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

by Jennifer Rebecca

  I close my eyes tight as he pulls his fingers from my core. I refuse to look at him. I can’t. And if he cared for me at all as a human being, he would understand that.

  “Look at me, Grace,” he says, his voice low and rough. I should have known better. Jacob Chancellor can’t let me have anything. I’m just a plaything. “I have to go.”

  “I figured as much.” I’m surprised my voice sounds as relatively normal as it does.

  “This isn’t finished,” he adds. He eyes me ferociously as he forces his hard cock down the front of his slacks before rebuckling his belt. I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I just nod once hoping that is enough for him. It’s apparently not, because he grips my chin tight between his thumb and forefinger, which still smell like my arousal, and he kisses me hard.

  And then he strolls from the room fully clothed like the king of his domain, which of course he is. And I am left exposed and cold and, as always, alone, an afterthought. If I needed a sign to set me back on the right course, this was it in neon glowing letters. This bucket of cold water thrown in my face was exactly what I needed to remind me that companionable distance is the only answer, because Jacob Chancellor will not ever care for me or consider my feelings. I am nothing to him but a piece of property, a toy to be discarded when he’s done with me, or more than likely broken me.

  So, I do the only thing I can; I pull myself up off the counter. I pick up my clothes from where he threw them around the room. I do not look at the prep island where he mastered my body like no one ever has before and without a doubt never will again. I just walk quietly up the stairs, where I take a quick shower and throw on a pair of pajamas. I walk down the hall counting doors until I find a furnished bedroom as far away from the master suite as possible and claim it as my own. I lock the door behind me and climb into bed.

  And I did all of this without knowing that as he walked away from me without a backward glance, he did so with complete regret for having to leave me and climbed into a town car to drive him to his destination with his thoughts completely turned to me.

  Instead, I cried myself to sleep, and my final thought before darkness finally claimed me was that I can’t let this happen again.

  “A Certain Senator and His Lady are Playing House.”

  Chapter 7

  Pieces of me

  Rain hits the window with a clatter. The light of the gray, gloomy day peeks through the curtains. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. Like somewhere along the way, I dreamed all this—Jacob, the blackmail photos, his proposition of a marriage of convenience, and then the way he used me and discarded me. Only now I realize this never-ending nightmare is my life.

  I swipe my cell from the nightstand and look at the time. It’s way earlier than I would usually get up. The cats aren’t even bothering me, begging for breakfast yet. Guilt pools in my belly. When I locked Jacob out last night, I also locked out my babies after they were forced to move to a new home. I didn’t think I could feel any lower than I had before, but it like seems I always am lately. I was wrong.

  I toss the covers back and push up from the bed. I would stay in this room forever if I could—no, that’s a lie. If I could, I would leave this house and never come back. But the paparazzi waiting and watching outside on the street made this already untenable situation even worse. Hopefully, it’s so early that Jacob is still asleep in his bed. I don’t want to see him this morning. I can’t play it cool. I already showed my hand by hiding away in here instead of going to sleep in his bed like he demanded and showing him indifference. I’ve always been my own worst enemy.

  I take a deep breath and open the bedroom door, cringing at how loud the hinges sound in the quiet hallway. I look both ways like a startled child crossing the road. I don’t see him, but that doesn’t mean the not-so-good senator isn’t lying in wait somewhere, ready to throw my own failings in my face.

  I scurry down the hallway to the bathroom and turn the taps to let the water heat up. I lean over the sink and get my face as close to the mirror as possible. If Quasimodo had a little sister, she would look just like I do right now. My face is red and blotchy, and my eyes are swollen and puffy. Seriously, if I saw me on the street right now, I’d think I needed and EpiPen and a bottle of Benadryl. To put it bluntly, I look like shit.

  I strip out of my clothes and place them on the bathroom counter so I can gather them up later and put them in my hamper for Sunday Laundry Day. It’s a thing. And it was my thing before the guys from Jersey Shore made it theirs.

  I step into the shower in the guest bathroom and let the hot water pour down my body, letting my muscles loosen up one by one. I’m still not ready to see Chancellor yet so I don’t go into the master bedroom where I put all of my things when I was busy pretending that the sexy senator loved me and his dimples and penis were for me alone. I pour shampoo into my hand and want to cry when I notice it smells decidedly feminine. Not that it wouldn’t have been worse to smell that smell that can only be Jake Chancellor, but to know I’m using another woman’s—the real one’s—toiletries feels even worse. He might not belong to one woman, but Ashley Jeffries has made her mission to become his FLOTUS a public one. I’ve never been the other woman before, and I have to admit it doesn’t make me feel all that great about myself.

  I finish my shower quickly and shut the water off. I don’t feel any better than I did before. Actually, I might feel worse. I dry off and wrap the towel around my body before I brush my teeth. I blow dry my hair with a big round brush so the ends flip in a soft curl and pin the sides back before carefully applying my makeup. I grab my clothes from the night before and sneak back down the hall.

