The Goode Governor
Page 17
“It wasn’t like that,” she lied, overwhelmed by the over exposure.
“Then what was it? What kind of cultural lesson were you imparting? In the dark. With her—”
“I get the point. You don’t have to do that all over again,” she interrupted, her hand waiving.
They sat together in the lavish foyer only meant to be decorative. George was sure no one had ever sat in the incredibly uncomfortable chairs.
“What am I going to do?” she asked herself and Josephine at the same time.
“About which part? Brenda? Don’t worry about her,” she told her, waving a hand. “She didn’t see anything nearly as scandalous as I thought, and I really don’t think she’d break her contract over something like that.”
George nodded. Despite her agreement, it didn’t ease the ache in her chest. She still felt like someone had just jumped out of a bush in a clown mask and scared the wits out of her.
“About Mila,” she continued, holding her hands up. “I really don’t know,” she said, the momentary air of mirth vaporizing at once.
George exhaled fully, releasing the breath she’d been holding. There was nothing to be done and they both knew it. Daring to think otherwise was irrational. Mila could be nothing more than a fantasy, and even that had proven dangerous.
* * *
The music in the club was so loud, Mila’s insides were vibrating to the heavy bass line. As she pushed past the tightly-packed, sweaty bodies gyrating to the beat, she regretted letting Amanda talk her into a night out.
It’ll be fun. A great time with your friends who all miss you! She rolled her eyes at the memory. After five months of the fellowship, she no longer felt nearly as comfortable in the club environment as she once had.
Beyond the dance floor, she spotted the pink head of hair she’d been following. Amanda was already hugging the two bouncers stationed at the door. When she first started working there, Mila was dubious about the strip-club-within-a-dance-club idea, but it turned out that most people were less intimidated about visiting for the first time if they could migrate to the strip club side after a little liquid courage.
“Camden!” one of the large men cried excitedly upon laying eyes on Mila and bent down to envelop her in his massive, tree trunk arms.
“Hey, Rey! It’s so good to see you,” she exclaimed as she hugged him back, ignoring his scratchy, white beard against her cheek.
“Ditto, Kiddo!” He released her only when his partner complained about not getting his chance at a greeting. “Montana says you’ve been working hard up there on the capitol, huh?” He asked quietly, still making sure to call them by their aliases out in public. “What’s it like?”
They chatted until someone else caught sight of her and Amanda from inside the club and dragged them away.
“How could I so quickly have forgotten what this is like,” she murmured against Amanda’s ear as they were swept into the VIP section where other friends were waiting.
The club was intimate, with one long stage in the center of the room. Around the stage with two pools on either end of what could’ve been a runway, were stools reserved for people willing to consistently throw cash for the dancer. Encircling that area were a dozen booths shaped like half-moons where entertainers interacted with guests.
Above the main floor was the VIP loft area called the Eagle’s Nest, where small, private gatherings were held. For a nice chunk of change, it offered a great view of the stage with privacy from any wandering eyes. Beyond the nest, a few enclosed rooms offered one-on-one interactions with entertainers for a hefty price.
Bottles of champagne popped in unison as soon as Mila and Amanda were escorted to the Eagle’s Nest to join a small group of friends. After working up a sweat dancing to the nonstop music, she regretted having worn tight black jeans, but at least the backless chain halter crop top provided some ventilation.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Amanda screamed over the music as she grabbed her by the arm and stopped her from descending stairs.
“Bathroom!” she yelled back, needing to get away from the tightly packed room and thumping music.
“Bullshit,” she countered with complete confidence.
Mila winked before slinking away downstairs. In the months since she’d been in captivity, she’d forgotten what it was like to be a regular person. As she descended the stairs, she scanned the main room. No one looked like a reporter waiting to pounce her. As far as she could tell, she was very old news.
As she fixed her makeup in the bathroom mirror, an entertainer she’d never seen before slipped into the spot next to her. Mila pretended not to notice her stealing glances.
“Camden?” the woman, a pretty blonde with a long braid and hot pink lingerie, asked as Mila made her way to the door.
“Used to be,” she replied jokingly, though her tone was much more serious than she’d intended.
“You’re a legend,” she said, turning to lean against the sink as they spoke. Mila scanned her body out of habit. She was petite, but strong and attractive.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would,” she reiterated before inching closer. “You’re the reason I started dancing,” she confessed, the tip of her tongue moistening her lips. “I came here with a party last year. When you got on stage, it was like watching an aerial ballet. It was pretty incredible.” Her voice was deeper and quieter as she moved closer. “I was bummed that you weren’t here anymore when I finally got good enough for the big leagues.”
The girl’s red lips curled into an inviting smile. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at her with open, unveiled interest.
“Why’s that?” Mila hadn’t flirted in a while and could feel the rust in her joints.
“I was hoping to dance with you,” she admitted as the front of her very high heel knocked against her foot. There was no space left between them.
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” Mila whispered, maintaining contact with dark green eyes.
The girl’s grin rose slowly, as if it were floating. It was a dangerous thing that quickened Mila’s pulse.
