Hell, they wanted nothing more than for me to be Ashley Jeffries, other than the dead as a doornail part. Although, maybe that part too. I’m useless, after all, and I have a portion of the family trust they can’t have, because I’ve already reached the payout terms.
I’m sure they would’ve finally found some value in me if I had set my cap for Jake like Ashley had. Sure, Jake is hot, everyone has always known that, but there was something about how much my longtime bestie hated him. As it would turn out, Grace protested too much. She was awfully vociferous in her complaints about Jake, not because she hated him, but because she was attracted to him. And it all seemed to work out in the end. They’re happily married and expecting a baby this summer. Well… I mean, it all worked out for everyone but Ashley, who got herself dead. But I digress.
Her dad looks this way, and for a second, he looks… angry. There’s a level of malice that crosses his face that I have never seen before. And I grew up in a home with Gilbert and Alexandra Fairchild as my parents. The level of anger they are capable of would be shocking to anyone else, and it was everyday fair in our not so happy home.
So to see such anger, such hatred on Mark Jeffries’s face is alarming. And it’s directed at me. I’ve known Mark for years. He’s an acquaintance of my own dad, and he has always been very cordial to me. I mean, it’s not like I clobbered his daughter with a card chair. Although I would have in the same situation. And as I mentioned, she did shoot Ryan. So to see him so angry with me is alarming. And then it’s just… gone, like it was never there at all. How odd.
They lower the casket into the ground, and I watch as mourners throw sand or flowers into her grave. And then out the corner of my eye, I see a man approach Ryan, who is standing just a few people in our entourage over from me. I pretend not to see him.
He says in a low voice, “I’m just the messenger.”
He hands Ryan a small note, and then he walks away.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. We never heard anything more about Rachel’s kidnapping, but then again, we all thought Ashley was just a pawn and we always had. But what if it wasn’t that simple? I look back at Mark and see him watching Jake now. It makes me uncomfortable. And then he heads to the waiting limo, and I watch as he leaves.
The service is over. Thank God.
“We need to meet,” Jake says low as our group gathers for a word while the service breaks up. “The residence will do.”
“Willco,” Ryan says before we all depart on nods to meet at the White House residence.
I depart from the group, climb in my car, and head back toward the capitol after watching Gus herd Jake and Grace into their vehicle. Ryan gets in with them, as does Rick.
Cara is missing from our little funeral party, because she thought it was tacky to attend the funeral service of the person you accidentally killed in self-defense. She’s clearly not in politics… or the media for another thing. She’s not ruthless enough. My colleagues would take me out and dance at my funeral if it meant they got my job.
God, I love my job.
As I watch them all depart, it reminds me that I’m on the outside looking in. I belong, but I don’t. I wonder if I should attend the meeting at the residence or if I’m not important enough, when my phone sounds with a text alert.
RYAN: In case you’re wondering, Jake means you too.
ME: I wasn’t.
RYAN: You were.
ME: Was not. And also, you don’t know that he means me too. I’m not really involved in this.
RYAN: You’re involved.
ME: You don’t know that!
JAKE: Come to the meeting. You two are giving me gray hair.
Well, there you have it. I’m going to the meeting at the residence. I drive through to the capitol, wanting to stop for a burrito, but I know I don’t have time. It wouldn’t do to keep the president waiting when he needs a meeting. I’ll get one on the way home.
I pull into the secret parking for the residence and make my way through security. I’m the last to arrive, but not by much. Must be nice to have that D.C. Metro Police escort though.
I’m ushered into a parlor room with fancy sofas and armchairs all around a big fireplace. Everyone looks at me when I walk in the room. Well, that doesn’t feel awkward at all.
I walk over to the only empty seat in the room, and it’s on the sofa near Grace, thank God, but it’s also within touching distance of Ryan. I decide then and there that the only course of action is to completely pretend like he doesn’t exist.
“So what’s this party all about?” I ask.
“Black was passed a note during the service,” Jake responds. “The man identified himself only as the messenger, but the note is unfortunate.”
“What does it say?” I ask, when really what I want to ask is what does it have to do with me? I am 100 percent not cut out for all this cloak and dagger nonsense.
They pass a sheet of paper around the room before it gets to me so that everyone can see it. It’s tucked safely in a plastic zip bag, I guess to protect the evidence, but I’m not a cop or super-secret spy, so who knows?
I look at it and wonder if this is some kind of a joke. What the hell does this even mean? I hope it makes sense to everyone else, because I have no earthly idea.
The Old Ghost may rise, but the other will fall for him to take flight. The eagle and her mate are first to go.
I smile as nothing other than relief courses through my body. Thank God. This has nothing to do with me. This is fantastic!
“What could you be so happy about?” Ryan growls, making me jump a little in my seat. I look over my shoulder. I had forgotten he was so close.
