At the heart of speech writing was story-telling.

For a political speech to be effective and meaningful, it needed to craft a compelling narrative that clearly articulated the issue and why it was worth caring about. At least that was what I believed to be true, and why I hoped the shallow politicians who only ever spouted off inflammatory sound bites would fail to curate a message that resonated with mindful voters.

I'd spent the better part of the last two weeks laboring over every word of Cassandra Symons's speech for a gala hosted by the Midwest Women's Alliance. Tonight wasn't technically a campaign event, but it was equally important.

Two months ago when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, the state of Illinois started working to pass legislation that would shield health care workers from legal action, expand guaranteed insurance coverage, and increase reproductive health access.

This was, among many other things, an issue worth caring about, and this speech needed to encapsulate that.

I watched on from the wings with other members of the campaign staff, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Beneath the soft gleam of the overhead lights, Symon's auburn hair held an additional shine. She brought an electric presence to the podium, one that commanded attention in a way that wasn't greedy. She'd honed her oratory skills as an attorney, and her time spent as a state senator had polished her political acuity in which her words seemed to transcend typical partisan divisions.

I didn't need to look at the teleprompter to know that Symons was approaching the end of her speech. I had the words tattooed to my brain.

"In Illinois, we safeguard freedom and equality. In Illinois, we support a woman's right to choose. In Illinois, we don't need to abandon faith or beliefs to agree that the government should not and will not govern this choice for her. Everyone deserves to have access to safe and legal health care. As a United States Senator, I will deliver Illinois's conviction to Washington, and to use the full force of my position to defend these essential rights and freedoms. Thank you again to the Midwest Women's Alliance for having me tonight, and thank you Chicago."

Applause consumed the hall, packed with influential Democratic donors and members of Chicago's political class. Symons lingered at the podium for a beat to politely soak it all in before yielding to one of the event's chairwomen. As she returned to the wings, I allowed myself to appreciate her navy power suit and nude heels.

"Don't let the applause go to your head, kid," Tag Bradley said in his subtle Texan drawl as he clapped. He was the campaign's Communications Director and my boss.

"I would never," I replied. I'd stationed myself beside my boss before Symons took to the podium, and had kept an eye on his expression throughout the speech. He had a world-class poker face, but I prided myself on being able to discern when he thought things were a) exceeding expectations, or b) going to shit.

The first time I realized this was during my final interview, as Tag was the one responsible for hiring me. He'd asked me to write a 500 word speech on patriotism in a global age, but to draw upon the Republican Party's platform. Alternatively, I had to write a speech that would resonate with voters from the political party that I wasn't a member of or working for. When he read my speech, the bemused glint in his eyes informed me that I had a) exceeded expectations. I still aimed to exceed expectations, but I longed for the day when the expectations that mattered most were the ones I set for myself.

But that wasn't how success operated in my profession. I needed to impress established professionals like Tag. He'd previously worked on three successful senate campaigns as the Communications Director, but never stayed on beyond the transition to Washington. He lived for the thrill of the campaign, the fight to the finish.

Tag marginally raised his glass up to me. "Then you might just stand a chance in the big leagues."

I allowed myself a quietly proud smile. Making it to the so-called big leagues was every junior speech writer's dream. To make our stamp on history by being the mastermind behind the memorable speeches made by unforgettable people. To be our own version of Jon Favreau, who at 27 became the second-youngest chief speech writer in U.S. history.

Tag turned away to join the other senior members of Symons's staff before they would intercept the senator. Compared to the other senior staffers, Tag had a more nonchalant style that seemed to clash with his air of authority, but he stuck with it even at high-profile events. He wore an understated suit with no tie and he didn't attempt to hide the start of his receding hairline by keeping it buzzed short.

I stayed put for another few minutes to listen to the chairwoman's closing remarks before making my way out onto the elegant rooftop area for the social part of the evening. A breeze hit me as soon as I stepped outside, and I instinctively brought a hand to my head to secure the loose front pieces of my hair, hoping to preserve the subtle elegance of my bun. I didn't want to look overtly windswept.

But despite the breeze, the air was warm enough that I was comfortable in my lightweight, square-neck wrap dress. Its midi length and long sleeves made it one of my go-to pieces for formal work events, and the birch color was suitable for summer.

After securing a glass of white wine from the event waitstaff, I located an open high top table. I'd slipped my phone out of my bag and set it down on the table beside my glass. I was just about to message Ines when Emelia joined me.

"So how much of that speech was you?"

"You know I won't answer that." I sipped my wine. Classy speech writers didn't outwardly take credit for their work. The people who needed to know did.

"That's why it's fun to ask," Emelia grinned before waving to someone who'd just stepped onto the patio. "Callie! Over here!"

I turned to spot Callie Masterson, standing impressively tall in her Jimmy Choo's. The setting sun highlighted the golden undertones of her blonde hair that she'd styled in a stylish low bun.

Callie was one of Emelia's former teammates and now worked as a journalist at the Chicago Tribune. I'd met her that night at Goodfunk when Emelia made it her mission to introduce me to all of her closest friends from Notre Dame.

The two of us had exchanged pleasant conversation, but I got the sense that she wasn't keen to become close friends, and neither was I. Most people, including myself, didn't like to mix their work friends with their university friends. Professional personas and natural personas typically varied, as you shared different experiences and showed different sides of yourself.