  Even though my world is probably ending any day now, it’s still a workday, and I need to keep pretending until it all explodes in my face, and then I’ll have to change my identity and move to Costa Rica. I was pretty decent at high school Spanish, so it’s a legitimate plan. The cats and I can spend our days catching fresh fish.

  But until then, I just have to keep on keepin’ on.

  I pull on a pair of lace panties and a matching bra before letting a black silk V-neck blouse drop down over my head. I step into a pleated silk skirt that hits at my knees and is covered in a pastel paisley pattern. I sit down on the bed and roll a pair of nude, lace-topped thigh-highs up my legs before letting my skirt drop back into place as I stand up and step into my black Louboutins. My diamond earrings and bracelet are currently accompanied by my silver Bulova watch my parents bought me for my college graduation, sitting on the dressing table in Jake’s personal bedroom. So, I’m heading to work today for the first time ever without them. I just can’t make myself go in there and claim them.

  So instead, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. I see the cat bowls where Carter and I stacked them yesterday. Was it only yesterday afternoon that I felt like, with a plan, I could see this mission through without losing pieces of myself along the way? How painfully naïve I was, but I know better now.

  I lay them out on the counter like I always do and start cracking cans of cat food. By the time I’m done dishing it out, they’re all lined up on the floor, watching me. I set the bowls on the floor two at a time, offering pets to each as I go.

  When I’m done, I search the pantry for something I shouldn’t want—sugary cereal—but Jake’s cabinets are all full of things like Raisin Bran and Corn Flakes, and not even the frosted kind. I’m living with a monster. I pour some Corn Flakes into a bowl and then enough sugar on top to more than make up for the frosting. It’s all part of my vow to gain forty pounds so no man will find me attractive any more. Men are nothing but trouble. My mom always said it was a lesson that could only be learned the hard way, and I like to think I just learned that lesson tenfold. I cover the whole thing with milk and give it a stir before carrying it to the small table in the corner of the kitchen.

  I sit in a wooden chair and mindlessly spoon cereal into my mouth. I’m not hungry. I can never eat much when I’m upset, unless I’m
really upset, and then I eat everything in sight. But this isn’t one of those times. I need to fuel my body to get through the day. That’s it. I just have to keep going. And then eventually I will find my way out of this mess. I hope.

  “Don’t do that again.”

  I should have been paying attention. If I was, maybe I would have heard Jake sneak up behind me, but I was too lost in my own misery to notice. So, when he barked his terse words at me, I nearly jumped out of me seat.

  “Wh-what?” I ask. I shouldn’t have, but I do anyway. One day, I’ll learn to use my head around Jacob, but today isn’t the day, and tomorrow probably isn’t looking very good either.

  “I said don’t do that again,” he growls as he boxes me in from behind.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I’m sure I do, but I’m going to save face and gain some ground with him if it kills me, which it probably will.

  “I told you that I wanted your ass in my bed every night, and I will not repeat myself. Having to drag myself all the way across town to clean up someone else’s big fucking mess just as I’m about to finally get a taste of you did not make me happy,” he explains.

  “You weren’t happy?” I’m so confused. I’m tired, and nothing is making sense this morning. To be honest, nothing has made sense for a while now.

  “No,” he answers. “And then when I finally make it home, you’re locked away down the hall. But make no mistake that if you try that again, I’ll take the door off the fucking hinges.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He can’t. This is crazy talk. He acts like he wants me, but he can’t. I don’t understand.

  “I do.”

  “But… why?” I ask as I look over my shoulder at him. It’s the first time he’s gotten a good look at my face this morning, and by the audible way he sucks in his breath, my dab hand at makeup hasn’t covered up much and I still look terrible.

  “Honey—” he starts.

  “No,” I whisper. “I need you to answer my question. Why do you want me?”

  “I just do.”

  “But you could have anyone,” I say, feeling my frustration mount.

  “I could,” he agrees softly as he pulls my chair out and scoops me up into his arms before he takes my seat, planting me in his lap. “But I want you.”

  “I just don’t understand,” I say, and a look that I don’t understand passes behind his eyes for a split second before it’s gone again. I hate this. I hate who I become when I’m around him. This isn’t me. I’m not some weak person—ever—and suddenly, after one night under his roof I’m feeling needy and insecure. I don’t ever need anyone to reassure me of my self-worth because I know that I am a badass, but this woman is so far from badass it isn’t even funny. I knew this was going to happen, I just didn’t realize that the transformation would be overnight.

  “What’s there to understand?” he asks as he shrugs one shoulder. “You need me to clean up your scandal, and I want you. To me, it’s a fair trade.” Easy for him to say. He’s not the one who’s going to be left brokenhearted when he moves on to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and I’m back in my apartment in Queens with my cats. I know he thinks what he wants right now is a political marriage to me where we live a peaceful coexistence for the greater American good, but I know that this insecure person can’t possibly keep his interest for long because I am already annoyed with her and she is me.

  “Okay.” I don’t agree to anything, but I have to keep it together. I can’t let him have more pieces of me so soon. I have to keep as many of them as possible so I can be me. What happens when there’s nothing left?

  “Now let’s talk.”

  “I have to go to work,” I tell him as I try to push up from his lap, but he only tightens his arms around me.