“I’m not happy,” I reply. When he looks like he doesn’t believe me, I press on. “Really. I promise. I’m just relieved, because this doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because I have no idea what it means,” I admit. “If I don’t know what any of this is, then it can’t be about me.”
“You’re joking?” he snaps, and I look around the room in which everyone is wearing the same shocked expression with their eyebrows in their hairlines.
“No,” I say slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Honey, it’s all about you,” Jake says softly.
“What?” I shout.
“And me,” he says before a heavy pause, and by the look on his face, I feel like he’s trying to quietly tell me something, but I don’t know what. “And someone else.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
“Let’s break it down,” Rick says. “The Old Ghost is Jake. Ghost was his SEAL call sign.”
“Okay.”
“And this says that for him to rise, others will fall.”
“I don’t like that,” I mutter to myself, but it was apparently louder than I meant it to be, because everyone is either smiling or their lips are twitching.
“I don’t like it either,” Rick says.
“That’s great and all, but what does this have to do with me?” I prompt. I know I sound like an asshole for asking, but I really don’t get it. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to be involved in anything or with anyone who is trying to manipulate the president.
“This part right here,” Rick says, “is you.”
“The eagle and her mate are the first to go?” I read the last bit of the letter. “I don’t get it.”
“Babe,” Ryan clips out, and his tone of voice does absolutely nothing to hide his frustration or the fact that he thinks I’m an absolute moron. Great. “You used to work for Eagle News. The eagle is you.”
“What?” I gasp. “Someone wants to kill me?”
“Maybe,” Rick admits. “We don’t know.”
“Well, if someone could find out, that would be fucking great,” I snap before I get my emotions in hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just under a lot of stress. I don’t mean to be a bitch. Really.”
“You’re fine, honey,” Jake
says gently.
“Thanks.”
The eagle and her mate are the first to go.
I read it over and over again. And then it clicks. Oh, thank God. It can’t be me. The eagle and her mate are the first to go. I don’t have a mate! I’ve never been so glad to be single. I want to fist pump in the air like the end of a cult classic ‘80s film I’m so excited.
“It can’t be me!” I practically shout with glee.
“How do you figure that?” Ryan drawls.
“I’m single! I don’t have a mate!” I shout. “Woohoo!”
“Everybody out,” Jake orders.
“Jake?” Grace asks.
“Everyone,” he confirms. I stand and start to follow everyone out, but he stops me. “Not you.”
I don’t like where this is going.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Why?” I ask.
“I think you know why,” he says gently.
“Are you going to fire me?”
“No.” He laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay.”
“I have a buddy who owns a security company,” Ryan says, startling me. I had forgotten he was still in the room, even though it makes sense, because Jake apparently thinks he’s my mate. I don’t know how to tell him that his military adviser just likes to fuck and chuck. God, what a disgusting term that is.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I hedge.
“King is great at his job, and all his guys know what they’re doing,” he says.
“I’m sure he is,” I say. “Still. I’ll be careful.”
“Julia,” he murmurs, and I know he’s frustrated with me.
“It’s my life, Ryan,” I reply gently. “I have a right to live it how I want to.”
“We’ll see—”
“No, we won’t,” I snap before turning back to Jake. “Meeting adjourned, now that we’ve discovered the secrets of the universe?”
“Meeting adjourned,” he agrees, and I can see a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Time to run.
“Well… see you all later.” And then I exit as fast as my fancy footwear will take me.
I need cats. Cats are safe.
“Freshman Congressman Seen Dining with Powerful Sister”
Chapter 14
Settled
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
I can’t do this.
Shit. I can do this.
I step out of my car and smooth my palms down the front of my dove-gray sheath dress. Normally, I would walk in through the back entrance of this restaurant so I could eat in peace. The owners are really good about politicians and their staff being able to grab a quiet meal and head back to the capitol.
Not to mention there have been many backdoor deals made in the private dining room in the back. I have never personally witnessed any, but I have heard talk. The owners know how much clientele they would lose if they no longer had those perks. And this isn’t a tourist destination.
However, my brother Gil, an up-and-coming congressman in New York, is all about seeing and being seen—that is, as long as he’s making the right connections. And his baby sister is the White House Press Secretary, so there are those connections. Anything that can link Gil to the actual White House has him salivating, no doubt.
And he is my only brother. Having been my only friendly ally growing up—when I could count on him—built a soft spot in me for him. He was the only one in the house who showed me any kindness. Where my parents could be cruel and exacting in what they wanted from me, Gil was always ready with a happy smile and a charming story about his day. I don’t know where I would be without that. Probably some sad society wife with a prescription pill addiction and a husband who fucks anything that moves. Somehow, knowing there were good things out there in the world made me want to go out and see them and experience them for myself. Not that I didn’t have a charmed life. I did. I had anything and everything money could buy. And the kind of old money my family has meant I had everything.
It just wasn’t anything of substance.
