Thanks as always to everyone who took the time to review! I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I'm enjoying JxL's interactions so much that it's still kind of hard to write the rest of Lisa's life. But I think I'm getting the hang of it, so updates should come more often now. :D

Pirate Gyrl- I know, right? Don't you just want him repelling and firing guns with both hands while doing crazy stunts?

JxL's games are a little complicated. Yes, he's totally pulling her in and she really is playing into his hands, but keep in mind that he's pretty much improvising based on her behavior and reactions, so in a way, she's still calling the shots. But yes- he is absolutely better at manipulation.

We will definitely see Jackson's family, and soon- Thanksgiving is coming up, after all! I'm actually really excited to bring his dad in- I have such a fun character in mind.

You'd love to see it and you know it! :D

Guests 1& 2- Thanks! Even if it doesn't seem like it when I'm stuck in my blocks, reviews do help speed up the process.

Quinzeela- Thanks so much. I have a much longer story floating around here, and this version of JxL (especially Jackson) is so different that I've really been getting into writing them. I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)

Quick note- This chapter gets fairly political near the end. Sorry if you don't like politics, but obviously they will come into play here and there. If you feel like skimming through it, here's the short version: Wellmont is a far-right Republican, Lisa's a moderate Democrat, and Brad's fairly right wing.


Chapter 7: Panic

"So are you trying to bring back heroin chic?" Lisa turned her head to the doorway, and shot a sheepish smile at Eve. No, she hadn't slept. How could she? That night had just been...too real. God, she hated that bastard for the things he had said, the amusement all over his face as he slapped her with truth after truth.

And that wink. Like...the entire thing was just a big game. Well, it was. To him, anyway. Maybe to her. Or so she had thought, but now...the asshole had her purse. He had her life, in a way. She couldn't get into her own apartment, didn't have her money, her cards- nothing. She had thought of a thousand and four different things he could do with all that, but she hadn't settled on one, and each idea chilled her. He could destroy her, if he so chose.

And it made sense. Simple murder was child's play to someone like him. He was an entirely different kind of criminal- he had admitted it himself, with that whole thing about 'flashy, high profile assassinations and government overthrows.' Killing her was easy, and unless he was some kind of Buffalo Bill, torturous murder also wasn't his thing. He was going to make her suffer, wasn't he? Find some way to prove that they had been having an affair- that she had slept with her personal terrorist- leave everything she had in tatters, and then disappear like he had done before.

So she had to find him. She had been on Eve's computer the entire night, looking for something, anything, that would tell her exactly who he was, who his connections were. And even though going to the police wouldn't do anything, she could go to the press. If the press published the information, it would make it much harder to cover up, right?

But it was too fucking hard. Any search for Jackson Rippner came up as it always had- the Rippner family in Jackson, Mississippi. Well, now she could say that the Rippners were his mother's family, but she wasn't interested in them, really. She was interested in his father. And she just hadn't found any connection between the Rippners and famous politicians with CIA connections. Not that information like that would likely show up on Google.

But she did feel like an expert on that family now. They were quite famous themselves- like Mississippi royalty. They had holdings in various businesses, ran several charities, and even had a few politicians themselves- the mayor of Jackson, Ted Rippner, who was a favorite in the gubernatorial race, a congresswoman, Kate Rippner, both of whom seemed the right age to be Jackson's aunt and uncle, or maybe some kind of second cousin.

"Leese?" Lisa shook her head quickly, Eve's voice breaking through her thoughts. "Did you call Fendi?" Yes, Lisa had lied. She had told Eve she must have left her purse at the boutique before her class. But what else could she say? I went to dinner with my assassin- who I also slept with, by the way- and left it in his car?

Lisa nodded. "They don't have it," she replied honestly, even though her implications were a lie.

"Oh, sweetie, that really blows," Eve replied sympathetically, dropping onto the sofa next to her. "Did you cancel your cards? You should call your place and have them change the locks."

Lisa nodded again, feeling guilty for lying to her best friend. She couldn't even blame Jackson, really- it was her own behavior and her own decisions that caused this mess. "They're sending me new ones," she replied softly, staring at the computer screen, which displayed Ted's Wikipedia page. "The office isn't open yet, though- I left a message."

She scrolled down the page absently, even though she knew Ted's profile wasn't going to give her the information she was looking for. He was definitely related to Jackson somehow, though- she would recognize those eyes anywhere. She had seen a number of variations of that Rippner blue in those hours of research.

