Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  I tried to smile, tried to find a way to express how profound this experience had been for me.

  “Fuck me,” I said at last.

  Damien’s zipper was already undone and his tip quickly nestled against my slick entrance, then his cock was thrusting deep, thrusting hard, pounding me as though he was aware it was him I really needed most.

  Small tremors shook my body like little earthquakes.

  My legs wrapped around his waist as I was snatched up into another climax, oblivion finding me as I felt him lose control.

  Finally, I drifted off to sleep in Damien’s arms.

  When you find the perfect life, you naturally want it to last forever. I found that I was willing to do anything to keep Damien.

  Even this…

  It was the biggest risk I’d ever taken in my life, turning up unannounced at Salvatore Galante’s Granger Street office.

  It had been a gamble thinking I could gain access to the Chairman and CEO’s top floor suite. His security was high because of the number of death threats he probably received. The AFN served as an extended arm of the party that couldn’t be trusted—or so my father insisted. “A propaganda machine”, he’d called it.

  I imagine the fact I was here to see him wasn’t even passed on to Salvatore. Either that or he’d guessed I was going to beg him not to run that story on my father, and no doubt wanted to avoid the drama that would ensue from meeting with me.

  I’d failed to get any farther than the receptionist’s desk in the ground floor lobby, ending up back in the car that had brought me here. Randolph, one of my parents’ drivers, threw wary glances my way from the front seat.

  “I needed to speak with someone, but I was turned away,” I explained. “Thank you for being patient.”

  “Of course, Ms. Bardot.” He gave a nod. “Can I help?”

  It was risky, but I couldn’t see any other way. “I need to speak with Salvatore Galante.”

  He looked surprise. “Did you make an appointment?”

  “Not exactly. But as it’s me, I thought he’d be intrigued.”

  “Does your father know you’re here?”

  “I plead the Fifth.”

  Randolph paused, studying my face. “Here’s a thought. We could drive to the 118 News Club on Third Street and wait for him to go in.” Randolph glanced at his watch. “We’ll arrive before him if we leave now.”

  “How often does he eat there?”

  “Every day, I believe. Your father eats there on occasion. I’ve driven Mr. Bardot to the club and seen Galante go in there, which means he’s also a member. I imagine that’s where he picks up a lot of political tips.”

  “Okay, let’s try that,” I said. “Thank you, Randolph.”

  Traffic was slow, but we made it to the club in less than thirty minutes. I knew what Galante looked like. Everyone in this town did—he and his three sons ruled the airwaves with their hateful rhetoric and twisted stories. They’d ruined reputations and left a trail of devastation. That kind of thing tends to make you stand out.

  We parked next to the curb outside and waited for him to appear.

  Popping in my earbuds, I tried to listen to music to make the time go faster…songs from Hozier to Adele to Billie Eilish.

  My heart skipped a beat…

  Galante’s car had parked behind ours and he was climbing out. The crowned head of news appeared just as tall and intimidating as he was on TV, looking ruggedly handsome in a white fox kind of way—if you were into evil, that is.

  He was immediately flanked by two bodyguards.

  Once out of the car, I headed in his direction, managing to catch up with him at the stone steps leading up to the 118 News Club.

  “Mr. Galante!”

  He looked my way, his glare taking me in. “Do I know you?”

  “Kind of.” I stepped forward, wary of his guards who were poised to shove me back. “May we speak in private?”

  “Make an appointment,” he snapped.

  “Your secretary failed to pass on my message?”

  It was as though a veil lifted and he recalled where he’d seen me before. “You’re Brenan Bardot’s daughter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked me up and down, making my skin crawl with the arrogant way he surveyed me. “Is this about your father’s scandal?”

  “I’m asking you not to discuss those lies on your network,” I said.

  He looked intrigued. “Did your father send you?”

  “No, and I would be grateful if you would show respect by not mentioning it. Either in public or on your news station.”

  “Have any updates you want to share?” He looked triumphant. “Like any contradictory information to what we might have?”

  What did they have on my father?

  “I think you’ll find your information false, Mr. Galante. We’ll file a libel lawsuit.”

  “We’ll countersue.” He went to step up and then paused to look back. “You’re Damien Godman’s fiancée?”

  “I am, yes.”

  He gave a nod, his tongue running along his lower lip. “Quid pro quo.”

  “Are you asking me to betray my boyfriend by giving you something on him?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I am.”

  I folded my arms, my heart aching.

  “Well?” he pushed. “I’m waiting. What have you got?”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve thought about it. When hell freezes over.” I’d just spoken those words to the most powerful man in television.

  Galante smirked. “I hear you once wanted to be a journalist, Ms. Bardot?”

  “I wrote a piece for the Washington Post.”

  “That’s right.” He reached into his pocket and handed me his business card. “My number. Let me know when you’re ready for the exchange of information on the Godman family. You have until Saturday. The news story about your father goes live at 5:00 P.M.”

  That was just days before the election.

  “Never going to happen,” I said.

