The Senator's Secret (A Presidential Affair Book 1)

by Jennifer Rebecca

  Table of Contents

  The Senator’s Secret

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Also by Jennifer

  About the Author

  Caught by the Chief of Staff

  Acknowledgements

  The Senator’s Secret

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Rebecca

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imaginations and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by

  Alyssa Garcia

  www.upliftingauthorservices.com

  Editing by

  Kayla Robichaux

  For more information about Jennifer Rebecca & her books, visit:

  www.jenniferrebeccaauthor.com

  The Senator’s Secret

  My carefully crafted life is being threatened.

  Someone wants to tarnish my squeaky-clean image. I make my living cleaning up the messes left behind by New York’s elite. But what happens when my life becomes the mess I avoid so carefully?

  Can I trust the one man I swore to hate forever, the sexy U.S. Senator—whose name is on everyone’s lips and whose body is rumored to be in every woman’s bed—to help me?

  I guess a little blackmail never looked so sexy…

  For Alyssa,

  You’re the Shirley to my Laverne,

  The Ethel to my Lucy,

  The Nutella to my peanut butter,

  The Coke to my whiskey,

  The best to my friend,

  The sister of my heart.

  You ground me when I’m adrift.

  You keep me going when things get tough.

  I love the way you life,

  And I am forever grateful to be a part of your family.

  #JenandAlyssatravel

  “Camelot Has Its Queen”

  Prologue

  Crashing Down

  “No. No, no, no, no, no!”

  This can’t be happening. My hands shake as I flip through picture after picture. How could this have happened?

  I’ve been so careful. I have meticulously watched every move I have ever made throughout my entire life. I never drink too much or eat too much. I have never partaken in recreational pharmaceuticals or otherwise. I don’t stay out late and party. And every lover I have ever had has been not only respectable but also discreet. Hell, the last two signed Non-Disclosure Agreements.

  I just don’t know how this could’ve even happened.

  My heart is beating so fast in my chest I feel like I might be sick. Drops of sweat are trickling down from my temples and between my breasts, and my skin is flushed hot.

  But anyone looking in the windows of my palatial corner office would see exactly what I want them to. This is what I show the world every day, that I am calm, cool, and collected. I keep myself poised and in control no matter what. My hair is pulled back in a perfect ballet bun on top of my head, my makeup is light and tasteful, and my suit is Chanel. I don’t play around. I have worked way too hard for my career. My reputation precedes me all over town—and this town is an important one.

  I let the stack of glossy drug store one-hour prints fall on top of the plain manila envelope they came in where it sits on top of my mahogany desk. In secret, I call it my fancy desk. It sits proud with its elegant scrollwork carved along the edges.

  I didn’t grow up like this. My parents are respected attorneys here in New York, but I made the family name a commodity in high-power circles, where they need me and desperately want to know me.

  I recoil from the envelope as if it’s a rattlesnake sitting on my desk and not the stack of worthless paper that it is. But my conscience whispers that it’s not worthless. This envelope of pictures could be very valuable in the right—or should I say wrong—hands. There are plenty of people here in New York who would just love to get their hands on this caliber of ammunition to use against me.

  This package was sent to my office by courier with my name type-printed on the front and a note inside written in thick block letters.

  I’ll be in touch.

  Don’t say a word.

  I’m sure if I took it to the police, there would be no fingerprints either. But I can’t do that. If I go to the police, this will be all over town and it will ruin my reputation. And my reputation is everything.

  The worst part: I didn’t even do it.

  I tap the red-painted sole of my black patent leather Louboutins on the carpet. It’s the only outward sign of my distress, and I keep that shit thoroughly hidden behind my desk. Now the question is, how do I proceed? I need to figure out what to do to keep my world from crashing down and fast.

  I pick up my cellphone—the latest model that hasn’t even been announced yet—and slide my carefully manicured index finger up the dark glass. It scans my face and unlocks. I scroll through my contacts until I see the one I don’t want to dial with every fiber of my being. I stare it down like it’s a bomb ticking down every second before it explodes in my face—just like I know this decision will later—before I finally force myself to take a deep breath and hit the Call button.

  “Hello?” a whiskey-smooth voice answers. I hate that the sound of him makes me furious and my panties wet. This is definitely an unwelcome predicament.

  “I need your help,” I say. The words taste like sawdust on my tongue, and acid churns in my belly.

  “What an interesting turn of events,” he replies, and I detest how damn happy he sounds. As if my fall from greatness is something to be celebrated. Of course, he doesn’t know that my life is hanging precariously in the balance.

  “Don’t sound so smug,” I warn my adversary. “This affects you as much as it does me.”

  “Like I said—interesting. Meet me at the Magic Boarding House Tavern at eight o’clock,” he says. “I’ll be waiting.”