"What are you doing?" Eve asked, leaning toward the screen.

"Oh...I was bored. Looking for him again- still pisses me off that he's out there somewhere," Lisa replied casually. 'Somewhere' being the corner of east 91st and 1st Ave. With my life in a bag.

Eve braced her chin in her palm. "And you think he's part of this family?" she asked, the skepticism heavy in her voice. Lisa turned to look at the other woman.

"You know them?" she asked, surprised. Eve shrugged.

"Not really," she replied. "I've met a few- they contribute to CAP," she explained, referring to the Clean Air Project, her environmental organization. "My parents were friends with Muriel and Ike, though." She referred to the man on the screen. "His parents, maybe. Met them when we lived in Maryland."

Lisa narrowed her eyes, trying to think through her fog of exhaustion. Maryland. Baltimore was in Maryland, and hadn't Jackson mentioned living there? Not that it would do her much good- Eve's parents had been dead for a few years now, so it wasn't like they could give her anything. "When was that, again?"

Eve shrugged. "I was about...six, probably. I don't really remember them- my parents had lots of friends. I'm sure we had them for dinner a few times." She tilted her head, thinking about it, and then shook her head, laughing softly. "I don't remember, Lisa. It was years ago."

Lisa took a drink from her juice, containing her jumble of excitement, sadness, and disappointment. Could Ike and Muriel be Jackson's grandparents? Were they in Maryland with his mother and the kids? It all fit- hence the excitement. Jackson had said they left Mississippi and went to Baltimore when he was ten, and his mother had died when he was twelve, so she was probably at one of the hospitals there- the east coast had some great care facilities.

But it also reminded Lisa of what Jackson had gone through when he was young, which still made her sad. She couldn't help it. And she couldn't help but wonder what he had been like back then- if only Eve remembered. And even if she did, it still probably wouldn't help Lisa find the name she was really looking for- Jackson's father. Obviously they would have still been going by Rippner back then. So it was interesting, but useless.

But maybe if she could figure out Jackson's mother's name, she could connect it. And according to Eve and Lisa's conclusion jumping, Ted could be Jackson's uncle. So Lisa just had to find his siblings, and then she'd find Jackson's mother.

"I think you're crazy," Eve noted, getting to her feet. "You think a family like that has some kind of terrorist in their midst?

Lisa rolled her eyes. A family like that? What was that supposed to mean? Screw it- she knew what it meant. "Don't be a snob," she muttered, scanning through Ted's bio. Oh, right- the upper class killers were the politicians and businessmen- they didn't do the dirty work themselves...that was for poor people, right?

Lisa couldn't help but chuckle as she reached for her ringing phone. Was she actually defensive of Jackson? No- just of the lower classes. "Lisa Reisert," she answered automatically, forcing herself to look away from the computer screen. She couldn't focus on two things simultaneously at the moment.

"Good morning, Miss Reisert- I hope I didn't wake you." Lisa fully turned her attention to the phone, recognizing the voice of her landlord, David. "I got your message," he continued formally, "but I also was calling to let you know that your purse was turned into Kenneth last night."

Lisa frowned, tilting her head. "When?" she blurted out, confused. Jackson returned it? Well, that didn't mean anything, did it? He got what he needed and turned it in to keep her from being suspicious.

"Kenneth said it was about 10:30," David replied, now sounding apologetic, which made sense. It was almost ten hours later, and she had obviously been stressing about it- not that it was his fault. "He said a waiter turned it in, but since he doesn't have access to our system-"

Lisa took another drink, tuning out the man. She already knew what he was saying. Their security guard couldn't call her since he couldn't look up the number. But that wasn't the point she was fixated on. 10:30? That was...Jackson had left the restaurant at about 10, so he must have taken it straight to her apartment. Really?

"Thanks, David," she said quickly when she realized he had stopped talking. "I'll be right over to get it. And I guess the locks are okay as they are..." she finished, trailing off. Her mind was flying around again as she closed her phone, trying to make sense of the newest development.

Had Jackson really gone to her apartment immediately after realizing he had her purse? There was about a half hour discrepancy, but it had taken, what? fifteen minutes to get from her apartment to the restaurant? So...maybe he realized it and tried to go back to the restaurant, but she was already gone. No, he probably got home first, then realized it, or...something. Regardless, how much damage could he do those mystery fifteen minutes?

