“Oh right. Present company and all that. So, what happened?”
“She apologized.”
“God, what is it with you and backstabbing assholes apologizing after they do something wrong? I bet these are the same people who slapped kids on the playground when they were little and then turned themselves in to the teacher,” Victoria said dramatically.
“That does sound like Hayden,” Liz confessed.
Victoria giggled. “It really does.”
“Let’s just forget about it. Things will work out.”
“Oh, look at you, Ms. Optimism.”
“Come on, bitch. Let’s go dance!”
And they did. Despite the funny looks at the two of them together on the dance floor, giggling and cracking jokes, they had an all-around good time. Brady commandeered Liz at some point and Daniel scooped up Victoria. They spent the remainder of the night locked in each other’s arms and making the most of their time together.
As the crowd dwindled, Brady’s parents came by to say good night. Marilyn spoke briefly to Victoria and Daniel, offering them any help that they needed and saying to feel free to get hold of her with questions. Liz received a hug from both of them and then they were gone.
“We should get home,” Brady said into her ear as they swayed back and forth to a slow song. “I’m thinking about all of the ways I’m going to make you beg.”
He kissed her softly on the mouth and then gestured for them to leave. Victoria and Daniel followed them out. The limo ride was relatively quiet as they all basked in the afterglow of the party. They dropped the other couple off at Johns Hopkins and then returned to Brady’s penthouse.
Brady closed the door and immediately reached for her. “How fast can I get you out of Versace?”
“It’s just one zipper,” she teased.
“Let me see.” His hand slid down the side of the dress and tugged down on the zipper.
Liz sighed. She had been trying to push this thought out of her mind all weekend, but if the conversation waited until tomorrow then they wouldn’t talk about it at all. She had wanted to tell him in person and here she was with her opportunity.
“Can we talk first?” she asked, biting her lip.
“What do we have to talk about?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “I’m not usually a talk-first kind of guy.”
Liz pressed her hands on the front of his tux. “I know, but I think we should.”
“You’ve been teasing me all night and you’d rather talk?” he asked seriously.
“Rather talk? No. Need to talk? Yes.”
He dropped his hands from her zipper and nodded. “All right. Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“Well, kind of. I just . . . wanted to tell you in person,” she said, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. He sat next to her with a concerned look on his face. “I lost my job offer from the New York Times.”
“What?” he asked. “When? How did that happen?”
“It happened Tuesday after the article ran about Erin.”
“Tuesday,” he said numbly.
“Yes. I, um . . . I really wanted to tell you,” Liz tried to explain. “Nancy, my contact at the paper, called and said that they could have overlooked our relationship and they wanted to see if it would all blow over. But then when more and more information came out, she couldn’t fight her superiors. They had to cut me loose.”
Brady ran his hands back through his hair. “Cut you loose. They cut you loose because . . . of me.”
“Well, because of Erin.”
He gave her a pointed look. “Erin is because of me. I’ve ruined everything for you. You left me for my career to begin with, and now that we’re together I’ve destroyed yours. You’re not working for the UNC paper and you no longer have the Times. That’s the equivalent of my losing the campaign.” Even saying that seemed to pain him.
“Look, it’s not your fault. I chose this, Brady. I chose you. We both knew what could happen.”
“Yeah, but, Liz . . . your dreams of becoming a political journalist. I took you to the White House briefing room yesterday. If I’d known . . .”
“I still would have wanted you to take me.” She took his hand in hers. “Dreams can change, anyway. My mentor is looking to get me into graduate programs’ late admittance. I’m going to apply to some online columnist positions. I’ll be okay.”
“I know plenty of people who could help.”
Liz cringed. “I was afraid you might say that.”
“Why do you look like that’s the worst thing I could say?”
“I know the business is who you know rather than what you know, but I want to make it on my own merit.”
“Liz,” he groaned. “I’ve destroyed your chance at the New York Times; you can at least oblige me the chance to help fix it.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you over the phone. I want to do this on my own, prove it to myself. Professor Mires encouraged me to take this in stride, and said that sometimes one closed door means another one opens. As much as I appreciate your help and know it’s coming from a good place, I want to open my own door.”
“Okay, but if doors remain closed, you’ll let me help?” he pleaded. “At least promise me that. I want to help.”
“All right. If nothing works out, then we’ll try it your way.”
She hoped that time would never come.
Chapter 13
MAKING AMENDS
Liz spent the next three weeks working away on her final term paper for her internship and managed to get it to Professor Mires on the Friday before spring break. She hoped it was everything that she expected of her, but turning in a first draft always made her anxious.
Professor Mires thumbed through the large document and nodded her head. “This looks great. I’ll read through it over spring break and get it back to you on Tuesday during class.”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” Liz said with a smile. “Have you heard anything from your graduate school contacts?”
“Ah, yes,” she said, standing and rifling through some paperwork. “Here are a list of places that you should apply. They’ll be looking out for your application. I would recommend including the project that you presented at the colloquium last spring as your writing sample. It was superb.”
Liz took the list and scanned it. Five places. Out of all the graduate programs she was down to five choices, and that was only if they accepted her late admittance. Missouri, Northwestern, Columbia, Maryland, and American University. At least two of them were in or near D.C.; that wasn’t terrible odds.