Caught in the Storm

by Brownell, Rachael

  I feel the stares from other club members as I make my way across the dining room and into the lobby. The bathroom door is in sight when someone grabs my arm, and I instinctively swing my purse at them.

  "Calm down," Garcia says.

  When I turn, I find him standing behind me, still gripping my arm. His partner is behind him, smirking at me. He must have seen me swat at him with my purse.

  I tug my arm free and run my hands down the front of my dress to make sure I still look presentable, and then I snap. "What?"

  "Johnathan asked us to accompany you," he informs me, motioning toward the ladies’ room.

  "No," I state firmly. "I'm a big girl. I can use the restroom alone."

  "Unfortunately that's not an option. We'll sweep the restroom to make sure it's clear and then wait by the door until you're finished."

  Garcia's words are firm. There's no point in arguing with him. Johnathan's not even here, yet he's controlling the situation.

  "Do whatever you have to do," I relent, hanging my head.

  I stare at the floor in front of me. Garcia's dress shoes disappear from my view, and a pair of rugged work boots appear in their place. The partner with the intense green eyes.

  "You know, he means well," he says when I don't look up.

  "He's an asshole," I mutter.

  "Are we talking about Johnathan or Garcia because both fit the mold."

  My head whips up, anger coursing through my veins. He has no right to talk about Johnathan that way. He always has my best interests at heart, no matter if I understand it or not.

  Garcia is the asshole. He's rude and abrasive and I don't trust him. He gives off a vibe I can't put my finger on. Dirty cop, maybe?

  "For the record," he begins before I can say anything, "I was referring to Garcia when I said he means well."

  Relaxing slightly, I nod my head. What do I say to this guy? I have no idea who he is, and I'm not sure I can trust him since I can't trust his partner. His vibe is different, though.

  He radiates with kindness. His smile is genuine. He's tall and strong, yet I get the impression he's a gentle giant. Is that even possible? For someone to be in a position of power, a protector, and gentle at the same time? Johnathan seems to be, and I thought he was a diamond in a sea of gemstones.

  Is Ayers a diamond as well?

  Searching his eyes for the truth, for any sign of the person he may be, I'm surprised to find pain and uncertainty. Worry and concern. He's sharing a mix of emotions with me, and all he's doing is looking at me.

  "All clear," Garcia booms from behind me.

  Breaking eye contact, I retreat to the restroom, both men following me, stopping outside the door. They don't speak to each other, but they share a look, Garcia glaring at Ayers when he thinks I'm not watching.

  There's bad blood between them. Distrust. Something has Garcia on edge.

  Tossing the hand towel in the garbage, I'm about to open the door when I hear them arguing on the other side. Pressing my ear to the wood, I attempt to listen in on their conversation, but I can barely make out what they're saying.

  Stay away.

  Keep your mouth shut.

  This is a warning.

  Move on.

  He needs to pay.

  Innocent.

  Accusations.

  That's the last I can make out before their argument ends. When I open the door, they're each on their respective sides of the door, standing to their full heights, arms crossed over their chests. They look like bickering children who have just been scolded. That's when I spot Johnathan across the room.

  Ignoring them, I hurry to where he's waiting and take his extended hand.

  "My mother ordered you dessert even though you declined," he whispers in my ear, kissing me on the temple. His kiss lingers for a moment longer than necessary.

  Looking over my shoulder when we finally walk back inside the restaurant, I see Ayers staring in my direction as Garcia yells at him. Something is definitely wrong between them. I sure hope they act more professionally when they work together on cases. I can't imagine things go well when they fight on the job.

  "You know how much I love you, right?" Johnathan asks as we approach the table. His parents are standing, and his mother's smile has grown even bigger in my absence.

  "Of course I do," I reply, smiling up at him.

  The first time he told me he loved me, I mentally freaked out. I had only been here two days. We'd barely left the bedroom. I thought he was drunk on sex and didn't know what he was saying. We were cuddled on the couch, watching the sun set over the gulf out the open patio doors. I was almost asleep on his shoulder, having been ravished by him all day.

  The words came out so naturally I almost didn't believe what I heard at first. Then they registered, and my heart skipped a beat or two. I said it back because I didn't want to make things awkward. I didn't want to ruin the perfection of the moment.

  Then he said it again the next day. And the next. And now I look forward to hearing him say it every morning before he leaves for work and every night as we crawl into bed. And when I say it back to him, I truly mean it. There's no hesitation in my voice or my heart.

  "Good, because there's something I'd like to ask you," he says, pulling me to a stop and dropping to one knee.

  Holy shit!

  Is he about to propose? We've only been seeing each other for a few months. This is too soon. How can he be certain this is what he wants? I don't even know if this is what I want.

  Do I love him? Yes.

  Do I want to spend the rest of my life with him? I'm not sure.

  "Amelia Abigail Anderson, I think I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you. I'm not sure I even knew what love was until you came into my life. I can't imagine not having you by my side, and I hope I never have to. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the entire state of Texas?"

  His words seem to echo through the restaurant. No one is making a sound, waiting for my answer.