"Evening ladies," Callie greeted, setting her drink onto the table.

I smiled from behind my wine glass and took a measured sip.

"You look stunning, but you're only welcome to stay if we're off the record," Emelia said with a wink.

"You called me over, but sure. You're at liberty to bad-mouth the Supreme Court or any football team that isn't Notre Dame."

"Trust me, I'm refraining from taking shots at Ohio State since our colleague Weston is an alumni and we're playing them in our home opener," Emelia answered with a flick of her wrist.

I wasn't a football fan and didn't want to confine myself to a conversation with Callie. An exit strategy presented itself when Tag stepped into my line of sight and subtly beckoned me over.

I nodded, and Tag headed over to the far end of the patio. Once I polished off the last few sips of wine in my glass, I feigned a polite smile. "Excuse me, I'm being summoned."

Emelia's gaze snapped to Tag's retreating figure before sending me a knowing grin. "He's set on making you his protégé."

"He has a funny way of showing it," I retorted.

I turned to fetch my phone from the table, but instead found it in Callie's outstretched hand. Unease to rippled through me. Even if it was a friendly gesture, a journalist had no business holding my phone.

"Thank you." As I reclaimed it with a thin smile, I saw that a new notification lit up the screen.

It was a text from Montana Bennett.

I didn't use text previews for security reasons, but the sight of his name alone caused Callie's eyes to widen almost imperceptibly.

"Sure thing," she replied.

Without opening the message, I slipped my phone into the vintage cream Fendi baguette I'd swiped from my mother's closet last summer and slipped away. I navigated the crowd with ease, having mastered the art of walking fast in kitten heels, and met Tag where he'd stationed himself at the railing, looking incredibly unapproachable.

"Yes?"

Tag didn't do preambles. "Touch-base with the research staff tomorrow morning on July's crime statistics. I want them fact-checked and added to the draft of the senator's remarks for next week's joint-appearance with the chief of CPD."

Tag never asked or ordered me to do anything. He simply informed me of what needed to be done, and knew that I'd take care of it.

I nodded, already mentally drafting an email to the senior researcher. "I'll have it on your desk by noon."

"End of the day would've been reasonable, but keep shooting for the stars."

"I typically aim for the moon," I quipped. "Will that be all?"

"Yes," Tag said and shooed me away with a flick of his Rolex-clad wrist. "Now, go act your age and take advantage of the free selection of pricy booze."

That was far from a horrible recommendation.

After parting ways with Tag, I nicked another glass of wine from one of the circling members of the waitstaff and strategically made my rounds with guests. I leveraged

my relatively low profile to my advantage as I spoke to junior policy aides of other elected officials and made clever small talk with journalists. Politics was just as much about knowing how to talk to people as it was about knowing who to talk to.

I still had a quarter left of what I'd decided was my last glass of wine when I figured I owed Emelia a proper goodbye. She still stood at the same high top table with Callie, their backs facing me.

"If it was meant to be it would've been already," Emelia was saying. "I'm not 19 anymore."

"But you weren't ever crushing on some egotistical idiot," Callie replied, and set a gentle hand on Emelia's forearm. "I understand where you're coming from, but I'd hate for you to resign yourself to watching him date other people because eventually he will. "

"But he's not dating anyone right now," Emelia insisted. "That's not where his head is at. Besides, I would know if he was, and so would my inside man, Jed."

I'd always prided myself on reading between the lines and working as a speech writer had only enhanced those skills. This was not a conversation I simply should stroll into, and risk giving off the impression that I'd overhead anything.

I altered my approach to the table, taking a small loop around a group of guests so I approached them head-on. Emelia saw me coming, just as I'd intended, and greeted me with that dazzling smile of hers.

"Well this has been lovely, but I'm going to take off soon," I informed them.

Emelia laughed. "You really are a go home early girl, aren't you?"

"What can I say? I know what my priorities are." I turned to Callie and extended my hand. "Nice seeing you again."

Callie didn't leave me hanging. "Don't let Em drag you to the Notre Dame home opener if you have no interest in supporting the Fighting Irish."

I surrendered a faint chuckle before turning away and calling out from over my shoulder, "No one talks me into anything that I don't want to do."

I didn't check my phone until I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the wind tugging at the hem of my dress. I had a few texts from Ines, but I attended to the one I'd received over an ago first.

MONTANA BENNETT: the audacity of you to complain about free fancy o'devours. you can't give politicians wrigleyville dogs.

KIERNAN GREY: i wasn't complaining, i was stating a fact. there's no classy way to eat them, so i just end up avoiding them all together

KIERNAN GREY: the only reason why i made it out alive was the free alcohol. politicians don't get the the cheap stuff

I swiped out of the conversation and opened my Spotify to my summer playlist. As I started walking with my AirPods in, I hit shuffle and scoffed when New Romance by Beach House began to play.

Take my chances, new romances, eyes roll on the avenue

Left on red, daylight moving backwards, because you're off again

･:*˚:✧｡｡✧:˚*:･

from sar [ w1ldflow3r ]: cassandra symons is jessica chastain and tag bentley is woody harrelson. you're welcome x