Lisa refused to believe that Jackson just happened to have someone who could make a replica of her key, who just happened to be available at that moment, and just happened to live in that close of a vicinity. She knew he couldn't take it to a reputable locksmith- the key was clearly labelled "Do Not Duplicate." That wouldn't stop some, but again...the odds of him being able to accomplish all that in fifteen minutes seemed ridiculous even to her paranoid, sleep-deprived mind. Plus, the fifteen minutes was assuming that he wasted absolutely no time realizing he had the purse in the first place.

No, she was sure Jackson couldn't have made a copy of her key. He could have taken her cards, but those were cancelled already and no transactions were pending in the meantime. There were plenty of other items he could have taken- her license, make up, tampons, iPod, various receipts, a package of licorice bites, and a handful of wedding-related business cards- and done what with them? She didn't have much cash- finding that money in her pocket to pay for her cab had been a happy little miracle- and she definitely didn't take Jackson as some kind of petty thief, anyway.

"I really think you need sleep, Lisa." The redhead's attention snapped back to Eve, who was standing in the doorway again, laughing at her. "You look like someone just slapped you and you don't know why."

Lisa blinked, and then grinned softly, closing the laptop. "And you would know that look so well?" she replied, getting to her feet. "No, someone from the store turned my purse into the office," she continued, sticking to her stupid story. Her smile widened into something hopefully more genuine.

Lisa didn't even hear Eve's response- she was back in her world of chaotic thoughts. She just couldn't get passed the idea that Jackson had been in a terrific position to do so much damage, but instead, turned in her purse? Well, she couldn't really celebrate until she had the bag in her hand and saw that nothing important was missing- hell, he could still have her keys, or whatever he wanted. She doubted Kenneth or David actually went through her purse to make sure everything was there.

She would withhold her final judgment until she held her keys and pocketbook, but it seemed that maybe Jackson really was...decent? That he wasn't out to ruin her life? She honestly didn't know what to do with that idea. It was easier to think of him as that heartless being, looking for ways to get his revenge. She could react to that.


Lisa drummed her fingers absently on the tablecloth, frowning slightly as she listened to Mark, one of Wellmont's advisors, politely explain to her why the Iowa caucus was so important to the election. She was actually more interested than usual, but she didn't have the energy for that smile anymore. Each time she attempted, she heard those words in her head: empty, insipid. For once, she had to pause a moment to remember whenever she was asked who she was wearing, because it seemed so unimportant. It was Badgley Mischka- so what?

It had taken her all of ten minutes to actually purchase the dress. She had found one that fit and gone with it. The color- emerald- wasn't her, the cut- mermaid- definitely wasn't her. But she didn't care. It was as Jackson had described- a goddamn uniform. And she hated it as much as those sleeveless summer dresses she had worn at the Lux Atlantic.

In her defense, it wasn't as though she had spent the past two days obsessing about everything Jackson had said to her. She had mostly dismissed it the next day, remembering that Jackson didn't know her and had no right to pretend to psychoanalyze her like that. And of course the words had hit home at the time- she had been down, for Christ's sake, a complete magnet for negativity.

But things were different now, and had been for the last hour and a half. Of course the reporters had lined the entrance to the hall- Wellmont was there. It was now a campaign event, and he needed the publicity. And somewhere behind the blinding flashes as Lisa accompanied Brad into the hall, she had heard the question that catapulted Jackson back into her mind.

"Lisa, on the second anniversary of the thwarted attack on the late Deputy Secretary Keefe, how does it feel knowing that the man responsible was never captured?"

What a stupid question. It gives me fuzzy bunnies in my heart, thank you. That was what she had wanted to say, and hopefully the camera hadn't caught the incredulity she was sure was plastered across her face. But she had recovered quickly, and easily turned the entire thing into a plug for Wellmont's campaign, just as had been hammered into her head for the past two months.

"It is appalling, obviously, and a disgrace to President Davis' administration. But it encourages me to know that there are men like Governor Wellmont who are dedicated to the security of our country and would never allow something like that to happen again."

Oh, she hated herself for that transparently coached answer. And for bringing down current President Davis, a man who she actually supported in some ways, as though he had anything whatsoever to do with Jackson or his "escape". But the reporters ate it up, and she had a feeling that her statement was going to wind up on Fox News, the sweet little Floridian heroine "slamming" President Davis on his lack of national security backbone on the anniversary of the night she prevented an attack that the feds knew nothing about.

