Cold Hearted: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  Helen was a different beast entirely. Tim was off-limits to her, and vice-versa. He just hoped that his wife remembered that when she decided that she needed to pull on someone's strings. His, or Lara's, he didn't know who it would be first, but she was a spider and she knew which strings to pull.

  "Not this time, buddy. Brian, you want to talk to him?"

  Brian nodded and stepped over.

  "This is Brian. He's with the Secret Service–do you know what the Secret Service is?"

  Tim looked hurt. "They protect the President. Even babies know that."

  "They do a lot more than just that," Brian cut in, smiling and kneeling down to talk to the boy.

  "This is my friend Tim. Tim, Brian; Brian, Tim."

  Paul took a deep breath, his hand touching Lara's shoulder just for a moment. That would have to be enough to get him through the next few minutes, because if things had gone the way he expected that they had, then it was going to get uglier before it got better. He was tired of ugliness. But he'd decided to be President, and that meant that ugly was his stock and trade.

  "Helen?"

  She looked up as he stepped through the curtain. She was reading a magazine–a fashion magazine, he thought, though he couldn't see the cover, and the inside was nothing but advertisements.

  "Is there a problem?"

  "You want to talk to me about Stan?"

  "What about him?" She looked as innocent and doe-eyed as anyone had ever been, which was as clear an indicator that she'd done it as Paul had ever seen. She was never innocent, and only doe-eyed when she thought she needed an act.

  "I want to know why he decided to go off the reservation. I want to know whether or not you put him up to it." He sidled up onto the arm of her chair and looked down at her. There was a shadow of fear in her eyes, one that he was not opposed to encouraging.

  "I want to know why, because in an hour I'm going to be covered in reporters asking why we're pushing an unsubstantiated allegation about the President of the United States through our operatives, and I need to know why Stan wasn't thinking that the fuck through when he pushed it. Or whether someone else told him they'd thought it through and it was fine. Are you understanding my meaning here?"

  12

  The plane set down on the ground and Lara felt normal again. At least, for another hour or so. That was the lifestyle that she'd stepped into. Part of her wondered why exactly she had done it.

  She didn't need to be here. She didn't really want to be here. Was it for Tim's sake? Not likely. He was important to her, the most important thing in the world to her. But that didn't add up, and Lara wasn't fool enough to believe that it did.

  She was doing this for reasons that she didn't really understand, reasons that she didn't necessarily want to understand. After all, she wasn't just doing it so that Paul would care about her. Right?

  She wasn't that stupid, wasn't that shallow, wasn't that… petty. She didn't need him, and she didn't even know that she wanted him. She reminded herself for the fiftieth time that week what he'd done to her.

  Who knows–maybe he took her with him so that she could get dropped out of the plane at 30,000 feet and never be seen again. She'd heard some people on the internet suggesting that when people got close to Paul, and got too dangerous, they had a habit of disappearing.

  It didn't sound right, but it didn't sound wrong, either. Paul was a man who knew what he wanted and was more than willing to do what he had to in order to get it. That alone was enough to set her on edge.

  She swallowed hard and waited until the end to file off the plane, along with the press people. As if a woman with a child, no camera, and no press pass, might be a press agent. Someone would believe that in her dreams, maybe.

  But so far, nobody had questioned it. Paul didn't give any speeches this time. Quick and easy, photos on the steps, getting off, and then he was carted ahead into a car. Slowly but surely, same as every stop, she was shuffled forward into another car. Sometimes it was the same one, other times, it wasn't.

  This time, it was. What surprised her was the other passenger.

  "Helen," Lara said, hoping her voice sounded light. She smiled and then gave a pointed look at her son. Hopefully, the spiny bitch wouldn't have anything truly bad to say in front of a ten-year-old boy, but Helen had always been a woman full of surprises. "It's been a long time. How are you? This is my son, Tim. Tim, this is Paul's wife, Mrs. Green."

  "Hello, Mrs. Green," Tim offered dutifully. He held his hand out for a handshake and she took it gently. Helen managed to look like she didn't want to throw up, which was an improvement for her. Maybe she'd learned how to behave herself in the last ten years.

  Helen looked over the boy with a critical eye. "How old is he?"

  "Nine," Lara answered, hoping that none of them would give it much thought. Hoping desperately that they wouldn't bring up anything else.

  "And his father?"

  "He left," Tim offered, at the same time that Lara said "Out of the picture."

  "Oh?"

  Helen raised her eyebrows and Lara could see in her eyes that she was doing math in her head. Nine years, add nine months, and… hmm. Interesting.

  "I had a few nights out and, well, I don't know how much I have to tell you the rest."

  "So… oh, is that right?"

  She sounded like she believed none of it. Lara's stomach twisted up in a knot but she forced herself to keep as normal an expression on her face as possible.

  "So how's life? Any different as a Senator's wife than a District Attorney's wife?"

  "You know, you meet the most interesting people, living in D.C. You wouldn't guess who stopped by the other day. Sting! You know, the singer."

  Helen's smile was smug. Paul's lips had been pinched together from the moment that the women had started talking, but he somehow managed to keep his mouth shut.