  “Well, then, get some marshmallows to roast on the fire. It’s going to be a scorcher.”

  Bastard.

  He didn’t care about people. Just his stupid ratings and his ability to ruin lives with his news show spewing lies.

  Holding his business card in my fingers, I peered down at his name embossed above the Real Nation One’s logo, the station designed to manipulate viewers into thinking this man cared about this country. All he cared about was his ego and wielding his influence in exchange for power.

  Galante reacted to something he spotted down the street and then turned and quickly ascended the steps to the club.

  Following his line of sight, I couldn’t see exactly what had drawn his attention. A few people were heading this way. Tucking the business card into my purse, I walked back to the car.

  A pretty brunette strolled by me. She looked out of place in her ripped jeans and baseball cap, like she didn’t want to be seen. She was looking up in the direction of the club. I caught a glimpse of a mole on her right upper lip. Except for the dark hair, she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. She wore a ruby pinky ring. An interesting choice; I wondered if she knew wearing it on that finger represented self-love and an aversion to commitment. Monroe’s doppelganger elegantly ascended the stone steps to the entrance.

  Her lack of confidence was glaring. I’d grown up with the type of women who thought nothing of strolling into elite clubs filled with alphas with their heads held high. She didn’t fit the profile. I wondered what she was doing here.

  On a hunch, I followed her up the steps.

  The interior was pleasantly designed with marble flooring and classic wood molding to enhance the swanky style.

  Peering through the front window, I watched her stroll across the foyer to greet Galante. He put an arm around her shoulders and they walked through a doorway.

  Were they having lunch together?

>   It was none of my business, but it certainly looked like an affair. Or maybe she was his daughter and I was over thinking it.

  Defeated, I returned to the car.

  “Thank you for making that happen,” I told Randolph.

  “You’re welcome, but please don’t tell anyone,” he said nervously.

  “Never.” Pulling on my seatbelt, I said, “The Foxhall residence, please.”

  “How did it go, Miss?” he asked.

  I sighed. “As expected.”

  What the fuck were you thinking?

  I didn’t say it though. I merely leaned on the kitchen counter and offered Pandora a kind smile to reassure her that I was glad to see her home. She’d walked into the house a minute ago and stopped short when she reached the kitchen.

  I wasn’t alone and it seemed to startle her.

  Bardot had only moved in with me three days ago, and already, she’d almost destroyed an empire in less than twenty-four fucking hours.

  From her expression of guilt, she knew that we knew what she’d done. Her uneasy gaze bounced from me over to Madeline. She was also probably wondering if she’d walked in on something between me and my ex.

  I rounded the central island and pulled Pandora in for a hug, kissing her tenderly on the lips to show her all was well—or at least as well as it could be when your girlfriend had just met with the most dangerous media mogul in the world.

  She had put herself on his radar, which meant I was now, too.

  I rested my hands on her shoulders.

  She forced a smile at Madeline. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Madeline gave her a warm smile back.

  “Coffee?” I moved away, not waiting for an answer, needing to keep my hands busy while my brain ran through the best way to deal with the situation.

  “Damien invited me over,” Madeline began.

  “I’m glad.” Pandora looked fine with it, but then again that was her. Always accommodating and effortlessly presenting her best self.

  I slid the fresh mug of coffee over the countertop toward her. “I know about your meeting with Galante.”

  Pandora approached the barstool and sat down, her brows knitting together. “I thought so. But how?”

  Madeline cast a glance my way. “Galante is dangerous. We think it’s best—”

  “We?” Pandora’s frown deepened.

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Just come out and fucking say it.”

  Madeline’s fingers traced the handle of her mug. “Not sure if you Googled me some more or not, but if you dug deep enough, you’d have seen that ten years ago I was a media strategist with a brilliant career ahead of me. That’s how I met Damien.”

  “Stick to the point,” I said firmly.

  Madeline shook her head at me. “Damien, don’t interrupt.”

  I gave a nod of apology.

  Madeline continued, “Galante threatened to run a story on me and my lover at the time. The threat of it being published chased me out of politics.”

  “What did he have on you?” asked Pandora.

  Madeline pursed her lips. “Photos of me as a dominatrix.”

  Pandora studied her face. “That’s why you’re a lecturer now?”

  “Galante’s threat fast-tracked me into a new career. This is also why Damien and I are never seen in public. In case those photos ever emerge.”

  Pandora genuinely looked sad for her. “Why did he threaten you?”

  “Galante was intent on dismantling the entire campaign staff, of which I was a senior member. It was his way of influencing the election. I was caught in the middle…collateral damage.”

  Pandora flashed me a confused look.

  Madeline sighed. “The man who was also in the photos with me was my male submissive. He had everything to lose. Had I let Galante show the photos, his career would have been over. He deserved my protection.”

  A man whose name she wouldn’t say…

  “Did you date Damien before or after the photos were taken?” asked Pandora.

  “Before…him,” I told her.

  Pandora frowned. “Salvatore gathers something on everyone, doesn’t he?”

