The Senator's Daughter. Sophia Sasson

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      If possible, her face went even whiter, the color completely draining out of it.

      “I’m not worth that kind of attention, surely...”

      He stood and lifted the edge of the curtain. She gasped. There were no less than ten trucks blocking the street and a bunch of reporters crowding onto her front lawn.

      “Any second, they’re going to come banging on the door. The only reason they haven’t yet is they need to get their cameras ready and the uplinks to their networks established.”

      This time he went and sat next to her on the love seat. She moved slightly but didn’t get up. “They’re not going away. You’re the story of the day, and the only way to get them off your back is to tell them there is no story. Discredit it, and they’ll slink away.”

      “I don’t want to lie.”

      “Your birth certificate doesn’t have a father listed. There is no record of when your mother separated from the senator. Our spin would be that they were separated when you were conceived, so he’s not your father. There’s no way, without a DNA test, for them to prove you’re his daughter.”

      Her eyes were big and wet. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Something pricked his heart. Risking another rebuke, he put his hand on hers, and this time she didn’t move.

      “Listen, I know this is hard, and I don’t agree with the tactics, but they won’t stop harassing you. Your mother is sick...”

      She snatched her hand away with such force that the coffee cup sitting on the table teetered, threatening to fall. “How do you know about my mother?” She inched away from him on the couch. He was handling this all wrong.

      The job necessitated being able to put on a number of faces, so he furrowed his brows and leaned in, his eyes conveying sympathy and understanding. He couldn’t show his impatience with this woman now. Why is she being so stubborn? She obviously didn’t want the media attention, and he was giving her an easy way out.

      He felt a familiar anger bubble deep inside, and he took a breath, modulating his voice, softening it, the way he’d been taught. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude. Unfortunately, the internet has more information on all of us than we’d like to disclose. When the story first came out, I had my staff research you.”

      “You thought I did this for attention. Fame.”

      Her sharp tone cut through him. “We didn’t know you. The story came out of nowhere...”

      “I want nothing to do with Senator Roberts, nor do I want any part of that circus.” She jerked her head toward the window. There was raw pain in her voice and fear in her eyes. He didn’t doubt for a second that this wasn’t a publicity stunt for her. Kat genuinely didn’t want the attention. There was a backstory there, and he made a mental note to have the campaign’s private investigator do some deeper digging. They hadn’t had much time to search smaller, local newspapers for archived articles.

      “Then make this story go away. If your mother is up to it, have her make a statement that it’s not true.”

      “I most certainly will not do that.”

      An older version of Kat walked into the room. Emilia Driscoll looked frail, far thinner than Kat but with the same blue eyes and blond hair, identical cheekbones. The PI had sent Alex Kat’s birth certificate, which showed that Kat was thirty-five and her mother had been twenty-two when she had her. Emilia was fifty-eight years old, yet she looked closer to seventy.

      His own mother was about Mrs. Driscoll’s age, having had him when she was only seventeen, but she was vivacious, still working as a housekeeper despite his protests. Whenever he insisted she stop working, she’d tell him there was no shame in hard work, even if her occupation embarrassed him. There was no point in having that argument with his mother anymore.

      He stood. “Ms. Driscoll, I’m Alex Santiago. I work for Senator Roberts.”

      Taking her hand, he controlled his grip. She seemed so fragile; he didn’t want to break her fingers.

      “Call me Emilia.” She took a seat next to her daughter on the love seat, forcing him to go back to sitting across from them. “How is Bill?”

      Alex widened his smile, giving her his disarming “I’m your friend” look. “He’s doing well, ma’am. He’s currently on a plane overseas, or else he’d be here himself to talk to you.”

      “Oh, I very much doubt that. Bill never wanted to deal with me personally. He arranged it so he didn’t even have to show up to court to sign the divorce papers. Gave his proxy to a lawyer.”

      Alex opened his mouth to defend the senator then stopped when he saw the ice in Kat’s eyes. She put an arm around her mother.

      “Mrs. Driscoll, I know this is a difficult situation...”

      “Look, young man, I know where you come from in DC—people have affairs and children out of wedlock. That’s not how it works in these parts. I was raised better, and I won’t have people believing my little girl is illegitimate.”

      This is going to be tougher than I thought.

      “I understand how you feel, but if you don’t dispute this story, they’ll hound you all the way to the elections.” He put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands.

      “Then let them.”

      Kat’s hand went to her neck and he watched her turn over a pendant in her fingers. “Mom, we don’t want to deal with the media.”

      “They will pick apart your lives, sensationalize every detail,” he chimed in, his voice low.

      “I want Bill to claim his daughter. Publicly. It’s her birthright.” Emilia sat back, lips pressed together.

      Alex stared at her. Oh, boy. Was she the anonymous source to the media?

      “I’m not the one who started this thing, but I’m sure as heck gonna finish it,” she responded to his unasked question. Something in the way she said it set his intuition tingling. What more is she hiding? Her fingers played with the flowered fabric of her skirt.

      “We can reimburse you for your inconvenience,” he said carefully.

      Both Kat and Emilia glared at him and he realized it was the wrong thing to say.

      “This is not about money. It’s about honor.” Emilia clasped her hands in her lap.

      Several thoughts raced through his mind: he could have the senator call this crazy woman and talk sense into her. Or they could discredit her with the media. His phone buzzed and he excused himself to go to the kitchen.

      “Yes,” he barked. Crista was on the other line.

      “Alex, one of the students uploaded a video from her lectures. I just emailed it.”

      Hanging up, he clicked on the email. The video came to life and he activated his Bluetooth earpiece so Kat and Emilia wouldn’t be able to hear it in the living room. He had to watch only a СКАЧАТЬ