Indecent Proposal by Molly O'Keefe Page A

and pushed Harrison back against the other wall. They kicked aside a box, and red and gold snakes of garland spilled across the carpet.
    “I should make you eat those words,” Wes sneered into his face, doing a pretty good job of cutting off his air supply. “She didn’t want to tell you because she was scared it would fuck with your campaign. She doesn’t want anything from you. Not one thing. She’s sick, she’s broke, and she’s alone, but she didn’t want shit from you. But I came down here anyway, because,” he laughed. “Because I thought you might do right by her. Because there’s no way my sister would spend the night with a man unless she’d seen something worthwhile in him. But my mistake. My fucking mistake.”
    Harrison shoved Wes back, breathing hard.
    “Never mind,” Wes said, jabbing a finger in Harrison’s face. “Stay away from my sister.”
    Wes took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his shirt, and left the room, slamming the door so hard another box toppled. A Christmas star fell out at Harrison’s feet.
    He braced his hand against the wall. And then both hands. His forehead.
    A baby?
    All his work, everything he’d done since he was twenty-two years old, was in ruins.
    Because I am just like my father .
    Unable to give that poisonous seed the space it needed to grow, he took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall, and straightened his tie.
    Think, Harrison. Think .
    Damage control. That’s what he needed right now, because fucking Wes Kaminski with his badge had barged into a room filled with cameras and journalists and said the one name that could potentially bring down everything.
    He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, nearly ripping the fabric in his haste and fury.
    “Are you calling to ask me if I want leftovers?” Wallace asked. “Because I do. I really—”
    “Listen to me,” Harrison said. “I need you to find me everything you can on Wes Kaminski—he’s a Homeland Security agent—and his sister Ryan. She’s a bartender at the bar in the The Cobalt Hotel in Manhattan.”
    “What … why?”
    “Just do it, Wallace. I’ll explain later.” He hung up. Finally, when he was calm, when he could wear the mask of dutiful son again, he went back out and joined the Montgomery Family Charade, feeling every moment like the worst of himself had been exposed.
    Eight hours later
    Ryan kept her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her as she walked from the corner store back to her apartment. The carton of milk—chocolate this time, because a girl needed a thrill now and then—was heavy in her hand. Far heavier than a gallon of milk should be, but thatwas the joy of pregnancy for her. A constant head butt against her new limitations.
    But she was feeling better, thanks to the Compazine prescription the doctor had given her.
    She could use a latte or ten, but the Internet seemed fairly divided on caffeine, so she was trying to err on the side of caution. For the first time in her life.
    The summer night was thick and humid, and the streets were crowded with groups of Dominican girls in their summer clothes pretending to ignore the Dominican boys who were practicing their leers. Ryan smiled, remembering what it was like to be so young on a young summer night.
    Best feeling in the world.
    Even at ten o’clock at night, apartment windows were thrown open, letting out all kinds of music and the sounds of babies crying and moms yelling at kids and dads yelling that they couldn’t hear the game over all the yelling.
    She loved her neighborhood. It reminded her of her family, of where she grew up before everything went bad. When they were loud and rowdy and loving. Always loving.
    It had cooled off with the sunset and the Korean barbecue place on the corner pumped out the sweet and meaty smell of bulgogi, which used to make her mouth water but now made her queasy.
    She missed being hungry.
    Missed loving food.
    Missed coffee.
    On the plus side, she