“Thankfully, that’s not our concern,” David said.
Zora tilted her head back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Must be nice to have that kind of privilege.”
Color burnished David’s cheeks. “What in the hell does that mean?”
Ethan held up both of his hands, palms facing outward. “Guys, we can’t let the president change our focus.”
“Why not?” Zora asked, her posture so stiff she almost quivered. “It’s what he does to everyone else!”
“Zora has a point,” Larry said. “The party can’t let this one fester like some of his other insensitive comments. They’ll want to get out there and frame his statements in the proper context.”
Zora snorted. “What exactly is the proper context for what he just said?”
When Ethan frowned at her, Zora pulled her lips inward and attempted to get herself under control. The fact that she despised their current president was well known around the office; she, like others, had made that abundantly clear from the moment he’d been elected. But she’d always been good about keeping her personal opinions as a voter separate from her professional advice. However, since her meeting this morning with Aunt Gladys’s attorney, her personal and professional selves had eschewed neutrality and united with only one clear motto:
Fuck. That.
Ethan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I have no interest in going out and making a statement.”
“You’ve been doing that for the past two years,” she said. “You won’t be able to put this off much longer.”
“I haven’t put anything off,” Ethan said with a frown, clearly annoyed by the accusation.
“People are talking. They’re noticing that you’re never out there on TV defending the party.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “I’d be happy to go out there and defend the party. What they mean is that I won’t stick my neck out for the president.”
Larry spoke up. “Your poll numbers are great, considering you’re the lone national Republican in a more Democrat-leaning state. With your good looks and your family name…having you out there on the president’s behalf would go a long way for him. You’re not supporting him, though, and Zora’s right that people are noticing.”
“Right now, my top concern is doing whatever I need to do to get re-elected. And stepping into that fucking shit show”—Ethan pointed to the TV where the cable news commentator and her guests were whipped into a frenzy over the president’s statement—“will do nothing to help me achieve that goal.”
Zora’s heart wilted in her chest. She shook her head. “So that’s it? You have nothing to say about the fact that our president actually suggested we place immigrants in internment camps?”
Ethan shot her a glance so full of confusion, anger, and frustration that it stole the moisture from her mouth, the breath from her chest, and the reasoning from her mind, rendering her helpless to look away. The air between them thickened and crackled with a brand-new tension. A gossamer thin shift altered the dynamic between them, and Zora saw awareness flicker in his gaze, as he, too, realized something had happened.
“Would you guys excuse us?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes sparking with emotion and refusing to abandon their visual battle.
Butterflies launched into flight in her belly. Had she gone too far?
Based on their shared history and mutual respect, he had allowed her a certain informality, but he was still a powerful United States senator and, for the moment at least, her boss.
With raised brows and incredulous stares, everyone stood and filed out, until she and Ethan were the room’s sole occupants. Gathering all the grace she could muster, Zora ceded the struggle, lowering her lashes and sinking back down onto the couch. She crossed her legs, praying Ethan couldn’t sense how much that moment had affected her.
Ethan squeezed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s going on with you?”
Her heart swelled painfully in her chest. No! She didn’t want his kindness. She couldn’t take it! She picked at her dress then smoothed the fabric over her knee. “I don’t know what—”
He waved a hand, dismissing her attempt to bullshit him. “Is it your family? Did something happen at the reading of your great aunt’s will?”
“You could say that,” she murmured.
He stood suddenly and strode over to close his office door, his movements smooth and graceful. Her pulse kicked into overdrive, rendering her slightly lightheaded. Damn, but could he wear a suit!
Returning, he settled next to her on the couch. “What happened?”
Too close! She swallowed, then shifted to put more space between them. “My aunt left me a book.”
“A book? And you’re…angry?”
“It pissed me off.”
He frowned. “Why? I’ve never known you to be materialistic about anything. Except your shoes,” he added, pointing to her feet.
At his words, her insides liquefied into a soft, marshmallow-y goo. He’d noticed her shoes?
Get it together, Zora. It’s too late. You know what you have to do.
“I’m not angry because it was a book. I’m angry—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “I’m…actually glad to have received her bequest, because it reminded me of something I’d forgotten.”
He reached out, hesitated, then covered the back of her hand where it rested in her lap. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. Is there anything I can do?”
A flash of sensation tore through her like a locomotive as her nerve endings raced to relay the glorious news of his caress to every erogenous zone in her body. Her heart pounded against her chest and heat settled at the apex of her thighs.
It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her. A tap on the shoulder to get her attention, a hand on her elbow to avoid running into someone, a literal pat on the back for a job well done. So many goddamned touches over the years. But none of those gestures ever carried with them this feeling of possibility.
Of intimacy.
Of something more.
Instinctively, she turned her hand until their palms were touching, and the rightness of that brief contact caused bittersweet tears to burn her eyes.