  I'm not sure I want to marry him, or that I want this life, but I do love him, and the last thing I want to do is embarrass him in front of his family and a good portion of his constituents. That would be bad for his campaign.

  Pressing my lips together and closing my eyes, I force myself to nod in acceptance. I feel him slide a ring on my finger and then pick me up and twirl me around as people begin to cheer. When I open my eyes, I'm facing the entrance to the restaurant, and I'm met with a set of familiar eyes.

  Ayers.

  He's staring at us. Shock written all over his face. Anger in his stare.

  Garcia is by his side, his signature smirk ever present. He knew what was going to happen but Ayers didn't. It appears Ayers doesn't like what he sees. What I don't understand is why.

  Why he cares.

  Why it bothers him.

  And now I'm beginning to wonder why he was fighting with his partner outside the bathroom door.

  I'll have to ponder that later because my mother-in-law-to-be is pulling me in her arms, whispering congratulations in my ear. I have more important things to focus on right now. Ayers isn't anywhere close to the top of this list.

  Eighteen

  Johnathan

  She said yes. Well, she nodded, and I'll take that.

  Clearly, she was shocked. Hell, she should have been. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have proposed to her for at least another year. But that's not our situation. I needed to make sure she was mine. To solidify our relationship to the press.

  I want voters to see me as a grounded man.

  Putting down roots seemed like the best move all around.

  It can improve my image on many levels. I'm here to stay. I'm a family man. I'm trustworthy.

  That's the most important level in my opinion. And to emphasize that point, I made sure Ayers was here tonight to witness our engagement.

  The fucking idiot.

  He's still hunting for clues. Still thinks he can prove my guilt when he has n
othing. Not one ounce of evidence. I'm hoping this will kick him in the dick. Maybe then he'll take a step back and leave me the hell alone.

  Garcia's keeping an eye on him for me, but he can't watch him every second of every day. We tried when shit first hit the fan. I needed Garcia by my side, though. Reporters were everywhere. Accusations were being thrown around. Details exaggerated.

  Hell, at one point I wasn't permitted in my residence for three days so they could search the property.

  Ayers must think I'm an idiot. Or maybe he's the idiot. Did he think I would leave clues sitting around my house for anyone to see?

  Hell no!

  The moment shit started to heat up, I buried that shit. Well, not exactly buried. It's always within reach yet out of sight.

  Some people have a hidden safe behind an expensive painting. The first place the police would look if they wanted sensitive information. Not me. I have an entire room hidden behind a built-in bookcase in my office. No one knows about it, not even Garcia. I built the bookshelf myself and the only way to access the hidden room is using my handprint.

  Good luck getting in there. No one's getting in there unless I'm dead, and at that point, I couldn’t give a shit less if you uncover my darkest secrets.

  Garcia is waiting in the lobby for us to leave. As requested, he sent an anonymous text to the press as soon as I dropped to one knee. We need them here to capture the moment. The headlines tomorrow will include pictures of the happy couple, Amelia's ring, and the smile on her face.

  Only, her smile is hesitant as we get ready to leave the restaurant. She hasn't even glanced at her ring yet. Something is off.

  "Can you give us a minute," I say to Garcia and Ayers, pulling Amelia down the hall. Her excitement needs to be seen and felt in every photo. We can't walk out those doors until I know it will. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she retorts quickly. Too quickly. As if she knew what I was going to ask.

  "Amelia, I can see something’s wrong. Please talk to me."

  I want to tell her there are a dozen reporters outside waiting to take her picture, but that will only make her retreat into her shell more. She's doing better about the constant press, but I can tell it still gets to her.

  "It's just..." she begins, her voice trailing off.

  "Whatever it is, just be honest with me." I tip her head up so she's looking in my eyes. I want her to see my sincerity. I want her to feel my love.

  And I do the best I can to put every ounce of emotion my body has into that one moment. I'm good at faking it, and she's normally great at buying what I'm selling, but this is different.

  "Don't you think this is all happening a little soon?" she finally asks.

  "I think when two people love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together, it's never too soon to start that life. We're already living together, and with the campaign about to get busy, I wanted to make sure you knew you were a priority in my life. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you and only you, Amelia. We can get married in a week or a year, it's your choice. Whenever you're ready, but no, I don't think this is too soon. I think everything happens for a reason, and you walking into my life was the best thing that happened to me. I'll never forget that moment, and I never want to lose that feeling."

  Wow! Even I'm surprised by how thick I laid that on. Hell, I even started to believe my lies by the time I was done. Let's hope she did too.

  It takes a minute, but a smile slowly begins to spread across her face.

  "Okay, but I don't want to get married next week."

  Trapping her against the wall with my body, I kiss her until she's breathless. It's a slow, gentle, sensual kiss, but it has the effect on her I was going for. She's radiating with happiness and her smile is genuine by the time I pull away.

  "I hate to tell you, but there's press outside, I'm sure. Are you ready to flash them a smile and your bling?" I take her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze as I lead her back to the lobby.

  "Nope, but for once they're getting a real smile, so they'll have to take what they can get."