  "Oh yeah? Very interesting. He seems very nice, from what I've been able to see."

  "Oh, very nice. Yes."

  Lara took a breath. "I just don't know how you do it, moving around all the time like this. I'd go crazy living a life like this."

  "We could always drop you back off," Helen offered, "if you and your son are feeling too tired."

  "I'm here to support my friends, even if it has been a long time," she said.

  She looked over at Tim. He looked like everyone in the car had suddenly started speaking Greek. It had only been ten years, but it felt like explaining all the history would take a hundred times that, and to a boy who wasn't quite ten years old would be that much more complicated.

  "Well, we're glad to have you around," Helen offered. It didn't take an F.B.I. agent to know that she was full of shit. But Lara smiled in spite of that.

  "Thanks, I'm glad to be here, even though it is a little hectic. It's good to be able to be involved in the process, you know?"

  "I'm sure it is," Helen said. They were silent a long time. There was plenty left to say, but Lara knew better than to say it. After all, some of it involved cursing, and she wasn't going to do that in front of her son.

  Lara had always wondered, dimly, how it was that Helen could manage to keep going with the charade. She wasn't sure that there was anyone in the world that the other woman could stand. Certainly, nobody had ever presented themselves as a friend of Helen's. Nobody who didn't want the connections, and then 'friend' was used very differently in that context anyways.

  But the answer was obvious. She got along with her husband because she had to. He was a tool to her, and presumably she went through life assuming that other people looked at the situation more or less the same way.

  That was, no doubt, why she disliked Lara so much. Lara was particularly ineffective at using people like tools. Paul was no exception. In fact, if anything, Paul was a broken tool that she just seemed to keep around for no apparent reason.

  She could never use him for much of anything, and she'd never asked for much. There was one thing she'd wanted from him, and it was the
one thing she knew she'd never get from him. Ten years ago, he'd reminded her that she'd never have him as hers, not really.

  Since then she thought she'd learned better.

  But if that was all she wanted, and she knew she'd never get it, Lara thought sourly, why was she here? Maybe, in this one case, Helen was right. If people were tools then she ought to know what she was getting out of the arrangement, because she certainly knew what she was giving.

  If she was being used, why not the other way around?

  13

  Paul laid his head back on the bed and did the math for the fifth time. Nine years old. If he had done the math then Helen had done the math, as well. Nine years, plus somewhere between nine and twenty months, and… well, it wasn't necessarily likely.

  She'd walked away from him ten years ago. If he tried hard to remember, it wasn't too hard to do the math, not at all. If she'd told him, if she'd come to him with it, then the choice would have been obvious. Whatever the reason that she walked away, if he were the father then he had every right to know about it.

  He rubbed his eyes and rolled over. She ought to have been there with him, he thought sourly. At least then he had something to distract his mind. But that would mean… he wasn't sure what it would mean.

  It would mean he'd made a choice that he wasn't at all prepared to decide on, yet. On the first night it had felt surreal, like nothing was going to touch him either way, so why not? And after, he was so high on… on Lara herself, that he asked her to come before he'd really thought it through.

  Having her around was one thing. Her and her son were like medicine. Like a battery charger, or something. Now that he had them, they were beyond useful.

  Ten years ago, he'd been able to fool himself into thinking that he could have it all. He'd fooled himself into thinking that she wanted everything as much as he did. Whatever her reasons, she'd more than demonstrated that he was too hasty in making those decisions, for himself and for her.

  He rolled over. The line of thought was putting him in a bad mood, and he needed to sleep more than anything. But he didn't sleep. Instead, in spite of himself, he thought.

  If he were to have her staying with him, it might give her the impression that it's all about sex. The truth was, if he never had sex with her again, then it would be enough just to have her around. If he did have sex with her again, well… that would be preferable. But it wasn't a deal-breaker by any means, and it was important that she knew it.

  He let out a breath and rolled over. As soon as his mind quieted itself he could finally sleep. At least, that was what Paul hoped. And as soon as he turned over he could quiet it. He'd barely been able to sleep more than an hour or two at a time, the past week and a half. Almost two weeks.

  And now that he was here, now that he was finally in a position to sleep… Nothing. Paul rubbed his eyes and stood up. There was a mini-bar on the far wall. He shouldn't drink, of course. He historically made decisions that weren't always the wisest when he was drunk. But then again, wise decisions were overrated.

  The alcohol didn't taste anything like what he wanted. Cheap and metallic. But it burned as it went down his throat, burned all the way down to his stomach, and that was enough because it had to be enough. He finished the miniature bottle in two mouthfuls and opened another.

  The alcohol at least quieted his mind for a moment, which was all he could hope for, Paul supposed. The other thing it did, the thing that was the exact reason he should have avoided it, was to turn off whatever part of him might have been thinking all that clearly.

  He picked up the phone and dialed. It was late; the clock on the bedside said it was past midnight. And maybe she wouldn't answer when the phone rang. Maybe her phone was set to silent. Maybe she was already asleep, and she slept right through the ringing. Maybe she was going to take a stand and let the phone ring even though she heard it, because he didn't control her.

