I glance at him, eyebrows raised, and he holds up his hands. “I paid it back. But the money was sitting there in an account I controlled, so I borrowed it, just for a little while. No harm, no foul. Those are the kinds of things you have to be willing to do to get ahead.”
“I’m sure the campaign has opened up a lot of opportunities for you as well. Your fundraising is incredibly strong.”
He shifts in his seat, facing forward again, and I worry he’s done sharing for the day. That perhaps the campaign is off-limits. But then he chuckles. “That lunch we had? Paid for by a credit card set up to be paid through campaign donations.”
I laugh. “Now, I know that’s illegal.”
He gives me a wink. “It’s only illegal if you get caught.”
If my life were a movie, this would be the moment the heist soundtrack kicks in—bass guitar first, then horns and drums joining in—an upbeat tempo propelling us all forward toward Ron’s inevitable end. The camera would zoom in on me, a tiny smile on my face, showing the weight of my worry lifting away. And just like in a movie, there isn’t a moment to spare.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” I say. “Plausible deniability and all of that.”
He grins back at me. “Oh no. You’re in it now. If you’re going to be my long-term agent, you also have to be the keeper of my secrets.”
I give him a questioning look. “Are you going to make me sign a nondisclosure?”
“I don’t need one. With the number of properties I buy and sell, you’ll be making at least a million in commissions annually. In my experience, that’s enough of a nondisclosure for anyone. This time next year, you’ll be paying cash for something. You just wait and see.”
You just wait and see. The words flutter around in my mind, like butterflies taking flight.
Kat
July
Meg and I are at post-yoga sushi with Veronica when I see how good Meg is at what she does, and I get my first glimpse into what she might be up to.
“Where is Ron having next week’s fundraising dinner?” Meg asks.
“A house in Beverly Hills. A huge estate in the flats.”
“Has he ever hosted anything at his house?” Meg asks.
I look up at the mention of the Canyon Drive property, but Meg keeps her eyes on Veronica.
“It’s too small,” Veronica says. “The crowd we’re after prefers modern chrome and clean lines. Ron’s house is more English estate.”
Meg looks concerned.
“What?” Veronica asks.
“I just think it’s too bad Ron doesn’t live somewhere with more status. There are so many properties on the market right now that have more of a pedigree, you know?”
“I suppose,” Veronica says.
“I’d tell him myself, but I’m a salesperson. Everything we say is suspect.”
I dip a piece of sushi in soy sauce and watch the exchange.
Meg continues. “His neighborhood is nice enough, but everyone knows that those with real money and power live north of Sunset Boulevard.”
“I doubt Ron will want to move so close to the election.”
“Sure. It’s just…” Meg trails off, as if she’s not sure how to say what she needs to say. “At that fundraiser you took me to, I overheard a conversation that got me thinking.” She looks out the window, as if trying to remember the details. “They were an older couple…she had sort of shortish gray hair…you know who I’m talking about.”