I wanted my life to mean something. So I majored in journalism instead of something useless for my M-R-S degree. I knocked on door after door so I could get the best internships, and then I rocked my interviews and got jobs with great networks. I know that doesn’t typically happen right off the bat, but I believe it was a combination of both luck and hard work. It was hard work that put me at NYU, and it was luck that led to Grace, Angie, and me being roommates. It was hard work that got me to Eagle News, but it was luck that got my name in front of a senator running for President.
So when Gil called this morning and asked to meet for an early dinner, I said yes. I said yes, because I love my brother, since he was the only one who loved me in that house of horrors. And I said yes knowing he would not want me to sneak in the back entrance to have a private dinner with my only sibling. I knew Gil would expect me to come in the front entrance, where anyone could see me, including the paparazzi, who he would have called, and then dine next to the big glass windows, where we could be seen and photographed looking fabulous and like the next Kennedy family.
“Jules!” someone shouts as I approached the door to the restaurant. “Is it true?”
I just smile politely as a hostess from the establishment opens the door for me.
“Good evening, Ms. Fairchild. Your table is right this way,” she says as she leads me to a table next to the front window. It looks like it has an excellent view of the city, but it can also be seen from the front of the building, which sits on a corner lot.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Julia,” Gil says, standing as I approach the table. “You look lovely as always.”
“Thank you, brother dear.” I pop a kiss to his cheek and let him help me with my chair.
I unfold my napkin and drop it in my lap. I know the menu by heart here, so I know exactly what I’m going to get, and I’ve been looking forward to it all day. Not to mention, this is my first time out of my house during my imposed isolation to avoid the media. Although that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen Ryan. And I mean I’ve seen all of Ryan over the last few nights. I just can’t help myself.
“So what’s good here?” Gill asks. “Everyone swears this is the place to go to in D.C.”
“It’s fantastic,” I tell him. “I eat here at least three times a month.”
“Are you ready to order?” a waitress asks as she steps up to our table with a smile on her face.
“I am if you are, Gil.”
“Sure,” he says good-naturedly. “You go first, and I’ll be ready by the end.”
“I’ll have the chicken napoleon please,” I say, handing the waitress my menu. It’s this amazing chicken and mushrooms in a creamy sundried tomato sauce over penne pasta with cheeses melted on top. I get it every time I come here.
“Is that wise?” Gil asks me under his breath.
“And a house salad to start,” I add, rolling my eyes.
“Better.” He chuckles. “I’ll have the grilled chicken and steamed vegetables,” he orders. “No sauce, no rice or pasta.”
“Coming right up,” she says before walking away, and I can barely hold back the disgusted look on my face. Why anyone would order food that boring, I have no idea.
“What?” He laughs. “It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” I ask in a mock shocked tone.
“It’s healthy,” he replies with a smile on his face. “It wouldn’t look good if I got a gut. You could probably use to eat a vegetable every now and then too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask quietly. This is the first time Gil has even been critical of me outwardly in any way, and I’m not sure I like it.
“It just means I love you, and I want you to be healthy and live a long time,” he says.
“Well, I’ll have you know I eat boring food like that all the time, but this is the one place I let myself have my favorite meal.”
“There are a lot of things that bring me joy in my life,” I tell him as the waitress sets my salad down in front of me.
“Like what?” he asks as I push the lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and croutons covered in dressing around on my plate.
“I love my job,” I admit, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “I love my friends, and I’m very close with them. I’m even planning a trip to visit Angie in Texas.”
“But you have nothing of your own,” he says, and I have to admit it stings. Hearing my beloved brother voice my own inner demons does not feel good. I had always considered my life to be full, but now that I’m living a life in half measures with Ryan, I can’t help but wonder if that’s really the truth after all.
“I have a full life,” I explain. “Cara’s daughter Rachel is at such a fun age, and Grace is having a baby this year. Not to mention, Angie has Joy.”
“But those are their children. Don’t you want any of your own some day?” he asks as the waitress sets out meals down in front of us.
“I do,” I admit as I toy with my dinner. “Someday.”
Cabe and Lacy slam into my brain. Ryan is twelve years older than I am. He has two children who are practically grown and out of the house and an ex-wife who he’s still friends with. His life is full. Obviously, there isn’t room for me in it, the way he bounces out of my bed with his boots already on every evening and then out the door. And even if there was room, he already has two kids. He won’t want any more. I need to cut my losses. Maybe in a few years, I can adopt a baby from overseas. This is the twenty-first century. I don’t have to be married to a man to have a baby. I can do it myself.
“Don’t you want to settle down and have a family?” Gil prods carefully as he skillfully cuts into his chicken.
“Sometimes,” I respond, shrugging. “I don’t know. What about you?”
“I’m going to marry a woman who will compliment me and my career,” he says like it’s the most logical choice. “As soon as I win this next election cycle, I’ll choose someone. Actually, I hear there’s a great matchmaker here for politically elevated families.”
The Press Secretary's Passion (A Presidential Affair Book 3) Page 12