But it was all she could do. It was just politics, and her regret only extended as far as her knowledge that when the press did- or if they did- publish her statement, it would be met with that same criticism that she was milking her fifteen minutes of fame, she just needed to crawl back to whatever hole she came from, or she was fat and/or ugly. It was her comeuppance for allowing herself to be in the spotlight again.

"Do you think you could manage a smile?" Lisa warmed up when she felt Brad's hands on her upper arms, his soft murmur in her ear. She turned her head to place a soft kiss on his lips, giving him a genuine smile. "That's better," he continued, kissing her again. "Glad you're in a better mood, at least."

Lisa's smile faltered for a split second, but she nodded. She had never been that irritated with Brad, but she wished he would at least try to see what the source was instead of labeling it as just a bad mood and dismissing it.

Earlier that day, when Lisa had been at Brad's penthouse, he had been making calls like he was trying to get tickets in a radio station giveaway. And Lisa hadn't even needed to ask- she had known it was about the caterers for the dinner. She had already warned Brad that Eve used the same business for her last gala, and that they had shown up late and the food had been rushed and ruined- by the high class set standards, of course, meaning it was a little dry from the sped-up preparation. Rumor had it that the chef had developed a drinking problem after his wife left him for another woman.

But Brad had dismissed that as Eve lacking in management skills, that she wasn't able to keep her staff in line as well since she was newer to such things. But sure enough, Emilio and his employees weren't in the kitchens, which meant the food wasn't there, wasn't marinating or slow cooking, which meant that Brad was in a slight panic, to say the least.

He had ended up contacting Emilio, firing him on the spot, and calling Le Bernardin, a ridiculously overpriced restaurant, and not only buying out every patron's reservation for the early evening, but throwing in extra to enable the chef and staff to come to the hall with their food and serve at this party. It was disgustingly expensive, not to mention the inconvenience to those who had had reservations- but that was the restaurant's problem- and all because of Brad's ego.

And God knew the more liberal blogs would be publishing that Wellmont's ego and insistence on having the best had led to a dinner that likely cost more than any funds he was going to raise. Lisa hadn't even bothered bringing it up. She already knew that it was best to sit and stay quiet when Brad was on a power trip.

She also hadn't bothered bringing up what she thought was a better option. There had been a few catering meltdowns at the Lux Atlantic, and her favorite Plan B was contacting the smaller restaurants with more casual food, paying them to bring it over, having the chefs with their stars prepare it, or those restaurant owners themselves, and serve it as "charmingly shabby chic". It had never failed her, and it often made for a brighter atmosphere. No matter how high the class, when it came down to it, most people seemed to enjoy pizza, ribs, and hamburgers better than Dover sole with brown-butter tamarind vinaigrette. Shocker.

"Mirvet keeps looking over," Brad continued, rubbing her arms. "I think she wants to talk to you." Lisa nodded, her smile widening even more. She heard what he wasn't saying. Don't bother with politics.

"I'll head over in a bit," she replied sweetly, playing innocent. She turned her attention back to Mark. "Well, is he interested at all in...what do you call it, crossing party lines?" she asked, ignoring Brad's sigh. "For instance, my friend Eve runs CAP- what would happen if he publicly supported her work? Would it appeal to more people, or would too many republicans turn on him for buying 'hippie bullshit'?" She glanced over at Brad again. "Could you get me another glass, honey?"

Brad smiled tightly. "Mark's working," he whispered in her ear before getting to his feet and walking away to get her wine.

Lisa turned back to the other man, her smile fading now that Brad was out of earshot. She was well aware that she wasn't "supposed" to pay attention to politics, or actually get involved with the campaign, but for some reason, she couldn't help but wonder if that was part of the reason she was so curious that evening.

"Well, that's not really a good example," Mark replied, seemingly unaware of the tension between the couple. Or he also had a talent for pretending it didn't exist. "Since CAP is mostly a lobbyist organization, and so many people on both sides can't stand the word. But, let's pretend for argument's sake that the governor was publically involved with an environmental organization that contributed more directly to clean water, saving trees, whatever. With the right words, he could avoid committing himself to believing the 'hippie bullshit', as you so perfectly put it, and just say that it never hurts to help the environment, as long as it's a private sector organization doing the work instead of forced government regulation that hurts businesses. Does that make sense?"

Lisa nodded, and propped her chin in her hand, resting her elbow on the table as she leaned forward. "And does he plan on doing anything like that? It might attract moderates, right? And he wouldn't lose the die hards?"

