SCOTUS: A Powerplay Novel

by Selena Laurence

  Fuck. Yeah.

  Deanna slumped forward against Teague. His broad chest was firm and warm, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. Good God. That was the mother of all orgasms, and she’d had it on a train underneath the DC streets, with a man she’d wronged so badly, there was no way to ever make up for it.

  And she would deal with all that…in a few minutes.

  Teague’s big hand rubbed circles on her back as he murmured things in her ear that she couldn’t really follow. Her entire body was buzzing, her hearing was muted, and she wasn’t sure she could open her eyes.

  “You okay?” she finally heard him say as he slowly removed his hand from her…well, from there. It caused a small aftershock to ripple through her, and her breath caught. She’d always wondered where Teague got his skills. He’d only been twenty when she met him, but already he’d seemed to be plenty practiced, and she had to say that the years apart had only made him better at all of it. He was a seduction machine. She didn’t stand a chance.

  Just as she lifted her head off his shoulder, the lights suddenly snapped back on, and the public announcement system said that security had given the train clearance to continue.

  She blinked for a second, then looked down at the two of them in horror. Her skirt had torn on one side seam, from the hem two inches up her leg. Teague’s shirt was wrinkled where she’d been biting him like some sort of wild animal. The train started moving, and her heart flailed in her chest.

  “Shit!” she cried out, scrambling off his lap and tugging her skirt down, lamenting the wrinkles that had taken up residence while it was shoved around her waist.

  She smoothed it down, frantically tugging her blouse into place, then reaching for her purse to get a mirror so she could fix her hair.

  “Dee?” His voice was soft but commanding. She ignored it and kept digging through her bag.

  He stood and put a hand on her wrist, stopping her.

  She looked up at him, and her heart flipped completely over, a painful wave spreading beneath her rib cage.

  “Don’t do this,” he warned.

  “Jesus, Teague, you’re late to a confirmation hearing for the United States Supreme Court, and I put a mark on your neck.” She pointed to the spot just beneath his ear where a dark mark had bloomed from her overeager teeth.

  He chuckled. “It’s okay.” He adjusted his collar, tightened his tie, and brushed off his shirt to smooth it. “Look, all fine.” He smiled, but it didn’t assuage her guilt. He was about to enter a hostile room full of the nation’s most powerful people, and she’d distracted him, split his focus, and mussed up his perfect clothes.

  The train lurched before slowing.

  “We shouldn’t have done this,” she said, reaching for her briefcase. “I’m so sorry.” She slung the strap over her shoulder and began moving toward the doors, holding on to the grab handles as she went.

  “Dee,” Teague said, his voice gravelly. She stopped at the door, her back to him. “This isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”

  “Worry about your confirmation hearing,” she said. “The only woman you owe anything to right now is the president. Make her proud.”

  The train halted, and the doors slid open. “Like you always have me,” she said quietly before she left the train without turning back.

  Chapter 7

  The first hearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee was softball, the senators playing nice to relax the nominee. Deanna sat for two hours, her heart racing, palms sweating as she watched Teague remain cool as a cucumber, answering complex questions of constitutional interpretation. They stuck primarily to his professional background, and the main issue raised by the opposition was that he hadn’t previously held a judicial position. He responded to that by reminding them that while it was unusual, there had been an occasional justice who hadn’t come through the standard federal court of appeals path.

  “Senator Johnson,” Teague had said. “The purpose of nominating current appeals court justices to the Supreme Court is that it provides a public record of their constitutional and ideological views. It’s a litmus test, if you will. I can’t provide that to you, so instead I give you ten years’ worth of very public legal journal case studies and other constitutional interpretations that I’ve written and published. If that volume and breadth of work doesn’t tell you where I come down on these issues, then no amount of serving in a court of appeals judgeship will.”

  Admittedly, Deanna was biased, but she thought he handled it brilliantly. And she gave a little thank-you to the universe that he did, because when he walked into the committee room a minute after her and nearly ten minutes after the meeting was set to begin, she was so riddled with guilt that she could hardly sit still.

  She knew it wasn’t her fault the trains had been delayed, and she knew he’d been a participant in their shenanigans while they waited, but she could have stopped it—should have stopped it—for his good as well as hers. Because he was about to be appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States, and she was poison to him. She’d proven that when she broke him right before he went to law school. He was where he was today in spite of her, and she needed to remember that no matter how much she wanted him, she didn’t deserve him.

  When the hearing ended, she quickly made her way out. Teague had seen her, giving her a heated look that she knew translated to Don’t move, but she’d ignored it and scooted out the door as quickly as the crowd of journalists and Hill staffers would allow.

  Her feet led her street side, and she knew it was because she couldn’t bear to get on the Capitol underground again. The images of Teague’s face as he held her, the sensations of his tongue laving her skin, his fingers filling her. Yeah, no trains for a while.

  She Ubered back to her office building and settled into her desk to write up the summary of the hearings.

  “How’d the first hearing go?” Brice asked as he came into her cubicle and parked a hip on the edge of her desk.