  That's when she finally looks down at her hand, twisting her wrist in the light. Her ring catches every light in the room, creating a sparkle. I twisted it in every direction at the store looking for the same effect.

  "Jesus, Johnathan!" she exclaims. "I didn't realize it was so big."

  "Now, now," I bend down and whisper in her ear as we pass Garcia and Ayer. "You know exactly how big it is, and if you've forgotten, I'll show you when we get home."

  This elicits a giggle from Amelia and a swat at my chest with her ring-adorned hand. It also earns me a glare from Ayers. His eye narrow, and I can feel them burning into the back of my head as we step out into the madness.

  Reporters everywhere.

  Cameras flash from every direction. Over and over again, blinding me momentarily.

  Everyone's calling Amelia's name, asking her to hold up her ring. She happily obliges as I wrap my arm around her waist, brushing my fingertips over her ass cheeks in the process. She shudders against me, and my smile grows.

  The valet finally pulls up with Amelia's car, and I usher her inside the passenger seat while Ayers and Garcia hold the reporters back. I'll make a formal statement on Monday. That'll give them the weekend to speculate over our engagement, and when the buzz begins to die down, I'll ramp it back up.

  "What about your car?" she asks when I climb in the driver’s seat and shut the door.

  "Garcia will bring it home."

  Checking the mirrors, I notice Ayers staring in our direction. The douchebag. He just can't let it go.

  He's not staring at me this time, though. He's staring at Amelia, and she's staring back.

  Screw the mirrors.

  Pulling away, Amelia continues to stare out the window as we make our way back to the house. As I'm waiting for the gate to open, a set of headlights appears in the driveway behind us.

  Garcia shouldn't be here this quickly. He was told to give us a head start, time to get inside.

  "Lock the doors." I hit the button to stop the gate from opening any further and step out of the car.

  "What? Why?"

  "Just do it."

  "Isn't that Garcia?"

  "I don't think so."

  As soon as I hear the doors lock, I slowly make my way to the car idling behind us. The silver body of the SUV shines in the streetlight, and I immediately know who's behind us. That car used to occupy a space in my garage. I bought it brand new just over a year ago. I've fucked in the back seat and been given head while driving it. On more than once occasion.

  It's roomier than it looks.

  I can't believe he has it. Even more so, I can't believe he's driving it. I didn't realize they released it from impound. Or maybe they didn't and he's driving it without permission.

  That wouldn't surprise me. He's hanging on by a thread and trying to find any way to get under my skin. It's starting to work, but I can't let him see that.

  "You have some nerve showing up here," I say when he rolls down the window.

  "Just wanted to say congratulations." Sarcasm drips from each word.

  "Like hell."

  "Well, not to your fiancée. I'd never congratulate her. She just made the biggest mistake of her life, other than already getting involved with you."

  "If choosing to be happy is a mistake, then she sure has."

  Damn it. I'm losing my edge. There are a million other things I could have said to him, and instead, I made myself sound like a sap.

  "Does she know who you really are? Does she have any idea of the things you've done? The people you've hurt? My guess is no or else she wouldn't be wearing that ridiculously giant rock you bought her. Overcompensating for something?"

  Arrogant prick. I want to break his jaw, but the last time I tried, he barely flinched and my hand was swollen for almost a week.

  "Leave or I'll call the cops and report you for trespassing."

  "
I am the cops," he quips.

  "You're a cop, but you're not the entire force."

  "You're right. If I was, you'd be behind bars where you belong."

  "So you keep saying, yet there's no evidence to prove your theory. You should really move on already. I have."

  Ayers hollers after me, but I ignore him. He wants the last word, but I won't give him the satisfaction. Knocking on the window, Amelia unlocks the car doors just in time to hear him squeal his tires on the pavement as he drives off.

  "Who was it?" she asks as I drive through the gates, quickly closing them behind me and watching to make sure no one followed us.

  "A reporter who wanted an exclusive. He got upset when I told him no," I lie through my teeth.

  "Geez. You'd think they'd at least give you privacy at your own home."

  "They do, normally. He knows I'll give someone the exclusive, and he was trying to get a jump on it. He just screwed himself, though. Had he not followed us, he may have been the lucky one."

  "An exclusive on what?"

  "The engagement. The wedding. All of it."

  Amelia falls silent as I pull into the garage. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Her doubt is creeping in again, and I need to make sure to erase it before it takes hold of her.

  "You know, if you want, we can skip the exclusive and elope. Get away from here, from the press, and get married somewhere private without the flash of cameras and the constant questions. We'd have to bring my parents or they'd never forgive you, though."

  "It's not that. I want a wedding where we can invite our friends and family. I want to celebrate our marriage, not hide it. I just don't understand why people are so interested in your personal life. We're just like any other couple."

  If that's what she needs to believe, that's what I want her to believe. The truth is, we're not like any other couple. I'm a senator, and with that comes the responsibility of sharing my life with my constituents. Like it or not. She'll learn that, in time, and get used to it. It's going to take her a while, but if I can make this wedding happen before the election, before the press really fires back up, then it'll be harder for her to walk away.