“I’m sure there’s some way you can make it up to me.”
Mila’s eyes dropped to the girl’s mouth before darting back up to her sultry eyes. She hadn’t taken refuge in the body of another in so long, and she yearned for the warmth and comfort. Her lips longed to remember the sensation of a kiss.
“My apartment isn’t far and my roommates aren’t home,” she said, hooking her finger in the waistband of Mila’s tight pants and pulling her until they were pressed together. The contact caused a chain reaction of desire through her body.
At the sensation of a warm palm against her cheek, Mila’s eyes closed reflexively. She wanted to be touched. To be kissed. To be wanted. But the object of her desire was not mutable. George was lodged in her sights and even it was ridiculous to think so, kissing another felt like a betrayal.
Mila opened her eyes before placing her hand over the girl’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “You’re going to be great at this,” she decided with a tight smile, leaving the girl standing in the bathroom. She didn’t dare look back, afraid that lust would mutiny over honor.
Chapter Eighteen
Only six weeks into the new year and George was surging in the polls. The proposed legislation was well on its way to passing with minimal resistance. It turned out to be so popular, most other politicians up for re-election were enthusiastically behind it. And Blankenship’s protégé was imploding on his own thanks to some regrettable comments he’d made in a high school yearbook.
Despite her lead, George wasn’t allowing herself to be over-confident. The contingent who hated her for reasons having nothing to do with policy was as strident and mobilized as ever. Until the last ballot was cast, nothing was set in stone. The better she did, the more resolve she found to work harder.
“Ready?” the head of her security team asked as she strode out of her office, pulling on her b
lack suit jacket over her black dress.
“I suppose the fundraising circuit waits for no man,” she joked in a rare display of frivolity with anyone other than Josephine and Nathan.
The man in the blue police uniform was caught off guard and stumbled over his words, but George was already halfway outside as she nearly skipped to the elevator. With Mila pushed so far out of her mind and her ability to stay in the job she loved for another term so close in reach, nothing could get her down. Not even the out-of-order sign on the reflective metallic doors of her private and secure lift.
“We should take the stairs to be cautious,” her escort explained with a trail of other officers behind him. “The maintenance team said there was some electrical damage. They think it was rodents, but I don’t like it.” His chiseled face was stern.
“There are a lot of flights between us and the ground,” she countered. Despite her regular exercise, she wasn’t keen on descending a dozen flights in high heels if she could avoid it. Not when she had to make a speech in less than twenty minutes and dazzle a crowd. It was an expenditure of energy not accounted for in her budget and she wouldn’t have time to freshen up appropriately. “What about the general staff elevator?”
He glanced at the uniformed woman to his right. She had the same concerned expression.
“Is something wrong?” George asked, not liking the uneasy energy that had passed between them.
“We don’t want to worry you, Governor,” she started in a way that made her blood turn to ice. “We’ve had a spike in threats. We haven’t found anything credible in our vetting, but we are being vigilant. There’s no need to take risks.”
George swallowed hard. This was not a part of the office she enjoyed.
“But,” the officer continued,” there’s no reason to believe the security of the staff elevators has been compromised. I took a team of electricians to inspect them myself.”
George nodded. “That’s that then. Let’s go,” she said, suppressing her fear and starting out through the glass double doors with outwardly unshaken confidence.
As she reached the bank of elevators, a woman’s voice called out. She hadn’t heard it in the weeks since she’d started visiting the gym at lunchtime. Her stomach went into a free fall.
“Governor,” Mila called again as she approached from behind a restricted access door. Despite her obvious employee ID badge and point of origin, the five officers with her instinctively tensed and moved in a tight circle around her. Mila, in her lovely pinstriped suit, stopped short, her eyes widening.
“Mila,” she said, moving out from the wall of bodies. “How can I help you?” she added, immediately defusing the tension.
“Jo— I mean, Ms. Peters said I could tag along today since the fundraiser host is a Goode Girl too,” she explained. “She hasn’t confirmed, but I thought maybe you could.”
George scanned her face for a hint of bullshit. She wouldn’t doubt that Josephine would agree to something like that and not tell her so she couldn’t veto her decision. But she also didn’t doubt that Mila would present a fairly innocent ruse to make some connections at the afternoon’s event. It’s what she would have done in her position. As she considered the second option, her lips curled in a lopsided smirk.
“Madam,” the female officer interrupted her deliberation. “We are on a tight schedule,” she added as if mortified to rush her.
“Fine,” she decided. “Come on. Josephine is probably already downstairs. I’m sure she’ll be delighted you’re coming.”
She and Mila stood at the center of a blue ring as they crammed themselves into the elevator. Keeping her body stiff and her eyes straight ahead, George made sure not to bump into Mila as they rode.
“Is it always like this?” Mila asked quietly, leaning over to speak in a whisper as if a pin drop wouldn’t be a sonic blast in the silent elevator.