Mark chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It probably would," he replied softly, and Lisa knew that he was speaking for himself, not on behalf of the campaign, "but not as far as I know."

Lisa half-rolled her eyes. "It's all so...outdated," she noted, and straightened her posture as Brad handed her the fresh wine. "Thanks, sweetheart," she said, her voice pure sugar, and then looked at Mark again. "And thanks for putting up with me," she said pointedly. "I'll go join the ladies now."

She got to her feet, walking smoothly over to where Mirvet sat, taking a seat next to her. Maybe she was being ridiculous, and she was sure Brad was irritated with her now, but she was just having fun. It was making a boring dinner so much more enjoyable. Or, more appropriately, it had made it more enjoyable. Now it was going to be boring again.

But she put on a good face this time, half-listening and giving automatic responses to Mirvet's analysis of the dresses worn by the rest of the women. As her attention drifted, though, she found herself making eye contact with Mark again, who looked as interested as she did as he talked to Brad. She smiled absently again, wondering if he was on Jackson's "team".

Why did every single damn thought seem to lead back to that man? She had actually avoided thinking about him for a whole five minutes. She half-wondered if he was at the dinner, hidden somewhere. Well, not hidden, but elsewhere in the room, doing his job. Chatting someone up, talking to some other guest in a similar way that Mark had spoken to her.

She chuckled softly at the idea of Jackson putting on that charming mask again, and scanned across the room, turning her attention back to Mirvet when she heard the woman repeating her name. "What are you doing?" her bridesmaid asked, confused.

Lisa smiled again. "Looking for my piece on the side," she explained lightly, laughing when the blonde laughed, even though she knew the laughter was at her expense. She had already been on the receiving end of Mirvet's teasing because she was the good girl who would never dream of cheating. "Speaking of- how's Gionni?"

Mirvet laughed again, taking a long drink from her glass. "Oh, he's being such a drama queen," she relayed, rolling her eyes. "Keeps begging me to run away to Italy with him where we will be poor, but happy, and blah blah."

Lisa shrugged, staring at her still-full glass. She wasn't really in the mood to drink yet. "There are less romantic places to run away to," she pointed out, grinning when Mirvet played off her statement. It wasn't Italy the woman was concerned with- it was the money. She hadn't married Stephano for his looks- the man looked like his face had been run over with a car and reassembled with Krazy Glue.

Lisa propped her chin in her hand again, grazing her jawline with her nails as she watched Brad gesture wildly, lost in his conversation with Mark. She was so confused about him. Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in her that was overpowering everything else, but she just didn't feel those sparks, those butterflies or heart bubbles or whatever they were called, and it worried her.

She did love him. She was pretty sure, anyway. Maybe the sparks were a lie. At least, love sparks. She had plenty of sparks with Jackson, but those weren't romantic in any way. Sexual, sure, primal, definitely, but there was no chance in hell she had actual feelings for him. It had been a few days, and she already missed him, but not because she wanted to be with him. It was because he played the game. Whatever he tossed up, she would try to hit, and vice versa. She had been trying to play the game on her own, but it was so much less fun if her opponent just laughed it off or flat-out pretended nothing was happening.

It was about as gratifying as masturbation when she could have the real thing.

She just wanted to get a rise out of Brad, to prove to herself that he hadn't changed irrevocably, that he hadn't become some kind of perfect saint who never forgot the script.

In a slightly insane way, she almost wished that Brad would figure out what she had done with Jackson. She wanted him to see that she wasn't some porcelain doll, empty and...

Precious.

Lisa paled, and dropped her gaze to the tablecloth. Jackson's words repeated in her head, and it all made complete, sickening, sense.

You must be very precious to him.

That was Lisa's problem. She wasn't just bored- she was being treated like a collector's item instead of a woman, a person. Brad was as gentle and caring with her as one of those guys who collected Fenders...he might as well polish her and keep her in a glass case.

That's ridiculous. If he thought I was a guitar, he would probably touch me once in a while.

That was it. It big It. Lisa frowned, finally taking a drink from her glass. Playing the cute little doll might work for Mirvet, who smiled and demurred in front of her husband, becoming his living accessory. But Lisa wasn't precious- she was flawed. And she had been twisting herself in knots trying to be what she thought Brad wanted without really understanding what it even was, up until now.

But that couldn't be right. It didn't make sense. It was-

"First of all, I want to thank everyone for coming tonight."

