A meeting means someone made the trek all the way up here to talk in person. Otherwise, she would’ve said it was a conference call.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened.
“Well, I’m sure the matter will sort itself out, Michael. It always does.”
“When it has your stamp of approval, absolutely.” The man named Michael stepped out onto the front landing and turned around to extend a hand. “Thank you, Bianca. For your time and advice.”
“You’re very welcome.” Bianca shook the man’s hand and held his gaze.
Always maintain eye contact. Yeah, she already knows I’m here.
“I’m glad to hear my time and advice are worth the trip out,” Bianca continued.
“Always have been and always will be.” Michael Whoever-He-Was nodded and turned away from the door as Bianca stepped outside.
The woman timed it perfectly. As the man’s gaze settled on Cheyenne at the foot of the stairs, Bianca extended a hand and added, “Michael, have you met my daughter Cheyenne?”
“Oh. Uh, no, I don’t believe I have.”
“Cheyenne, this is Senator Michael Brandon.”
Cheyenne walked up the first few steps and met the man halfway, extending her hand in greeting. The pleasant, polite, highly sophisticated smile she gave the man felt fake on her face, but as Bianca Summerlin’s daughter, she’d been taught very well how to look like she meant it. She only used that skill when Bianca was around to see it. “Nice to meet you, Senator.”
“Yes.” Senator Brandon blinked in surprise, caught off-guard by the winning smile and the effortless hospitality shared by both Summerlin women, although the one whose hand he shook was pasty-white and dressed all in black, with multiple facial piercings and a firm grip. “Very nice to meet you, Cheyenne.”
When he released her hand, the half-drow stayed where she was on the middle step and turned to watch him go. The senator reached the gravel drive and nodded at Bianca on the landing. “Again, thank you. I’ll call if there’s anything else that could use your expertise.”
“Please do.” Bianca nodded with a small, knowing smile. “Drive safely.”
“Yeah, they don’t call me ‘the Safe One’ behind my back for nothing.” The man chuckled at his own joke, opened the door of his car, and lifted a hand in a final farewell before slipping inside.
Cheyenne didn’t move from the middle step until the man’s shiny black Lexus had disappeared down the hill and reached the last half-mile of unpaved road that served as the Summerlin estate’s private drive. Then she wiped her hand on her pant leg and climbed the rest of the stairs. “’The Safe One,’ huh?”
Bianca stared down the empty driveway. “Well, they’re not wrong. That man will research and dig until he knows every inch of every proposal inside and out, and if his heart pulls him in a different direction, he’ll still support the move that stirs the political pot the least. Very, very safe.”
“So, what did you advise?”
“In a nutshell? I told him to trust his instincts.” Bianca looked at her daughter, although it was through a sideways glance and a smirk. “And his instincts always tell him not to stir the pot.”
With a little chuckle, the woman turned toward her daughter and opened her arms. “Five-thirty on the nose. Thank you.”
Cheyenne stepped into her mom’s arms and breathed in the scent of vanilla and sandalwood, using all her willpower not to flinch away from the extra pressure of Bianca’s arms pressing on both her shoulders. “I learned from the best.”
Bianca released her daughter and leaned back. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“You feel a little tense.”
Cheyenne expelled a sigh and shrugged, ignoring her aching shoulder. “I had a busy day.”
“It must have been something.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Cheyenne Summerlin could smile and make small talk and conduct herself with perfect etiquette down to the finest of details when circumstances dictated her interactions with Bianca’s clients, colleagues, and peers. But when it came to her mother, the half-drow couldn’t quite seem to pull any of it off with the same level of conviction.
Even though Bianca could tell there was more, she responded in her usual fashion and made sure to leave the ball in her daughter’s court. “I understand. Come inside.”
The woman gestured toward the open front door and led the way into the house.
Cheyenne adjusted the backpack strap on her shoulder and followed.
She knows if I couldn’t handle it, I’d say something. Can’t deny how lucky I am with that. She always assumes I can handle my business and trusts that I’ll come to her when I can’t. Most people’s moms push harder when they’re worried.
Her mom turned around halfway across the foyer and gestured toward her daughter. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.”
Cheyenne’s private smile didn’t stay private. “Thanks, Mom. I’m trying something new.”
They stood in the massive, decorated foyer, and Cheyenne gave her mom an extra minute to collect her thoughts by slipping off her shoes inside the door.
She’s still nervous about whatever it is she wants to show me about my dad.
When the halfling’s black Vans were stacked neatly on the tiled entryway beside the door, Bianca folded her hands and dropped them in front of her waist. “Well, I think I deflected enough the last time you were here. Should we—”
“Oh.”
Both Summerlin women turned to see Eleanor, Bianca’s housekeeper and longtime friend, on the other side of the foyer beneath the curving staircase up to the second floor.
“Hi, Eleanor.” The smile Cheyenne gave the housekeeper was wholly genuine.
Eleanor hurried toward the halfling, her arms outstretched for one of her crushing hugs. Cheyenne steeled herself to receive it and hoped she could keep a straight face.
“Twice in one week?” The housekeeper glanced at Bianca with an expression of exaggerated surprise.
Bianca spread her arms and