  I nudged my mug aside. “Except on my family, as far as we know.”

  “Senator Godman is always careful,” said Madeline.

  “What did you discuss with Galante today?” I asked.

  Pandora stared at me. “Who told you?”

  “Answer the question,” I insisted.

  “I asked him not to run that news piece on my dad.”

  “And?”

  “He wouldn’t listen.”

  “You brought the spotlight down on us,” I scolded.

  Madeline moved around the island and grabbed her Hermes bag on the way. “I should go.”

  “Thank you for stopping by.” With a gesture, I offered to show Madeline to the door.

  We made it to the hallway without looking at each other, both of us aware that Pandora would be keeping us in her sights.

  Madeline pulled a scarf up and over her head, putting on sunglasses to round out her disguise. “I like her,” she whispered.

  “She’s the one.” I shrugged at how easy that felt to say.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Thank you for encouraging it.”

  Her lips softened in a knowing smile.

  On the front porch, I tried to find the words to say what I had always failed to express to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you back then.”

  She shook her head. “I would have brought you down, too.”

  I would always cherish our friendship and I would always admire the sacrifice she’d made. She’d put herself last and protected everyone around her.

  “Galante’s unstoppable,” she said.

  “Maybe he’ll drop dead from a heart attack. Everyone’s wishing it.”

  “Thoughts and prayers.” She lowered her sunglasses and winked.

  I watched her head up the driveway toward her car and then I turned and went back inside.

  Pandora wasn’t in the kitchen.

  In the hallway, I noticed that the red door was open…she’d gone down to the dungeon. Following her, I braced myself for a possible argument about my ex being here. Maybe I should have texted her to let her know.

  When I found Pandora, she was sitting in the dark on the edge of the bed, seemingly lost in thought.

  She looked up. “What can be done?”

  “In what respect?”

  “How are we to stop him from releasing the story?”

  I loomed over her. “If you ever decide to go rogue again, I will lock you in here and never let you out.”

  She started to stand up but I nudged her back down. “Are you listening?”

  “You told me I can’t talk about it in this room.”

  “Then why are we in here?”

  “I needed somewhere quiet to think.”

  “I get that.”

  She nibbled on her lip. “Where do we keep the sex tape?”

  “In a safe place.” I threw her a reassuring smile.

  “If he runs that story, you and I will be like you and Madeline. We won’t be able to be seen together in public. Ever again.”

  She was right. We’d be torn apart. Her father’s scandal could cause my father’s people to panic. What would follow would be them asking the impossible of us.

  A ripple of dread caused me to freeze—I’d known it could happen, but I’d been in denial. I’d fought hard to do the right thing for everyone.

  Pandora fell back onto the bed. “I’ve only just moved in.”

  I lay down beside her, staring up at the ceiling, futility finding me in the darkness. Part of me felt like I’d already lost her.

  Being given permission to walk into a room to speak with my dad wasn’t a new experience. Though now, with the security cranked to the max and the hustle and bustle of staffers and the campaign crew filling the hallways of my family home, it felt like pandemonium had been unleashed.
/>   I finally entered Dad’s office, gladly closing the door behind me to cut out the noise.

  “You wanted to see me?” I threw a contemptuous glance at my brother as I walked across the room.

  Carter stood beside Dad. He’d been leaning over his shoulder and pointing at something on his desk, a smarmy expression on his face.

  My father sat behind his desk with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Paperwork was stacked so high on his desk it would be a miracle if he ever got to all of it.

  “I’ll see you later, son,” said Dad.

  My brother shoved past me, his shoulder deliberately pushing mine. His shot of aggression didn’t go unnoticed.

  “What’s that all about?” Dad pointed to the chair opposite his desk.

  “A misunderstanding.” I left it at that.

  I took a seat, casually crossing my legs.

  Telling him how badly behaved Carter was around Pandora wasn’t what he needed to hear. Dad had international issues to worry about and this was the way it had always been—us protecting the head of the family from trivial matters.

  “How are you?” He leaned over the desk and weaved his fingers together.

  “Fine. More importantly, how are you?”

  “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Damien.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I hid my surprise.

  “I want to bring you in.”

  “Are you offering me a position in your Cabinet?”

  “Nepotism is just working with the people you trust most.”

  “I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

  “Then your answer is yes?”

  It was a no, but he didn’t need to hear that right now.

  When I hesitated, he shook his head at my reticence and slid a file across the desk towards me. “Take a look.”

  Okay then, business as usual.

  Lifting the file and skimming through it, I was surprised to see a collection of photographs, all of beautiful women. “Do these come with resumes?” I looked up at him, confused.

  “We’ll get more info on them.”

  “What am I looking at? Your top picks for a press secretary?”

  “Keep the file. Let me know your choice.”

  “Well, it would be helpful to know the context.”

  “We got an advanced copy of the story Real Nation One’s going to run on Brenan Bardot.” He slid another folder over to me. “It’s worse than we thought.”