  “Grace,” he warns.

  “No, I really do have to go.” And I do. I have a full docket today of cleaning up messes left behind by men just like Jake. Men who go about their lives as if the world is their playground and, with enough money, they can avoid any real consequences. I should hate them, but they put a roof over my head and those of my cats. It’s also how I’m able to pull off projects like Open Arms for the good. It cleanses my soul after I’m done wading through the muck.

  “Okay,” he agrees way too easily. “I’ll drive you.”

  There it is. I was wondering where this morning’s other shoe was.

  “That’s really unnecessary,” I tell him. “I’m in completely the wrong direction for you.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says, and then he smiles that wolf in sheep’s clothing smile. Those twin deceptive dimples wink at me. They’re selling me a bill of goods that will lead to nothing but heartache. And yet I can’t turn him down. I mean, I could, but I would look like a big jerk.

  “Great,” I reply without any truth behind it, and we both know it. Jake’s smile just brightens even more. “I’ll get my bag.”

  • • •

  SPOTS STILL DANCE IN front of my eyes as we sit in silence in the backseat of a black Suburban.

  After I said I would grab my stuff and be ready to go, Jake called his driver to let them know we were ready to be picked up out front. He had met me in the entryway and held up my coat for me to slide my arms in. It was a sweet gesture, polite even, during a morning that was stilted at best.

  It felt like there was a tentative truce between us, but after last night, it might have vanished into thin air.

  I thought we would have a quiet ride to work in the early morning light. I was so very wrong. To be honest, after last night, there was not much more I could take before I hit my breaking point. The minute Jake opened the front door for me to exit before him, flash bulbs burst before my eyes. I felt stunned and a little scared. Only the day before, there were a few people lingering in front of his house, but today there were hundreds, and they were all shouting my name.

  I looked back to Jake for help, but he just stepped up beside me with that politician’s smile painted on his handsome face. Jake tucked my hand in his large one as he led me to the SUV all while wishing many of the photographers a good morning by name.

  He was so poised and prepared it was almost as if he knew they would be there. I, obviously, did not. I was sure when I got to my office the internet would be abuzz with one terrible picture of me after another, while Jacob looks perfectly polished, a role I’m most comfortable in. But not today.

  He opens the door for me like a true gentleman would for his lady and allows me to slide across the bench seat before he follows me inside. His Secret Service agent closes the door for us after Jake waves to his adoring public one more time. And then his agent climbs in the front seat next to the driver, and we were off.

  But as we drive farther and farther away from the house and closer and closer to my place of business, I begin to wonder if I can keep up this charade forever. Jake slips the cloak of supreme politician on so effortlessly. And while I’ve made my career out of helping people out of messes and putting their best foot forward, this doesn’t feel like a situation I can handle. I’m used to cleaning up the press mess from behind the scenes, not front and center.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks from beside me. I turn away from the window to face him. He’s watching me carefully, his face strategically blank.

  “I was thinking about what a fucking mess my life has become,” I answer honestly. I feel like there is no room for prevarication between us while we live out this carefully crafted lie.

  “Come on now,” he says as the corner of his mouth tips up in the sexiest of smirks. God, I fucking hate him, and still my body warms for him and it’s not even a full smile, just a smirk. “It can’t be all that bad.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s basically a dumpster fire.”

  Jake throws his head back and lets out a real laugh. It rumbles up my spine and warms me from the inside out. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him look this way before. He’s carefree and relaxed, not poised and in control. If I th
ought he was attractive before, that’s nothing compared to how he looks right now.

  “You’re honest, if anything.” His smile is genuine, and he looks at me as if I make his world feel right. But how can that be?

  “I feel like with the situation we’re in, there’s no room for evasiveness between us,” I repeat to him my earlier thoughts and immediately wish I hadn’t, because the happy smile slides right off his face.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he states, and a look I don’t understand flashes across his face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I murmur. “I’m in a bad mood, and that wasn’t fair.”

  “I’m fine,” Jake assures on a smile, but this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Jake—” I start, but I’m interrupted.

  “We’re almost to Ms. Sanders’s office,” the driver announces.

  “Perfect timing,” Jake says as he looks away from me and to the Tag Heuer watch on his wrist. I let out a soft sigh. What was I even going to say to him anyway? “I’m sorry I accidentally hurt your feelings with the truth after you all but fucked me six ways from Sunday on the kitchen counter and then abandoned me without a backward glance”? Probably not.

  The SUV pulls up to the curb in front of the building that houses my office. The agent opens his door and steps down from the truck before opening my door for me.

  “Thank you,” I tell him as I take his hand and step down before he shuts the door behind me.

  I begin to walk up the steps of the building before I realize Jake is just a step behind me. I don’t even know how he got to me so quickly. He’s like a big cat, prowling around without making a single noise.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “I’m walking my girlfriend to work.”

  “But you already gave me a lift here,” I reply for lack of anything else. His walking me to my door is both romantic and terrifying. I need to separate what is and isn’t real, and his being the perfect boyfriend is not helping me remember he is anything but.