  I open my mouth to issue a witty putdown, but I’m too late. A dial sound goes off in my ear, letting me know that slimeball hung up on me.

  My only hope now is that he can get me out of this mess. I know it’s going to cost me; I just hope it’s a price I’m able to pay for in one way or another. And also that I can stay strong and resist a certain U.S. senator with less than questionable morals and his stupid dimples, because sex and blackmail certainly don’t mix.

  “Jake’s Big Snake Tell-All”

  Chapter 1

  Don’t look

  Thirty-six hours earlier

  I knew he would be here.

  I turn quickly so Senator Chancellor can’t catch my eye. I know it sounds childish, but I just can’t stand the man. Actually, it’s more than I just can’t stand him. He’s
never been rude or crass to me, quite the opposite actually. He is always charming and polite. He’s beyond good-looking, with a he-knows-it arrogance that speaks volumes of his confidence. He’s aware of how sexy he is, and so does every woman in a fifty-mile radius.

  Maybe that’s what bothers me. My grandmother used to tell me that “no one would buy the ice-cream truck if you were handing out popsicles for free out the back.” And everyone woman in the tri-state area has had her fill of Jake Chancellor’s popsicle—that is, except for me.

  I remember when Jake first came back to New York. He’d been stationed all over the world as a Navy SEAL until he suddenly popped up in New York society. His tuxedo, as always, was crisp and custom fit, the scruff that darkened his jaw gave him a forbidding look, and a darkness behind his blue eyes would tell anyone with half a brain to run for the hills. So obviously, that’s exactly what I did.

  I was just beginning to build my reputation at the firm and had been asked to attend one of these events. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and when I turned around, there he was across the room, and he was looking at me. It had felt like he was only looking at me. He exuded a dark, stand-back aura. One look at him and you could tell he was dangerous. I like to pride myself on my self-preservation instincts, so I stayed away.

  Sometime over the last few years, his rough edges have softened, but I can tell it’s all an illusion to make him more palatable for mass consumption. And from what I’ve heard lately, every woman out there wants to be consumed by him. Truth be told, I would too, but I don’t have an adventurous bone in my body. So that leaves me only on the fringes, on the outside looking in.

  And once again, I find myself across the room from him, wearing my best pale-pink silk dress and beaded Louboutins. My blonde hair is delicately curled, and my makeup is tasteful but darker than my daytime look thanks to my favorite stylist and friend, Cara. She’s new-ish to the city and keeps everything pretty close to the vest, but I like her. I get the sense she’s running from something, and God forbid if it’s a man, because I have decided she’s part of my circle, my tribe, and that means I will make him pay for his crimes with every fiber of my being. That is, if it even is a man.

  Don’t look… don’t look… don’t look!

  Senator Chancellor winks at me from across the room, and I let out a sigh of frustration as I turn away quickly. Of course Cara’s problems stem from a man. They always do.

  I turn to the mayor of the city, Gordon Samuels.. I need him. Without his help, the Open Arms Project won’t even get off the ground. Whether it’s building permits or the right connections, I need the Mayor of New York on my side.

  “Good evening, Grace,” he says as he notices me. “We were just talking about you.”

  “All good things, I hope.” I smile as sweetly as possible.

  “Of course,” the mayor agrees. “We were just discussing your new pet project.”

  “Open Arms is sort of a passion project for me,” I agree.

  “We love that you want to help homeless veterans in the city,” Mayor Samuels begins. “I, myself, am a Desert Storm veteran.”

  “Thank you for your service, sir.”

  He just winks at me. I really like Mayor Samuels.

  “We were just thinking what a great opportunity it would be for you to partner with Senator Chancellor,” he says, letting the name of my arch nemesis hangs in the air for the extended amount of time it takes for me to recover.

  “I would hate to impose on the senator,” I reply, swallowing back the bile that fills my throat. “He is a very busy man.”

  “That he is,” the mayor agrees. “But veterans’ organizations are a key point of his platform. I’m sure he’d make an exception for you.”

  “You mean he’d make an exception for Open Arms,” I correct him.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I meant.”

  “Well…” I try to evade the subject politely. I just don’t want to work with Jake Chancellor. Is that so much to ask? “Our team seems to have a pretty great handle on things so far. But if we need him farther on down the road, I’ll consider it.”

  The men all seem to exchange pointed looks with each other that I do not like, and worry turns my stomach to acid. I feel a nervous tingle shiver up my spine and look over my shoulder. Senator Chancellor is standing at the bar, and he’s watching… me.

  The bartender passes him a highball glass filled with amber liquid. I heard he’s a whiskey drinker, only in moderation, but that he enjoys a glass of the smoky liquor from time to time. I’m mesmerized as his strong hand slowly lifts the glass to his full, sensual lips and he takes a long swallow, showing no signs of the burn. I watch his corded neck as he turns his eyes to me again and blink slowly once… twice….