As she moved, her perfume wafted toward George, setting her senses on fire. She was close enough to feel the warmth from her body, and it instantly transported her to the memory of her dance and her sweaty body moving in sensual rhythm.
George cleared her throat to chase away the thought. It was a dangerous thing even when she was alone, but in a tight space full of cops it made her feel like a criminal.
“No,” she replied truthfully. “It’s not usually like this.” Security was always important when she traveled, but in the Capitol and in the mansion she was kept safe in much less obvious ways.
As the elevator came to a stop in the underground parking garage, Mila’s hand brushed against hers. The urge to reach out and take it was so reflexive, George hardly had time to interrupt the signal from her brain before she did it.
Get it together, she chided before balling her left hand up into a fist.
Their footfalls echoed throughout the garage as they walked toward the caravan of black SUVs lined up behind rolled down gates. George recognized Josephine’s pant leg sticking out of one in the middle and realized they would have decoy cars. She swallowed the wave of nausea.
As they neared, a loud popping sound obliterated the silence and then everything moved in blur. The SUV door slammed shut with Josephine safely inside. The popping continued and was joined by yelling and frantic rushing around.
The blue ring that had been around her and Mila closed in. In a matter of seconds the officers shielded the women as they kept low to the ground and ran. With her heart pounding in her ears and dread boiling up in her belly, she was shoved into a secure panic room slightly bigger than a broom closet.
“What is this?” Mila asked breathlessly as she looked at the four bare cement walls and low LED lights set along the ceiling. “It’s like a jail cell and a tiny bunker had a baby.”
George battled her nausea, trying to forget what a small confined space they were in. All the hidden little rooms were sealed for security, and the idea of not being able to get out was as oppressive as the stale air around them. After shutting her eyes painfully tight, George pulled off her jacket as she took huge gulps of air. She was vaguely aware of the fact that Mila was still talking but struggled to focus on the image of a serene island vista. Wide open space. Clear blue waters. Swaying palm trees. Her breaths were shallow and jagged, but she tried her best.
“Are you okay? You’re really pale and you look like you might faint.” Mila grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth and a tight chest.
“Oh really? You usually flop sweat in a reasonably cool room?” Mila brushed back the hair that had stuck to her forehead.
George opened her eyes at the contact. The palm on her overheated cheek was soothing and refreshing. “I’m not sweating,” she said defiantly as beads of perspiration formed on her back and stuck to the lining of her dress.
“Sure you’re not,” Mila agreed as she dried her face. “Claustrophobia is very common. No need to hide it.”
George narrowed her eyes at the young woman’s barely contained smile. “I’m not claustrophobic,” she managed in as even a tone as she could muster.
“Just like you’re not sweating,” she replied with a lopsided grin. The dazzling white teeth and dimple assaulted George’s unsuspecting eyes. A new wave of adrenaline battered the haul of her chest. “I have a fear of flying,” she volunteered and pressed on each of her wrist’s pulse points with her thumbs. “Breathe in for four seconds and out for four seconds.”
George raised an eyebrow. A little breathing was not going to slow the panic attack she was wrestling into submission.
“I promise it helps,” she insisted as if reading her mind.
With eyes closed, George allowed herself to be guided in the breathing exercise without admitting she needed it. After a few full exhales, her head stopped throbbing and her heart no longer wanted to break out via her sternum.
“Better?” Mila asked softly as she opened her eyes.
Pride kept her from acknowledging that she did in fact feel significantly better.
“Yes,” Mila replied, lowering her voice to imitate George. “We’re fine. Thank you,” she finished convincingly enough. She waited in the dimly lit coffin until the officer walked away in apparent satisfaction. “That’s a relief,” she said as she turned her attention back to George. “Now I can take full advantage of the fact that you can’t run away from me.”
“Run away?” she parroted. “I don’t run away from anything.”
“No?” Mila challenged with a raised eyebrow as she moved closer. “Then why don’t you work out in your own gym anymore? And you barely talk to me even though we were in regular communication when you were pitching the bill? Even at the staff meetings. It’s like you don’t dare make eye contact with me.”
George didn’t like anything about her predatory stare or the confidence in her light sapphire eyes. She wanted to tell her she was imagining things, but her mouth was frozen in place. All she could do was look into her face and wait for the door to open. She did want to avoid her because it was the only solution to the impossible quandary.
“You don’t have to run from me,” she whispered as she closed the remaining gap and cupped George’s face.
“I can’t.” Her words were so heavy with regret that they were barely audible.
“You’re a strong, powerful woman. You can do anything,” Mila countered, her thumb rubbing her cheekbone as she spoke. Her eyes sparkled in the way George’s had when she was young and untested. The fire was contagious and rejuvenating.
In the silence of their prison, Mila leaned in. Her movements were slow and purposeful as if corralling a wild horse. The concern wasn’t unwarranted. George registered nothing but danger. She was torn between climbing up the bare walls like Spiderman or shutting down like an armadillo until the danger abated. But the sliver of selfishness, the bit that hadn’t sacrificed herself to her parents or public service, kept her feet glued to the ground.