Lisa instinctively turned her head when she recognized Wellmont's voice over the rest. So it was speech time. She hated speech time...it was such bullshit. And not even twenty seconds into it, she already had a clarification for him- the guest list had been put together long before Wellmont had decided to make the evening all about himself, so he really wasn't the one to be thanking anyone. But...politics were politics. She just wished he wasn't so transparent about it.

"As some of you may have heard, I am running for President-" The man paused for the polite laughter. "And my campaign has already been getting suggestions from folks across this great nation, suggesting I talk about one thing, or focus on another. And that's what I would like to do here- I would appreciate you good people's opinions on what my campaign should center itself around."

Lisa smirked, taking another drink. She could think of a few suggestions, but none were exactly appropriate. So she did her job, listening and smiling in a show of support for her future father-in-law, even if she was sure no one was looking at her.

And that was how she remained for an hour as Wellmont, after announcing that he was going to ask for audience input, proceeded to plug himself, exaggerating his rags to riches story- which was about as accurate as saying Lisa had grown up in a white trash trailer park- and rambling about America being in danger of becoming Europe, the economic problems that Republicans understand and Democrats don't. Oh, and the immigrants. Those evil foreigners sneaking across the border to laze around and receive government funds.

Bullshit. 90% of the housekeeping and kitchen staff at the Lux Atlantic had been immigrants, mostly from Asia and eastern Europe. And Lisa could attest to the fact that they were underpaid and often the hardest workers with the fewest complaints, mostly because they had no job security and no protection, and were terrified of telling their husbands that they had lost their job for giving attitude.

Lisa was well aware that not everyone was the same, and all that, but it was such hypocrisy. She wasn't an economic expert, but didn't the largest corporations run similarly to her hotel, finding the cheapest labor for the behind-the-scenes work and putting an American face at the front?

Lisa looked around, watching Brad, Mirvet, and her other friends. They didn't seem to be thinking the same things that she was, and if they did, they didn't show it. And it disappointed Lisa, especially Brad. He had Prom, his Thai housekeeper who, while usually rude to Lisa, was completely dedicated to him, and worked her ass off to keep his massive penthouse clean, and Sawat, his cook. How could he sit there and nod while his father spewed such obvious crap under the all-encompassing umbrella of "immigrants", those two women included.

It wasn't that Lisa was some bleeding heart liberal who wanted to open the border for anyone and everyone. She just wanted people to be given a fair chance, and that was where she and Wellmont would never agree. To him, immigrants, American minorities, the poor- all were lumped into the "lazy" group. It was probably his way to justify in his mind how much money he made off their backs, but what did she know? She didn't even know who the Attorney General or the Speaker of the House were.

Lisa turned her attention to an audience member that had spoken up. A few had thrown in statements here and there, but this guy was on a mission.

"Why do you pretend that you're not rich? Why is wealth something to be ashamed of? So many of us in this room—we don't work the nine to five. We're away from our families five days a week, working eighty hours. Why not stick up for yourself and say, 'Why is it bad to be, to aspire to be wealthy and successful? You know, why is it bad to kill yourself?'"

Because you leave your family behind to enjoy the money but not your love. Lisa took another drink from her wine, frowning slightly. She did understand the man's point, but she had also lived in two worlds- the world where her family was comfortable and was still able to spend time together, and now with an obscenely wealthy fiancé whom she barely saw. But she could live with that, really. Yes, it was hard sometimes, and she had her moments, but she generally wasn't angry at Brad for how often he was away. More often than not, she just worried about him. But that was because she understood what he did, and how important it was. She couldn't imagine being a child, knowing only that Daddy- or Mommy- was never around, that he- or she- chose the job over...

Lisa paled again, draining her glass. Any children she and Brad had...that was their future, wasn't it? Brad gone on a business trip, Lisa having to explain again that Daddy does love them, but...but what? His job is more important? The millions they already had weren't enough? For the love of God, why was this just occurring to her now? Was she really that shallow that she had spent all of her daydreams regarding their future children thinking about how adorable they would be, imagining how proud she would be on their first day of school? How could she not have thought about this?

Lisa got to her feet, not caring who was looking at her or who she was interrupting. She had to get away, had to think. If she stayed, she would end up blurting out her thoughts and really make a fool of herself. It wasn't the politics. She couldn't care less that she and Brad didn't agree on immigration, or education, or whatever- this was their future. And she wasn't so sure she wanted to be theirs at the moment.

