taylor ended the call and sheltered in place. A few weeks ago, an attempted fence jumper had been denied entrance. This time, the enemy might already be inside.

  * * *

  Robby pointed the remote at the TV screen and scrolled through the channels, trying in vain to find a suitable distraction so she could stop obsessing over Dickson Beltran’s offer. She wasn’t in the mood for the cheesy science fiction film on one channel or the sticky sweet family film on another. The Wizards game didn’t hold her attention for long because it reminded her too much of Taylor. So did the ongoing coverage of Dan Lowry’s lurid sex scandal.

  She didn’t know what to make of the rumors she was hearing about Taylor potentially throwing her hat in the ring for Lowry’s soon-to-be vacant office. The last time they had talked about their respective futures, the road map to Taylor’s life had been clearly mapped out: a respectable career in academia paired with a quiet home life far from the public spectacle of the political arena. What had happened to change her mind?

  Robby would love to know what Taylor was thinking these days, but she was no longer part of her inner circle. Sheridan had replaced her as Taylor’s confidante. Had Sheridan replaced her as Taylor’s bedmate, too? Based on their behavior at the state dinner honoring Prime Minister Patricia Ogilvie, the answer was a resounding yes.

  Robby didn’t know how to feel about the idea of Sheridan taking her place in Taylor’s life. Jealous? Angry? Envious? She felt all those things and more, but the one emotion that trumped all the others was regret.

  “You can’t change the past. From now on, you can only mold the future.”

  She picked up the contract from Beltran Media and took another look at the eye-popping numbers that could change her life forever.

  “What do you think, big boy?” she asked after Orson butted his head against her arm to get her attention. “Should I sign it or not?” Orson turned and started licking his ass. “That wasn’t the response I was expecting, but I’ll take it into consideration.”

  She tossed the contract on the ottoman. She had almost twenty-four hours to make a decision. She needed to take advantage of every minute. Since Candy Ferrell was involved in the deal, she wanted to examine her options from every possible angle. The first thing she needed to do was find a lawyer she could trust. And who wouldn’t charge her an arm and a leg to review a contract she might be better off shredding instead of signing.

  “Take your time,” she told herself. “Don’t rush into anything you might regret later. You’ve only got one chance to make this right.”

  She refocused her attention on the TV screen, where the anchor was recapping the latest salvo in the petty feud between Arthur Dunphy and one of the anchors on a conservative news network. Robby had found the conflict boring during the presidential campaign. Now, with the election decided and Terry Crenshaw officially sworn into the office Dunphy had ponied up millions to earn, it was old news. She wished both parties would move on because she certainly had.

  She was nearly ready to give up and pick out a DVD from her collection when two things made her sit up and pay attention: the scroll at the bottom of the screen and the breaking news alert splashed across the anchor’s chest.

  According to the scroll, she had been identified as the “mystery woman” Taylor had kissed while their images lit up the oversized scoreboard in the Verizon Center. Her name was now on display for several million cable news junkies to see. Since her profession was listed as go-go dancer instead of store clerk, she wondered if a Virginia’s patron had snitched on her or the network had chosen to go with the more salacious choice to capture its audience’s attention.

  Robby fisted her hands in her hair. Whethe
r a Virginia’s patron had spilled the beans or an intrepid reporter had unearthed the truth independently, the story was guaranteed to have legs. If Taylor was serious about making a run for Dan Lowry’s seat in the House of Representatives, she would have to start her political life by answering a slew of questions about her personal one. Questions that might not have been an issue if Robby had chosen to be forthcoming instead of secretive.

  But Taylor’s uncertain political future was the least of her worries. And Taylor’s.

  “For those viewers just joining us,” the anchor said, “we’re covering breaking news out of Maryland. First responders are on the scene of a massive explosion in a residential neighborhood in Bethesda. Details are still filtering in, but here’s what we know at the moment. One home is in flames and the surrounding houses are at risk of erupting as firefighters battle to get the blaze under control. The residence at the center of the storm belongs to Secret Service agent Ethan Moss. Moss, who preliminary reports say was attempting to build an improvised explosive device in his garage when the explosion occurred, died as a result of the blast. His family managed to escape the conflagration, and his wife is currently being questioned by local and federal authorities. Moss’s fiery death is bound to result in another scandal for the beleaguered agency that employed him since our sources say he was being investigated for threatening to kill Taylor Crenshaw, the woman he was assigned to protect.”

  Robby had always felt vaguely uneasy around Ethan, but she had thought she was thrown off her stride by his extreme intensity. She had never suspected him of being the man she had run into on the street. The man who had threatened to end Taylor’s life if she continued to be part of it. How had he managed to get so close to Taylor without someone suspecting he was motivated by something other than duty and patriotism?

  Robby felt sick. She had been concerned about her encounter with the man on the street, but she had been comforted by the fact that Taylor had a team of Secret Service agents around to protect her. She had never dreamed that the man who wanted to do Taylor harm and one of the people tasked with keeping her safe were one and the same.