  A woman's voice answered on the other end of the line. Lara's voice.

  "It's late."

  "I missed you," he told her. He wasn't supposed to mean it, but he did. He wasn't supposed to mean any of it, when he was talking to any of the women he'd been with. When it was someone else, it wasn't that hard.

  "Can it wait?"

  He took a breath. "I just needed to hear your voice," he said. "Good night."

  He pressed the button to hang up before she could say something else. Before he could think something else. He should have known better. He should have been better. Smarter, more distant.

  That, or he should have followed her to the ends of the earth ten years ago. But his damn feelings had gotten hurt and he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.

  His thumb tapped 'redial' before he could stop himself, and then the phone was already ringing again. He put it to his ear.

  "What?" She sounded irritated, but she was trying to hide it from him. She couldn't, though, not really. Not as well as she seemed to hope that she could. Not as well as she probably should have.

  "I need to ask you something," he said. His voice was thick and rocky and his throat hurt like he was about to lose his composure.

  "Okay?"

  "I need to know. Tim."

  "You need to know what?"

  "I need to know if he's mine," Paul said. His throat hurt and he could feel it tightening. As if he couldn't breathe. He sucked in air as hard as he could and held it.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. He imagined her sitting there biting her lip, deciding what to tell him. More likely, though, he told himself, she was sitting on the bed looking at her son. Maybe he had woken up, or he was turning over.

  "No, Paul. He's not."

  "What, then? The time fits."

  "The time fits because I was upset about… about what happened. So I, you know, I went out, and…" she paused again. "I made some mistakes in my life. Tim, he's not one of them. Okay? Go get some sleep."

  "Yeah. Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

  "I'm sure you will. Now go to bed."

  He set the phone down, his hands shaking. The explanation fit, and it fit well. He took a deep breath. Tim wasn't his. There was nothing to keep worrying about. He could rest easy, knowing that he hadn't screwed up.

  At least, whatever he'd screwed up, he hadn't left a woman pregnant and alone all because he got his feelings hurt and decided to get all independent.

  Everything else was immaterial compared to that. At least there was something he hadn't screwed up. He'd lied and cheated his way to the top, because you don't get to the top any other way.

  He'd married for convenience and for power, when he should have married a woman who could stand to be in his presence for more than ten minutes at a time.

  He'd gone after all the wrong things in life, up to this point, and made all the mistakes he could make. He used people for whatever they could do for him.

  But at least he hadn't corrupted the one good thing he'd ever done in his life.

  It was a small consolation, but it was enough. He rubbed the wetness from his eyes, laid down, and shut his eyes. The only thing that ran through his mind was the headache he hadn't realized he'd been nursing all evening until the rest of the cobwebs cleared. And that, at least, he could live with.

  14

  They were well and truly stuck with him. Lara and her son weren't necessarily planning on staying. She'd told Paul that, when they'd first joined. It was only as long as she wasn't uncomfortable. Only as long as she wanted to stay. The minute they wanted to leave, she was allowed. He'd told her as much.

  But there was a big gulf between being allowed to leave and being allowed to leave without any trouble. There was a big difference between being allowed to leave and being allowed to leave without having to ask permission.

  How much would it cost to jump on a plane right now? Jump on a plane back to Salt Lake City and forget the whole thing had happened? Well, Lara didn't know off hand–but it was easy to look up on her cell phone, and on her
cell phone it was easy to see that she didn't have almost eight hundred dollars to spare just to run off.

  Which meant that she was stuck on his terms; she would stay around, or she would have to ask him nicely to pretty please let her leave. Was that an acceptable option? She didn't know. That was what she had and she had to accept it.

  The die, as they said, had been cast. She had to play the game the way it was meant to be played, or change the rules. She took a deep breath. If she was going to be using people, then the question was, what did she need?

  She needed an education for Tim. That was one thing. Paul had picked up a tutor who was supposed to be flying with them. Like Tim was some kind of celebrity child who needed to be taught on the go, between concerts, like some kind of pop star.

  Well, that wasn't who her son was, but Lara wasn't about to complain if he was picking up a tutor for Tim. In some ways, one-on-one tutoring was probably better than anything that the local school could offer. That was something, at least.

  She wanted… what did she want? She thought she wanted to be left alone. Her life wasn't spent hungry for something that she didn't have. She had her son, she had her apartment, she had her television. She had a very comfortable bed, thank you, and a lovely refrigerator that had a pull-out box freezer that she liked quite a lot.

  Which raised the question of why she'd come along. Everything she liked, everything she loved, was at home. Everything but her son, and he'd been there just as much as he was here.

  It wasn't Paul that she'd come for, she reminded herself. He wasn't part of the deal, not really. There might be a bit of lovemaking, at some point, but it was always transactional with Paul. He got what he wanted and he paid the price for it.

  Ten years ago, apparently, he'd thought the price was to act like he cared about her; he had her convinced better than he'd realized, apparently, because she really believed him completely. So completely that when she thought she was going to give him good news… what she thought was good news, anyway, he had thrown her out. Because she'd gotten too close, he'd gotten too close. Because she'd believed him.