She had just made it out of the dining hall when Brad's hand clamped onto her forearm. "What's gotten into you?" he demanded, his tone both confused and accusing. But before Lisa could respond, he continued. "Do you have any idea how that looked?"

Lisa shook her head. She couldn't verbalize a response, because the words were too irrational, too easily misunderstood in horrible ways. Her stomach-churning thoughts combined with the new realization that Brad cared more about how she had walked out on Wellmont's speech than the fact that she was visibly upset made it more and more obvious that she just needed to get away.

But Brad didn't loosen his grip as she tried to pull away, so Lisa tried again. "He makes me sick," she snapped unthinkingly, but she knew it wasn't just him. It was her and her interpretations of the words from Jackson, from that man in the crowd, from Wellmont, Brad, and Mirvet. She was so confused.

"Or maybe it's all that liquor," Brad replied, his tone now condescending. There was nothing provoking in it, either. Brad wasn't looking for an argument- it was pure judgement.

Lisa clenched her jaw and ripped her arm from his grip. "I've had two glasses," she insisted steadily, staring him down. And those two glasses were hours apart. "Do I look unbalanced? Am I slurring? Or, could it be that maybe I didn't want to sit there and listen to them talk about how money is more important than-"

"Oh, for God's sake," Brad interrupted, and grabbed her arm again, heading toward the exit. "You just need to get home, get-"

"I'm not drunk," Lisa insisted again, but Brad just kept talking over her as they walked. Thankfully, the press had gotten their photo ops and there was no one important around to see him dragging his fiancée out of the building, the two arguing the entire way. What an image that would make.

"Two glasses of wine isn't enough to hurt my delicate sensibilities," Lisa snapped stubbornly as she was led toward Brad's car. "Just because-"

"Get her home," Brad said to Todd as he pushed Lisa into the backseat of the car, completely ignoring her now. "And then come straight back." He looked at Lisa again. "Just get some sleep, and I'll call you tomorrow," he said, and Lisa swore she could hear the 'Please stop acting insane'. But maybe it was just her over-defensive imagination.

"Don't call me," she called back as she awkwardly climbed in the front seat. She could hardly move in that stupid gown. "I'm meeting with my keeper- oh, I'm sorry, I mean my wedding planner."

Brad shook his head and shut the door firmly. Lisa half-rolled her eyes again as he straightened his lapels before turning and walking back in the building. Yes, you better make sure you look composed. God forbid anyone see that there's trouble in paradise.

"Are you alright?" Todd finally asked after they had pulled away and were heading down the street. Lisa let out a wry laugh, rubbing at her temples. He actually sounded concerned. Jesus- the driver caught on better than her own fiancé.

"Do you smoke?" she asked, as though that answered the question. And maybe it did.

Todd nodded. "Not really supposed to smoke in this car, though," he reminded her. Lisa knew that. That was the point. It was petty, immature, and everything else stupid, but she wanted to do it out of spite.

"If he says anything, tell him it was either let me have one or leave me on the curb. He might understand," she replied, irritated. She wasn't in the mood to argue. She just wanted to do what she wasn't supposed to.

Thankfully, Todd pulled a pack from his jacket pocket and tossed it on her lap, holding out a lighter with one hand so she could light a cigarette. Lisa rolled down her window slightly, staring out at the night lights as they drove. As her initial anger burned out, she realized that Brad hadn't even given her time to grab her coat, and she shivered. Brilliant. A strapless gown in November.

And there he was again. Giving her his coat- which she still hadn't returned. All thoughts led back to him. "You're going the wrong way," she said flatly, taking a short drag of the cigarette and trying not to cough.

Todd chuckled softly. "Did you move?" he asked lightly, pulling up to a red light.

Lisa shook her head. She couldn't go home. If she went home, she would obsess and think herself into maddening circles and probably do something stupid like call off the engagement via a handful of nasty voicemails. She needed a distraction, and there was one obvious choice.

"East 91st and 1st Ave."


Quick disclaimer: the man's question that riled Lisa up so badly was paraphrased from an actual question asked during Mitt Romney's infamous "47% speech". Not sure if it's some kind of plagiarism, but in case it is- I don't own that question.

Hope you liked it, and yes, Lisa's being a brat. She'll get more mature as we continue on. Chapter 8 should be up sometime in the next few weeks. Feedback much appreciated, as usual!