  Deanna rolled her chair back as much as the space would allow so that she could see his face and not his midsection while she talked to him. His oblivious disregard for personal space irritated her sometimes.

  “It was fine. The majority party members didn’t probe, and the opposition doesn’t seem to have anything concrete to harass him with.”

  Brice nodded, crossing his arms. “We need more out of this. The paper is getting hammered by cable news on the whole thing. They’re able to file a report immediately after they walk out of the hearings, complete with video of Roberts strolling out of the building looking like a million bucks. Apparently, the nominee is quite popular with the women of America. Guess he’s a looker?”

  Deanna felt her face flush. “I really hadn’t paid much attention,” she muttered.

  “Well, that’s what I’m hearing anyway. The point is, WNN had already put it all on live before you even got back to your desk. If we don’t have something deeper—the story behind the superficial glimpses the cable channels are providing—then we have nothing.”

  Deanna’s stomach churned. “I can’t make a story where there isn’t one, Brice.”

  He nodded. “I get that, but my twenty years in this business are telling me that there’s something more to this guy. He grew up in the projects of Chicago. Who gets out of a place like that with a pristine history? Maybe he did a stint in a gang, has a juvy record that’s been sealed or something like that. He’s obviously got some serious street smarts given what he did to those muggers the night before his nomination. Also, I just noticed this morning that he went to Cornell with you?”

  Deanna swallowed. “Yeah, but he’s a couple of years older than me. I mean, I vaguely remember having seen him walking around campus, but that’s all.” Shit, these were career-ending lies she was telling now.

  “Well, check in with some old college friends, see if any of them remember anything. You’re known for digging up this kind of stuff. The paper really needs you to do your job here.”

&n
bsp; Deanna snapped with irritation. “I always do my job, but I won’t manufacture dirt on a Supreme Court nominee. You’re just going to have to trust that I’m covering all the bases and if there’s anything worth following, I’ll be doing it. It’s what I’ve won all the awards for—it’s the reason you hired me, so let me do my job.”

  Brice put his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry if I tread too far. I’m not asking you to fabricate anything, I promise. I just have the editorial board breathing down my neck night and day, and there’s not a hell of a lot else going on right now that we can lead with.”

  Deanna sighed. “I know. I know you’re only pushing because you have to.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Some days I think I should just have gone the television route.”

  Brice snorted as he pushed off her desk and took a step to the doorway. “You’d have died of boredom in a month.”

  “True,” she said, and they both chuckled. “I’ll let you know the minute anything worthwhile pops up.”

  Brice went back to his own office, and Deanna laid her head back on her chair. She could still taste Teague on her, smell his cologne, visualize his hazel eyes, and hear his deep voice. God, she was going to ruin her whole life over this. But she couldn’t tell what she knew. She owed Teague at least that much after what she’d done, and she owed it to Roland too. For him to suddenly become the subject of a national scandal? He deserved as much peace as he could get.

  No, Deanna would never tell a soul what she knew about Teague’s past, but she also had to make damn sure that no other enterprising reporter found out about it. So she picked up her briefcase and purse and pulled out her phone as she walked to the elevators.

  Are you up for some lunch? she texted.

  The reply was immediate: Always. Meet me at the taco truck?

  Be there in ten minutes, she responded.

  A twinge of guilt snaked through her belly, but she tamped it down, because no matter who she had to use to keep Teague’s secret, she’d do it. She could never make up for that awful day twelve years ago, but she’d make damn sure that she helped him reach his dreams. After all, she’d never have hers, so someone needed to win in all this.

  Deanna stood at the taco truck, balancing a chicken soft taco and a bottle of Sriracha sauce in one hand and a drink in the other.

  “Here, let me hold one of those for you,” Marcus Ambrose, WNN’s chief political reporter, said.

  “Just put the Sriracha on for me. Medium amount.”

  He took the bottle from her and squeezed a river of it onto her taco.

  “Medium, Marcus. Jesus,” she complained as she tilted her head to lick the sauce dripping out one end of the taco.

  He laughed. “That’s a guy’s medium. I can’t help if you have a different definition for it.”

  “I guess you never put the Sriracha on your wife’s food.”

  “Renee’s not a big fan of the stuff. Which is why I have to come to lunch here to get my fix.” He put the sauce back on the counter of the truck, then gestured to a bench a few feet away near the curb of the street. They wove through the lunchtime crowd lining the sidewalk and sat with their food.

  “So, what did you think of the hearing this morning?” he asked, taking an enormous bite from one of his four tacos.

  “It looked like it went about as smoothly as one of those can. Roberts seems very competent,” Deanna said, not letting on that she had a history with Teague. That was a tidbit no one could find out about or she could have a conflict of interest and the story would be assigned to someone else—someone who wouldn’t be committed to hiding Teague’s secret.

  “Yeah, he’s a very bright guy, and while it was a unique choice by the president since he hasn’t served as a judge before, I don’t see how anyone’s going to be able to question his qualifications.”

