The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

Being liked was the priority of the moms—but only when everyone was fed—and the middle children—because no one ever noticed them. That was the same reason neither of those groups lasted long in this kind of work. They let the churn of campaigns and then the outrage-and-fundraise cycles exhaust and demoralize them. They didn't get the love and attention they needed to flourish.

I didn't need love or attention. I didn't need anyone coddling me with reminders about how much they wanted me on their staff. I didn't need anything. Didn't need anyone. Didn't need a family or a Sunday supper tradition. Didn't need a pair of semi-sisters to laugh a weekend lunch away with or an extra mom to drag me into a community. Didn't need a cozy cottage in the forest or people to call my own.

I was a goddamn professional and I didn't need anyone but myself.

"Okay, real talk," Slater said, dropping his elbows to the table. "I have to ask, Jasper, how did you pull it off?"

Since I was busy bulleting out the convo I'd have with Dino in six to nine months and the redirection I'd give Saylor in a year or two—because those would be the hurdles ahead for me, nothing else—I missed the lead-in to this question. I blinked at him for a long moment, smiling just a touch to keep it pleasant. "What did I pull off?"

He snicker-laughed and shot an are y'all with me on this? glance to his colleagues. "Taking down Timbrooks."

I started to object but Chester chimed in with, "That was the ultimate drag and you played it so cool. Like it was an accident."

They hooted with laughter and clinked their mason jars together because they believed I'd planned this disaster. They believed I'd orchestrated this to knock Timbrooks out of the presidential race.

They believed I could manipulate at that mastermind level, that I'd even sacrifice myself to the cause. I wasn't sure I wanted to examine what that said about me.

"I think about taking down out-of-touch, two-faced elected officials all the time but I'd never considered the suicide bomber route," Slater added. "It's so fucking genius."

I flinched and froze the way I did every time someone spoke of suicide in a glib way but the group didn't notice. They were busy agreeing with each other over my tactical brilliance.

"It's genius but it's also a little dangerous," Saylor said with a laugh. "I mean"—she lifted a shoulder, gave an uncomfortable smile—"it could've really backfired on you, right?"

It did, Saylor. It did.

When I didn't respond immediately, she added, "I'm just saying it could've looked like a personal implosion—and some of the networks did run with that angle, if I recall correctly—rather than an intentional character assassination, and that could've really screwed things up for you."

You don't know how right you are, Saylor.

"Who did you work with on this?" Chester asked. "Not to say you couldn't pull it off yourself—we've admired your work for the past few years and I have to say, it is A-plus—but that kind of coordination requires more than a lone gunman."

"Or gunwoman," Saylor said with the kind of stretched canvas smile that told me she made those remarks often and they tended to fall on deaf ears.

I focused on this because reading between the gender politics lines was less painful than the implication I'd conspired to kneecap my boss on cable news. Not only that, I'd conspired and I'd kneecapped and these people admired those choices. They wanted me because I was nightmarish and manipulative and willing to play dirtier than anyone else. Anything else I brought to the table was a bonus so long as I brought the lead pipe I'd used to take out Timbrooks.

A deep voice in my head asked, How long have you hated your job?

And that was the first time I had a specific answer to his question. I'd hated it since the work stopped being about the possibility of positive change and making good trouble—about the idealism of it all—and started being about tricks and games and manufactured scandals. When the people turned into an afterthought. When the senator's votes turned into commodities available for sale. When I placed winning above all else.

I smiled but it felt wrong. Forced, like I was wearing those horrible wax lips people gave out at Halloween. Those were terrible Halloween treats. I didn't know why anyone did that to children but I shook all of this away, saying, "A strategist never reveals her secrets."

"Not for free," Dino chirped, and the group erupted in laughter.

Again, that deep voice said to me, It's not a badge of honor, you know.

Yeah. I understood that now. I finally understood.

After another round of glass-clinking, Slater said, "And that's why you're here now. As I hope Dino explained, we want to get you on board and put some of those secrets to work remaking the local scene."

Saylor nodded while subtly gesturing to the nearby tables. "We shouldn't talk about this here but Slater's right. The only way we'll unseat some of the problems in this region is by getting messy."

They went around the table, echoing this sentiment with various metaphors in case I was somehow confused—gloves off, mudslinging, take no prisoners, hills to die on, and such. They wanted to declare war on some of the elected officials in this part of the state and they didn't mind slashing and burning everything in their path to claim victory.

In one sense, I had to give them credit for calling me. My work history was exactly what they needed to accomplish their goals. In another sense, I was working hard at not sliding off the bench and wishing myself away from this conversation because oh my god, I hated this breed of politics.

I hated this and yet it was the only thing I knew how to do. It didn't matter