If only they’d kissed at that college party. If only she’d told him how she’d felt. If only his father hadn’t fallen ill. If only he hadn’t accepted the appointment to the Senate seat. If only Thayer hadn’t been elected president. If only Ethan had fucking spoken up. Just once.
If only.
If only.
If only.
But all of the “if onlys” couldn’t change their current predicament. And he’d given her the perfect opening to do the one thing she’d been dreading all afternoon.
She slid her hand from his welcoming warmth and grabbed her iPad off the coffee table. She opened the cover, engaged her email app, and pressed the screen with finality.
There was no going back now.
Blowing out an audible breath, she faced him, her feelings a tangled mixture of resolve, regret, and longing. “There is something you can do. You can accept my letter of resignation. I quit.”
4
Zora was so cold, she swore her bones were frozen. She hated winter, but come July, when the District was ninety-five degrees and one hundred percent humidity, she’d be begging for a blast of artic wind. Even so, she cursed the frigid air as she climbed the steps of her East Capitol Street residence, trudged inside, and immediately kicked off her heels.
The hardwood floors were cold, but they were heaven against the soles of her bare feet. Flexing her toes, she sighed. She adored shoes—had even turned her spare bedroom into a closet mainly to properly house and display her beauties—but they were murder on her tootsies.
Pain passes, but the beauty remains.
One of Aunt Gladys’s favorite sayings about fashion, though she’d been referring to her foundation garments, not shoes.
Grief burned in Zora’s chest and the despondent lethargy she’d been holdin
g at bay threatened to steal over her. Not yet! She gulped in air. One minute more. In sixty seconds, she’d give herself permission to completely fall apart.
She placed her keys into the bowl next to the entrance and made her way across the open living area to the refrigerator in the kitchen, dropping her coat, scarf, work tote, and purse in her wake. She grabbed a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a wine glass and headed back into the living room. Sinking down onto the slate gray chenille sofa, she pressed her Nineties Jam playlist on her phone and waited for it to connect to her TV speakers. When Lauryn Hill’s buttery voice began singing about love being a battle where both parties end up with scars, Zora poured herself a hefty dose and took a big swallow.
This. Fucking. Day.
It had begun with the reading of Great Aunt Gladys’s will and had ended with her quitting a job she enjoyed, working for the man she loved.
She took another long gulp, then slouched back against the sofa. Ethan’s expression at the moment when she’d quit would’ve assuaged the fears of the hawkish generals who questioned his willingness for war. He’d looked as if he were ready for battle, his jaw tense, his mouth sharply angled downward, his eyes narrowed with deep crevices forming between his brows. Unexpectedly— and maybe, inappropriately?—her nipples had pebbled against her bra. She’d immediately crossed her arms over her chest, mortified at her reaction. His nostrils flared and he’d opened his mouth, but had been prevented from erupting by Larry barging in to remind him he needed to go vote on the bill currently on the floor.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Ethan had ordered, his dark eyes blazing.
She hadn’t responded, not wanting to start lying to him now. The minute he’d left, however, she’d come up with a list of errands that would keep her out of the office for the rest of the day. It wasn’t in her usual nature to avoid conflict with him, but in this instance, she’d known absence was the better part of valor. And this wasn’t lying. She’d just decided to decline his request.
The rest of the day he’d been persistent, inundating her phone with calls and texts, but she’d kept her distance, knowing such avoidance would be necessary for her decision to stick. She was going to allow herself the night to drink away her woes, and then she’d begin looking for a new job, one where she felt good about herself and contributed in a positive manner.
She let her lids fall and attempted to let the wine and Jodeci convince her to stay when her doorbell rang.
She twisted her lips. It was probably her neighbor, Keisha. The other woman was a management consultant with Booz Allen and they sometimes shared a glass of wine and debated which of their horror stories of being one of the few women of color in their fields was the worst.
She wearily stood, then shuffled over to the door and pressed the button on her security system. Shock hit her core when she saw Ethan’s distorted image staring back at her on the small video monitor mounted on the wall.
Fuck!
Equal parts annoyance with him for showing up and her usual pleasure at seeing him warred for dominance in her body.
Conflicted much, Zora?
She leaned her forehead against the door. “What do you want, Senator?”
“Open the door, Z.”
“I don’t work for you anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.” She felt like a child, but damn, the man needed to give her space.
“You still work for me for the next two weeks!” Even the monitor couldn’t dim the strength of his irritation. When she didn’t respond, his shoulders fell, and he gentled his tone. “C’mon. You’ve never backed down from a debate with me before. If you don’t let me in, I’ll officially have the last word.”
He knew how to push her buttons. Grumbling, she did as he demanded, but when he finally stood in front of her, she blocked his entrance, not wanting his presence to permeate any more of her spaces.
“Make it fast,” she said. “I’ve had a long day.” She fortified her knees and hoped he couldn’t see how much he affected her. How much he’d always affected her.
