"Please forgive me for my sins. I will do almost anything to make it up to you." Emelia King's voice floated over the steady chatter of the office. Even with the end of the workday approaching, most campaign staffers remained at their desks and glued to their landlines...except for Emelia.
"I need another word for revitalize." I didn't look up from the draft of the remarks I was writing out by hand. Taking actual notes in an actual notebook was part of my writing process.
As soon as I finished this draft, I would type it up and send it off to the campaign's Communications Director for approval. Tag Bradley had to approve everything I wrote.
He was self-righteous, persnickety, and refused to be called sir, but he was brilliant and I knew how to take constructive criticism.
"Oh my god you're never going to forgive me," Emelia bemoaned.
I huffed out a sigh and finally looked up at Emelia, who stood beside my cubicle. There were few people who looked great in harsh fluorescent office lighting, but she was one of them. The highlighter dusted on her dark cheekbones gave her an effortlessly sculpted look that complimented the rest of her effortless no-makeup makeup look. She had her black braids pulled up into a high-ponytail, which gave her additional height, even though she was at least 5'8" and had a slim athletic build. I wasn't at all surprised when she told me that she played soccer at Notre Dame.
I pushed my chair away from my desk and crossed one leg over the other. I wore a black satin midi slip skirt that still seemed to retain the warmth of the sun from when I stepped out for coffee an hour earlier. "Before we never speak about this again, I need to know why you thought for even one second that your friend and I were going to hit it off at a deep dish pizza place. I don't even like deep dish pizza."
"You're just so different from his ex-girlfriend, and I mean that in the best way possible," Emelia assured me. "Jed needs something and someone different."
"I'm sure he's a good guy, but I'm no one's rebound."
Emelia dragged a nearby open office chair over to my cubicle and dropped into it. "I'm sorry that I dragged you into this," she said as she smoothed out her lavender linen trousers. "All of my friends from Notre Dame are super great, and most of them live in the city now. We should get drinks sometime soon, and I'll reintroduce you to Jed as a friend."
I swiveled my seat around to face her directly. The genuine hope in her dark eyes made it impossible to say no to her face.
"Sure," I surrendered with a subtle grin.
Emelia beamed, her teeth brilliantly white. "I'll get something in the books."
"Now will you quit hovering so I can finish this draft and go home?"
She dramatically rolled her chair backwards and stood up in her delicate white kitten heels. "But am I forgiven?"
"You're forgiven," I stated as I twirled my black ballpoint pen between two fingers. "Just don't bring it up again. Ever."
Emelia drew an X over her heart as she retreated to her cubicle.
I huffed out another sigh as I returned my focus to my notebook. It was hard not to like Emelia. She radiated this easy-going yet focused energy that made her a good ally to have in a hectic campaign environment.
She also had extensive knowledge of Illinois state politics, and I enjoyed our policy-oriented conversations.
That said, I had no intention of getting drinks with Emelia's Notre Dame friends. I didn't need a new friend group in Chicago, and I was perfectly content with keeping to myself throughout the remainder of the campaign.
I was in Chicago because I'd seen something rare and magnetic in Cassandra Symons. Before joining the state Senate, she worked as a managing attorney in Chicago's District Attorney's Office and taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago. She had a vision for education reform and economic development. I looked at her and I saw someone who could be a force in the U.S. Senate.
I never thought I'd be a political romantic, but I became one the first time I heard Symons speak at a symposium in New Haven last year. It was why I never once considered turning down a high-level job in her campaign.
I was here for the campaign and my future. That was all.
･:*˚:✧｡｡✧:˚*:･
I went for a run along the river.
Despite visiting Chicago countless times in my twenty-four years, I'd never gotten over just how strikingly blue the water was. Sure, it was absolutely filthy, but it was stunning. The lights from the skyscrapers had just started to reflect off of its surface, and the river boats coasted along in a way that almost seemed weightless.
I slowed to a stop as I turned onto my street and stopped my watch. I'd kept it simple tonight with a 5K, not wanting to push myself on a Monday when I knew I had a long week ahead of me.
On my way back into the building, I said goodnight to Leo, the doorman who'd known me since I was eleven. He'd witnessed me in various states and styles over the years, but I'd become rather tame since moving in last month.
The apartment in Streeterville was essentially a second-home to me. My parents were both originally from Chicago, but had moved to Greenwich, Connecticut shortly before I was born. They'd bought the condo 10 years ago after deciding that they wanted to spend more time in the city, where my father's parents still lived.
I'd spent various holidays with my family in Chicago, and had used the apartment in recent years for fun weekend getaways with my university friends. But now it was just me. My parents still lived in Greenwich, and my sister was about to start her final year at Berkeley.
When I stepped onto the elevator, I could still still see the sweat glistening on my forehead in my reflection in the mirrored walls. Summers in Chicago were notoriously hot and dry with the exception of a few thunderstorms, which was why I liked to run after work when at least some of the heat had burned off.
"Cute," I muttered, brushing away the flyaways. "Super cute."
The doors opened on floor 11 and I walked to the literal opposite end of the hallway to reach my apartment. Whenever I came home after a night out, I either conquered this journey at turbo speed or felt like Jesus in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights.
Mom had completely redecorated the two bedroom, two-bathroom apartment three years ago, stocking it with furniture from West Elm and the Container Store. The apartment itself had floor-to-ceiling windows in the open-floor plan, with views of Lake Michigan, and the kitchen boasted modern light fixtures and appliances.
Once I secured the door-chain lock for my peace of mind, I kicked off my Brooks and went into the smaller bedroom. Even though I was the only one living here, and my parents had urged me to use the master bedroom, I preferred this one.
The final minutes of golden hour sunlight warmed the hardwood floors and cut across the queen-sized bed. I'd picked out new neutral-colored bedding from Anthropologie and freshed up some of the decor, though it still made me nostalgic in the best way. My sister and I would share the bedroom whenever our family of four was in town, but now it was mine. I'd made damn sure that Ines knew that too.
After taking a hot girl shower and changing into my favorite mocha brown lounge set from Wildred Free, I went to the kitchen to prepare dinner while listening to The Daily podcast from The New York Times. I'd just plated the salmon when my phone lit up with a text from my sister. She was living out in Los Angeles this summer while she interned for The L.A. Times, taking after my parents' illustrious journalism careers.
INES GREY: HELLO 🗣
INES GREY: did you flame Emelia for setting you up with Corn-Fed Jed?
I snorted. Ines always came up with the best nicknames.
KIERNAN GREY: Corn Fed Jed!!! That's iconic
KIERNAN GREY: and no, i didn't. I work with her and it's in my best interest to be nice
KIERNAN GREY: she knows it was a complete fail, though. So at least there's that
INES GREY: 😮💨
INES GREY: anyway, let's facetime tomorrow. LOVE YOU!
KIERNAN GREY: love you too 🤍
I smiled to myself as I read over Ines's Corn-Fed Jed text one more time before returning to finalizing my plate with rice, spinach, and sweet potatoes. I wasn't a great chef, but I wouldn't ever make a fool of myself in the kitchen. Besides, I was also the only person I needed to please with my cooking.
With my plate in hand, I left my phone plugged in on the kitchen island and settled onto the couch to devote my entire focus to watching The West Wing. This was exactly how I'd wanted to spend last Friday night, but better late than never.
･:*˚:✧｡｡✧:˚*:･
from sar [w1ldflow3r]:
kiernan's living out my speech writing dream and will be throwing around political jargon like confetti. no one is happier about this than me
anyway this chapter was all about character building, and i hope you're rooting for our classy, career-driven baddie. the next chapter is montana's pov, but k will make an appearance xx