For the Record (Record #3)(19)
Author: K.A. Linde

Just the thought ate away at her. Could she just be a temporary thing for Brady? Could he be using her to try to cover up the bad publicity? Her gut instinct told her no, that she was crazy. But maybe it wasn’t that crazy. She could never let Heather know that she secretly harbored these fears, though.

“I already apologized,” Liz said gruffly. “I can’t take back the conversation, but I will continue to talk to Brady as I please. Whether you choose to believe I’m here to stay or not is entirely up to you, but threatening me is only going to make me dig my feet in. So you should just get used to my being here.”

“I’ve been around Brady since his very first run for office. Do you know how many girls have come and gone since then?”

Liz shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. “It really doesn’t matter to me if it’s one or a hundred. I’m here now, and you’ll need more than empty threats to get rid of me. If you’re upset because I spoke to the press, fine. I’ll be more careful next time. If you’re upset because I’m with Brady, then you’ll just have to get over it.”

“I’m upset because you’re deteriorating everything we’ve worked toward. I don’t care about your delusions. I care about doing my job, and I’m damn good at it. Next time a reporter calls you, get his name and number, and report directly to me what he wanted. Are we clear?”

Liz wanted to tell her to fuck off. She wanted to tell her that she wasn’t an employee and couldn’t be pushed around like this. But she couldn’t. She knew that what Heather was doing was in Brady’s best interest, even if she was a raving bitch when talking to Liz. She just hated that it seemed that everything Liz did brought another wave of disapproval.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Ms. Dougherty. It’s always a pleasure,” Heather snapped before hanging up.

Liz chucked her phone onto her bed in frustration.

Ambition. It was all just ambition. Ambition made the world go round. Brady, who used it to get into Congress at twenty-seven. Heather, who rode his coattails to push for her dream. Calleigh and Hayden, who used Liz to get ahead. Liz, who had spent her entire life doing everything she could to work as a reporter.

No one was exempt. Ambition did as much good as it did damage, delivered dreams as easily as it incinerated them. What was the price of it all? How far ahead could she get before she was pulled down? Liz thought about how perfect her life had felt last year—seemingly perfect boyfriend, highest scholarship in the school, editor at the newspaper, internship at the New York Times. It was exactly what she had argued with Hayden about back then. Already she didn’t have the paper, and her new perfect boyfriend was kind of part of the problem.

She needed to get away so she could clear her head or else she was going to combust. Changing into workout clothes, she hopped into her car and drove over to the tennis courts. She hadn’t been taking regular lessons for a while because she was so busy with the paper, but now that she wasn’t on the paper she no longer had an excuse. She was ready to get her ass kicked to help her forget what was going on in her life.

She strode into the complex she had been going to for the past four years. Her regular instructor, Tana, was pretty hard-core, and Liz had even gotten used to Hank, a power tennis player who she’d had her differences with in the past. Either of them would probably laugh her off the court for how out of shape she was.

“Hello! How can I help you?” a cheery redhead asked Liz when she walked inside.

“Is Tana in?”

The girl checked her schedule and then shook her head. “She’s already left for the day.”

“Hank here by any chance?” Liz asked as her second-best option.

“Oh no, he’s out all week on vacation.”

Liz sighed. Great. Guess she would be serving to the net.

“But Easton is here.” The girl’s eyes got big and glassy when she said the name. “He just finished his last lesson of the day. I could ask him if you wanted.” She was already out of her seat before Liz could respond.

“Um . . . who is Easton?”

“He’s our newest instructor. He started in September, but he’s always booked.”

By Ginger’s reaction, Liz could think of only one reason why. “Sure. Easton is fine.”

The girl scurried through a closed door and a minute later she reappeared with a guy who Liz could only assume was Easton. He appeared to be college age, with perfectly tousled dark brown hair and light brown eyes. He was tall and trim and carried himself powerfully. His smile made the redhead receptionist swoon, but Liz just returned it with mild indifference. He was cute, but he wasn’t Brady Maxwell.

“Can I help you?” he asked, leaning forward against the desk and twirling his tennis racquet.

“Tana and Hank are out today. Are you free for an hour?” Liz asked.

He straightened and smiled again. “Sure. Let’s walk,” he said, and then strode toward the courts. He opened the door for Liz and she followed him out. “You’re playing with Tana and Hank, so you can’t be too shabby. How experienced are you?” he asked.

“I’ve been playing my whole life. Very accomplished at hitting balls,” she responded, straight-facedly.

Easton cracked a smile and nodded. “Where have they been hiding you?”

“I’ve been—” Liz cut herself off. She had been about to tell him she was the editor of the paper, but, well, she wasn’t anymore. And anyway, he might not know what had happened with her. It would be nice to be around one person who didn’t know that she’d had an affair with a politician. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t been around as much.”

“Well, let’s get started. Need any pointers?” he asked. “I can show you some good footwork, the right swing, how to move your body.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, no. I just need someone to beat.”

“Then we should probably find you someone else,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

After his first serve, Liz knew she was going to lose pretty handily. Her body protested with every swing, and the worst part was that it was clear that he was holding back to play with her.

“You’re so good,” she admitted when they took a short break. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one, and thanks,” he said, offering her a bottle of water. “You’re really not bad.”