She didn’t want a larger role in the foundation. She liked the role she had. For the most part. She liked getting staffers what they needed, spending hours trawling through databases and archives, considering a problem from as many different angles as she could. She didn’t like moving on to the next problem, then the next one, constantly skimming the surface. But when she sat at her family’s table at a conference, or heard stories from people helped downstream by the changes the foundation affected, she really liked what she did.
“It’s a situation with no real world impact,” Freddie went on, by this point talking as much to herself as she was to Alana. “It’s the perfect rehearsal.”
“There’s actually quite a bit of real world impact,” Alana said.
“Of course, but not your real world,” Freddie said smoothly.
Santiago, New Delhi, or Budapest weren’t actually her real world, either, but Alana didn’t have enough tea in her to argue with a caffeinated Freddie. “It’s a key resource in the community and Chatham County. When a town this size makes a financial commitment like this one, the ramifications, the impact is enormous.”
“I understand.” Alana heard her sister’s fingernails against keys. “You should have left two months ago. You can’t let local politics delay you.”
The council couldn’t agree on a direction for the library, let alone make a personnel decision. But with the upcoming banquet and Freddie’s wedding, Alana had to leave in two weeks.
“Build strategy on research,” Freddie continued. “Base the proposal and execution phases on that research. Keep it rational, fact-based, unemotional, fiscally beneficial. Lead with the blindingly obvious. By the time you’re proposing a solution, they’re so used to nodding their heads that they just keep nodding. I’m sending you documents and the tip sheet we give interns when they’re drafting papers for us. Sent.”
Alana watched as the notification materialized on her phone. “You’ve had some of that coffee.”
“Most of the pot. Conference folk are late-nighters. If I want to get anything done, I get up early.”
“So you’re running on five hours of sleep?”
“Four. I’ll sleep on the plane tomorrow. I’m flying to Sao Paolo, and Toby’s flying down to meet me. I want to be rested for the reunion.”
Alana smiled. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“This won’t delay you leaving Walkers Ford, will it?”
“No. The mayor asked for the proposal in a couple of weeks, right before they make a decision on the new library director.”
“He’s neglecting to get buy-in from key stakeholders,” Freddie said immediately. “Won’t the new director want to develop the proposal?”
“I made that point. He said he thought the new library director would appreciate coming to a fresh start, but I’m not so—”
Freddie had moved on. “And you’ll be home for the banquet.”
“Yes, I’ll be home for the banquet.”
“Do you need a date?”
That casual tone meant that Freddie knew something Alana didn’t. “No. Why?”
“Are you bringing someone?”
“I repeat: No. Why?”
“Because Nancy said Mother said the Senator said David said he was bringing Laurie. You remember Laurie. She likes to name-drop senior faculty from Harvard’s government department and White House staffers she knows from her internship.”
Alana sipped her tea and tracked the gossip chain. Nancy was Mother’s assistant. Mother was Mother. The Senator was the Senator. David was Alana’s ex-boyfriend, the Senator’s latest golden boy, and Laurie was an intern, hired fresh out of the Harvard School of Government after a stint at McKinsey and Company, and already proving indispensable in ways Alana never had.
“You might want to bring someone.”
“David’s welcome to bring whomever he chooses. I’m fine going alone, as I did before David and I started dating.”
“You’re not seeing anyone there, are you?”
A song lyric popped into her brain: I kissed a cop and I liked it . . . She’d had all the experiences available to a graduate of a girls’ boarding school and a women’s college, so the song’s original lyrics weren’t nearly as risqué as kissing the chief of police of Walkers Ford, South Dakota. The image of Lucas Ridgeway, sprawled on her sofa sent heat flickering along her nerves. It was nine o’clock in the morning, too early for longing. Longing was for evenings, for seductions, for dinners and candles and sofas and please God beds.
Dating was for Chicago.
Her body fervently ignored that rule. “I’m not dating anyone here,” she replied.
“Good. No entanglements. No complications.”
“Entanglements? You’re marrying a global brand who’s on tour eight months out of the year.”
“Our lives and ambitions fit together,” Freddie said serenely. “It’s not complicated at all.”
“What about when you have children?”
“God invented nannies, tutors, and private jets for a reason.”
“You want your children to have the life we had?”