  But my body jerks back as if I’ve been struck when a gorgeous blonde—not just any blonde, but well-known socialite Ashley Jefferies—sidles up to him and places her hand on his arm, where it rests on the bar top. They know each other in more ways than just joining the same gym or shopping at the same Target. The way she touches him is… intimate. The way that they circle each other hints at the way that they’ve seen each other naked. And I hate it. I know that I shouldn’t. I have absolutely no claim on him—hell, I can’t even stand him, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not drawn to him.

  It’s subtle, but by the look on his face, he sees my reaction. I don’t want to see a look of pity cross his handsome face and I know that it will, so, I look back to the mayor and his companions.

  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself be pulled into his sexual prowess again when I know this… this… alley cat in search for the next available female in heat is exactly who he is? When will I learn? Unfortunately for me, I’ll learn that lesson the hard way, with my panties on his bedroom floor and my reputation down the toilet. That is, if I’m not careful. And I will be careful.

  I know that to him, I will never be anything but a number, and still, I let him. At least my saving grace is that I’ve never been pulled as far as his bed. The Senator and I may have circled this dance floor for years now, but I have still never given in.

  “W-what were we talking about?” I stammer out my question.

  They exchange looks again before answering me. “We just don’t feel that we can sign on to support your project, in one way or another, without the senator on board as well,” the mayor says, speaking for the group.

  “What?” I squeak on barely more than a whisper.

  “At this time,” the mayor’s friend repeats what he just told me, effectively ruining my life, “we just can’t move forward without Senator Chancellor. Get him and you have us.”

  “O-okay,” I say woodenly before excusing myself.

  I try to rally the rest of the evening, but it’s no use. Nearly everyone gave me the same response. Without Chancellor, no money, no support, essentially killing my project. Shell-shocked, I stagger across the ballroom toward the exit. For whatever reason, I look back toward the bar. The senator is there, still watching me, but this time he winks. It’s the only indication he knows exactly how my evening has gone, and he is loving every minute of it. For years, I have carefully avoided any connections with Jake Chancellor, and he has made careful maneuvers to place himself in my realm as often as possible. He loves the cat-and-mouse game, and I just want off the ride.

  Just then, perfectly polished Ashley of the sexy socialites slides up closer to him and wraps her arms around him in that way that clearly suggests she’s ready to find a location with a firm mattress and less clothes involved. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t even make it back to someone’s residence. Those two are most likely to make it to a backseat—if they’re lucky.

  She’s been after him to put a ring on it for weeks. She’s even gone so far as to tell everyone who would listen that she thinks she’s going to be the one to lock down Jake Chancellor, a man who has been seen with more women than I even knew resided within a tri-state area. And
good for her. I hope she manages to snag him. They probably deserve each other. Evil villains always do. But for me? I’m done. I shake my head and turn away from them, leaving behind the ballroom and all the people in it. Maybe things will go better tomorrow.

  Then again, maybe they won’t.

  “Who Could be the Next Woman to Grace the Senator’s Bed?”

  Chapter 2

  Cats don’t talk back

  The early morning sun is shining brightly through the sheer curtains that hang in my bedroom window. I lazily stretch my arms over my head and let a satisfied smile spread across my face before my eyes even open. Last night went so well. I just know we’re going to make our goal for this project. I just need to push a little harder. I was disappointed last night, but today, I am reinvigorated. I will take on the world.

  I almost have the funding and support I need to help Open Arms, a local organization that wants to build an all-service residence for homeless veterans. A place where they can find a safe place to land, find work, and basic medical and mental health resources. It will be a lot like Father Joe’s Villages in San Diego, which help homeless teens finish their education and find work.

  I first found Open Arms through Purple Paws, which is an animal rescue that partners with the local animal shelters I volunteer at. Purple Paws rescues dogs from high kill shelters and then trains them to be service dogs for wounded veterans. Both organizations are beyond worthy of the support and money New York’s elite society can provide them. Not to mention the notoriety. And last night, when I was rubbing elbows with the upper crust, they were all too happy to join my cause.

  There was just one problem.

  Nearly everyone I talked to suggested I reach out to Senator Chancellor to champion my cause, seeing as how he is the glamourous former Navy SEAL who looks as good in a suit and tie supporting the people of New York as he does in his dress white uniform on the lawn of the White House. And I’m not gonna lie—I have seen him in his dress whites for a special occasion, and panties all across the tri-state area and beyond instantly burst into flames, only to be put out by the flood of moisture from all of the pussies they contained. It was… intense. And I am sad to say even I was not completely immune to his big muscles and stupid dimples. I fan my face a little and vow again that I will not fall prey to the sexy senator’s magic penis powers.