“May I come in?” he asked, his rich voice more mellow, his eyes intent on her face.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. Quit playing, girl. You’re not sending him away. Exhaling heavily, she stood aside and allowed him to enter.
Upon walking into her home, he immediately took over the space. The dark reclaimed wood beams and the matching fireplace mantle ceased being the room’s main focal points. She was only aware of him.
He looked wonderful in his dark suit and white shirt, though he’d worn them all day. His normally ordered hair looked tousled, as if he’d constantly run his fingers through it. He smelled like a mouth-watering mixture of his cologne and…of him—his own organic scent that improved the cologne a hundred-fold. She’d once smelled a sample in a department store and there was no comparison to when he wore it.
His version would sell way better.
Stop it, Zora! Stay strong! Hear him out and get him out of here as soon as possible.
She tilted her head. “Well?”
His eyes seemed to catalogue her features before flitting away to search the space behind her, landing on the coffee table, where the bottle of wine sat. “Pour me one?”
“Ethan—”
“Z, please.” His fingers brushed her wrist and she inhaled sharply.
This was a mistake.
“Fine,” she said, not caring if she sounded rude or unwelcoming. She turned and headed to her kitchen. From the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor, she knew he’d followed her. She grabbed a second wine glass from the rack and padded past him to reclaim her space on the sofa. She poured him a glass of wine and topped off her own, thankful when he sat in the chair to her left and not next to her.
“Thanks.” He cradled the wineglass between his long fingers, his brow furrowed. “I won’t accept your resignation.”
“You have to accept it. You can’t make me work for you. That whole thirteenth amendment.”
His mouth tightened but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t understand. Why are you leaving? What happened? Did someone say something to you? Do something? Who?”
Was he serious? He thought she was leaving because someone had hurt her feelings? Like she’d worked in highest halls of power for the past three years with tissue paper thin skin?
“You! I’m leaving because of you.”
His head jerked back. “Me? What did I do?”
“Nothing,” she said, exasperated. “You’ve done nothing. And that’s the problem.”
“You’re making no sense.”
Rage roared in her ears. “That…racist asshole stood there on national and international TV and said we should round up all immigrants and place them in camps. In camps, Ethan!”
He looked dazed at her outburst. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Say something!” She practically vibrated with anger.
“And what would that do, convince him he’s wrong? Thayer doesn’t listen to anyone.”
“So the answer is to do nothing? Sit mute while your party’s representative says horrible things?”
“Of course not. But politics is complicated, and to get things done—”
“Don’t do that,” she said, pointing a shaking finger at him. “Don’t give me the line you’d give the general public at some rally. I was working in politics before I came to work for you.”
“Then you know only a handful of people have real power. Most of our choices are culled before we even know about it. I need to be in the room where that happens. Where the deals are made. Where I can help the greatest number of people.”
“You can excuse anything with that line of reasoning, can’t you? Ends justify the means. What if they don’t?”
He placed his drink on the table, untouched. “You think I’m the only one? Everyone makes compromises to get what they want.”
“And that’s the problem,” she said sadly, realizing she’d done that every day since the last election, to continue be
ing with him. She’d compromised. But at what cost? “Because in the end, the room isn’t full of people doing the right thing. It’s full of compromised souls.”
He snorted and leaned against the chair’s backrest. “Partisanship is not new. Our last president said things I disagreed with. Where was your speak-up-and-speak-out umbrage then?”
“You keep acting like Thayer is normal. Like this is a normal presidency.” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s not! He’s a cancer. He’s rotting our democracy from the inside out and I... I can’t be a party to it anymore.”
He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “How long have you been feeling this way?”
She bit her lip. “A while, but I thought I could get over it. To be honest, I probably would’ve.”
For you.
“What happened?”
What would happen if she told him the truth? Would it change anything? Maybe if he knew—
He’d change his mind? Because you asked him to?
She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to where she’d left her black leather tote bag in the middle of her discarded trail of items. Reaching into it, she pulled out the plastic covered treasure. She cradled it in her hands and brought it over to him. “Aunt Gladys died and left me this.”
Ethan accepted the book, its tattered and worn green cloth cover revealing the orange hardcover spine beneath. “Their Eyes Were Watching God?”
Zora lifted her wineglass and took a sip, allowing her lashes to briefly fall when the bright, citrus notes exploded on her tongue. “Zora Neale Hurston. It’s a signed first edition. Aunt Gladys was a huge fan.”
“I never knew that.” He smoothed his fingers over the package with a reverence that warmed her. “This is a wonderful gift, but I don’t understand what this has to do with you leaving me.”
Her heart twanged at his wording. She knew he didn’t mean it that way. “In her will, Aunt Gladys left me a message. One sentence. ‘Remember who you are.’”
Rogue Ever After (The Rogue Series Book 7) Page 3