  Deanna was careful to adopt a nonchalant tone for her next question. “So, you aren’t hearing any rumors about him, are you? I can’t find anything, and I’ve dug until my hands are bloody. He looks clean to me.”

  Marcus took another big bite, then a swig of his soda. After he’d swallowed the mouthful, he nodded. “I agree. I actually know Teague—not well, but he’s a friend of my brother, so we’ve been at events together a few times—my brother’s wedding and stuff like that.”

  Deanna had no idea Teague was friends with Derek Ambrose. Her brows lifted. “So, Roberts hangs out with your brother? And isn’t your brother good friends with the First Gentleman too?”

  Marcus chuckled. “Yeah, Derek’s friends are pretty top tier.”

  “I’d say.” She considered that for a moment. “So, how do you handle it if you do find something unflattering about one of your brother’s friends? Are you caught between a rock and a hard place?”

  He took a sip of soda. “Derek and I have an agreement. We had to when I came to work in DC. The fact is he knows everyone—and is either friends or enemies with them. I can’t take a step in any direction without coming across something that might be a conflict of interest. He knows that I’m going to do my job regardless of his affiliation with the subjects.”

  She looked at him and saw a flicker of something that made her question the veracity of what he’d just said, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

  “But to answer your earlier question, I haven’t heard anything negative about Roberts except what you have, which is mostly said by old white senators who think he’s too young for the job.”

  Deanna snorted. “Which means too black, right?”

  “You catch on fast.”

  “I was raised by people like those old white senators. I’ve become pretty familiar with the signs.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Yeah, it’s obvious once you realize what’s going on. Teague handled it beautifully, in my opinion.”

  Deanna agreed as she popped the last bite of taco in her mouth and chewed.

  “So, you aren’t hearing anything juicy and I’m not either.” She sighed dramatically. “My boss is on my case about a unique take on the nomination because you guys scoop us with all the mundane details.”

  “Yeah, well, he should have thought about that before he stuck with print,” Marcus scoffed.

  “I made the decision to stick with it too, so don’t go down that road. There’s still a place for print in this digital world, and normally I’d agree with my boss that in-depth investigative pieces are that place. But our nominee looks squeaky clean to me.”

  Marcus shrugged before tossing his empty taco wrappers in the trash bin next to their bench. “I have to agree with you. Maybe you can do a story on the history of African Americans and the court. The Supreme Court’s done as much for civil rights as any other single entity in the history of the country. In a way, Teague Roberts’s nomination to the court is because the court itself enabled people like him to be nominated.”

  Deanna’s heart squeezed, and she took a deep breath. “You’ll recall that I was raised by people like the old white senators? I’m not sure I’m the right person to write about civil rights.”

  They stood and made their way through the crowd around the taco truck and down to the intersection at the end of the block.

  “Do you think Roberts is unqualified for the Supreme Court because he’s black?” Marcus asked with a furrow between his brows.

  “Of course not. I think, in fact, that he’s extremely qualified and will make a very good justice.”

  “Then I don’t see the problem.”

  She pressed the button to cross the street. Marcus would go the other direction to his own office.

  “I had a black boyfriend in college,” she told him, locking her gaze on his. “We were engaged. My parents said I was dooming my future children to a lifetime of discrimination and prejudice. I allowed myself to be swayed by them and broke up with him. Because he was black, Marcus. I haven’t earned the right to discuss Teague Roberts’s race or anything to do with it.”

  An
d as she walked away from him, she reminded herself that she hadn’t earned the right to have a damn thing to do with Teague Roberts. He was too good for her, and he always would be.

  Chapter 8

  Teague sat behind his desk in his top floor office suite overlooking the Capitol building. He’d been staring at it for the last forty minutes. Getting no work done.

  Because all he could do was think about her—Deanna—her plush lips, her breathy moans, the way she felt pulsing around his fingers. He tossed a pen down on the desktop and growled in frustration.

  He could still remember the first time he’d seen Deanna Forbes. He was a junior at Cornell, she was a brand-new freshman, and he’d looked across a crowded room at a frat party and seen her. That had been it. Like some sort of fucking movie.

  He shook his head, chuckling at the kid he’d been and the fact that he still felt so many of those things when he looked at her. If only it were all as simple as it had been fourteen years ago. He’d made his way through that crowd, his eyes locked on her the entire time. By the time he reached her, he already knew the way she tilted her head when her friend spoke to her, and the way her smile curved her cheeks when the douche hitting on her said something funny. He’d already memorized the way her mahogany hair curled along her shoulder and the slope of her neck as it dipped to her chest.

  The rest of that night was a blur to him. He knew he’d walked right up to her and said something like “I saw you from across the room and had to meet you” and she’d blinked up at him and responded with “I’m glad you did. I’m Deanna.”

  They’d shaken hands and gone through the whole small-talk routine, but the entire time, his heart had been pounding, and he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t stop looking at her, wanting to touch her, craving her voice and her scent. She’d utterly intoxicated him in the span of mere moments, and by the time midnight rolled around and her friends were ready to go back to their dorm, he would have done just about anything to spend more time with her.