. dancing thing. But she was worried. Not about that—”
“You specifically told me to do it because she wanted me to,” Cleo interrupted.
“No, she did. She does.” Gaby regrouped. “Her people were starting to get concerned that with all of your recent press—MaryAnne, the two lawsuits . . . that one more misstep would make you a liability.”
“You told me she loved all the recent press!”
“No, Cleo, she—yes, she does. But you know that Veronica Kaye is bigger than just . . . Veronica Kaye. She has a board and a team, double the size of yours, and the whole thing . . . Look, I step in a ton of shit to keep your feet clean.”
Cleo narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I make bargains all the time with people to get you checks or endorsements or . . . whatever. It’s my job, and I am happy to do it. But this time, when Veronica called and expressed that a few people on her team were starting to worry, I only wanted to reassure her. They had watched my interview on Bowen’s show, when we discussed regrets—I mean, I didn’t even want to do the show in the first place, but I was trying to take one for the team!”
Gaby stopped and waited as if she expected Cleo to thank her, but Cleo did not, so she continued. “Anyway, she kept circling back to how he and I had touched on ‘regrets,’ which I didn’t think was a big deal at the time on the show—at the end of the day, it’s just a word! And really . . . I don’t know. I got nervous that she was going to second-guess her support—which we have pinned your whole presidential launch on—so I told her. As a way to explain why you were doing some of the things you were doing and that you were coming to grips with some laments from your past, and how that actually made you a stronger candidate, not a weaker one.”
“Well, don’t do me any favors,” Cleo said, which was petty and she regretted as soon as it was out of her mouth because she wanted to do this honestly.
“It wasn’t a favor; come on. Cleo, I’ve been on your side since the beginning. I told her it was confidential, and she promised that it was. I don’t know, maybe someone in her office overheard. And I’m sorry that Lucas got hurt, and I’m sorry that you feel exposed and betrayed. I did what I thought was right because I thought playing the long game mattered more than the immediate consequences.”
Cleo knew all about playing the long game. She also knew how it could backfire.
Her phone buzzed in her briefcase, and she ignored it.
“Look,” Gaby said, her eyes pleading now. “She kept asking me, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“What, specifically, was she asking you?”
“She said that you seemed different—not just because of the ‘gumption’ but also a little more open, I guess a little wilder, but . . . that’s not the right word. Unpredictable, that’s what it was, which, by the way, is a good thing for you. Not just in your polling but for you, Cleo McDougal.” Gaby sighed, looked genuinely pained, which Cleo knew was rare for her. “Anyway, she wanted to know what had changed, what caused you to go from a little sassy to a little volatile. She wanted to be sure that she was backing the right horse.”
Cleo’s phone buzzed again, and she reached for it. It could be Lucas, and she wasn’t willing to risk missing any more of his calls.
“Before you take that,” Gaby said, as close to tears as Cleo had ever seen her. “Cleo, just know I really am sorry. I should have protected you, and I thought that I was, but I can see now why I wasn’t.”
Cleo stared at her best friend, who had had her back for so many battles, who had never asked her to change, who had never demanded an apology from her, even when she was in the wrong. And Cleo knew that she had been in the wrong plenty of times.
It was so rare to offer a truthful naked expression of apology, Cleo thought. Not with any motivation, not with any edge or angle or motive. Gaby had hurt her, and she had acknowledged it and made amends. Cleo didn’t want to be like MaryAnne, who held a grudge like