“So, it’s a heist for the presidency?” Cressida Koch looked up from the pre-nup on the desk. The document was held down by a pretentious paperweight, the kind only a member of Congress could own. EDMUND WINSLEY, SENATOR in Trajan Pro text floated like veins of gold suspended in the glass weights. Everything about Edmund Winsley’s office glittered with the distinct sheen of new money.
“Well, no.” He saw her expression and conceded. “‘But yes.”
Despite the inherent prestige in the newly minted senator’s office, it bore little sophistication. It was like someone had assembled a ‘How To Fit In With The 1%’ starter pack. Even his new name tried too hard.
Cressida, of course, hadn’t accepted a meeting with Edmund without research of her own. She couldn’t blame him for changing his name before entering politics– Jimothy Watters was not an inspiring name. It was downright repulsive, really.
“Tell me how using my family connection to con half of Congress to vote for you isn’t a heist.” Old Money could smell try-hards. Especially the Kennedys.
He gave a sheepish chuckle. “Well, a heist has a lot more plans going for it than what I have in mind.”
Cressida couldn’t discount how roguishly handsome he was… Those stuffy campaign ads didn’t do him justice. Focus, Cressida. Don’t start writing ‘Cressida Winsley, First Lady’ in your diary just yet. Right. “Then what do you have in mind?”
“Great question.” He grinned, turning to pour wine into two champagne flutes. She suppressed the desire to laugh as she saw the label. Dom Pérignon is what spoiled rich kids bragged about drinking on Instagram.
“You’re not going to tell me?” She took the flute from his outstretched hand anyway. Edmund has risen through Congress almost by sheer cult of personality, but would that be enough to pull her family to his side?
His lips quirked up in an even bigger smile. “I’d rather demonstrate.” Confident fingers traced up her arms to her shoulders as he pulled her closer.
“What makes you think this will work?” She tried to remain focused despite his thumb brushing over her collar bone. He smelled like Irish Spring, intoxicating in its own way.
“I’m lucky.”
Smirking, she raised an eyebrow over the rim of her glass.
“I have a reputation of being very fortunate with my ventures.”
“What a relief. You’re lucky. That’s reassuring.” Still, there was charm in the way his confident eyes assessed her, crinkling with a secret smile. Mrs Cressida Winsley, First Lady of the United States…
The words came out before she could stop them. “I’ll do it.”
He held her face close to his, cupping her cheeks with gentle palms. His green eyes searched hers with startling sincerity. “Cressida, if we go down, we go down together.”
How could anyone concentrate while gazing into those eyes? Maybe he really was lucky. “I’m in.”
“Excellent, Mrs. Winsley.” He turned back to the pre-nup, and handed her a pen. “Please sign here.”