For the Record (Record #3)

by K. A. Linde

  “Penthouse,” she whispered, taking in the expansive apartment. She guessed that the square footage on the place was more than on the two-bedroom house she rented with Victoria in Chapel Hill. It was huge, but surprisingly empty. It was clear he didn’t spend much time here, but the decorations had been carefully crafted to entertain company.

  “Yeah. I didn’t want a house. Nothing up here compares to the real estate back in North Carolina.”

  “So you went as far opposite as you could get?” Liz asked.

  His house in Chapel Hill was rather traditional, set in soft browns and blues with hardwood floors and dark wooden furniture. His penthouse in D.C. was set in a black, gray, and red palette with an L-shaped sofa and round chairs. The back wall was made entirely of glass overlooking the city, and was probably the best part of the house. The view was gorgeous.

  “I don’t spend a great deal of time here. Most of it I spend sleeping or on the phone with you,” he said. He slipped out of his suit jacket and smiled at her expectantly.

  Brady lived here. He slept here. He spent his time talking on the phone with her while he was here. She was part of his life, and he wanted her to be. It was just incredible and it made her light up to have it all come to her so suddenly.

  “What’s the smile for?” he asked.

  “I’m in D.C. with you.”

  “You have been for a couple hours now.”

  Her smile brightened. “Sometimes it’s hard to grasp that this is really real.”

  “Well, if it’s a dream,” he said, dipping his face down and kissing her, “don’t wake me up.”

  Chapter 11

  A BRIGHT FUTURE

  An article appeared in the papers the next day with a picture of Liz and Brady kissing at the airport. Another featured him picking her up and holding her against him. Liz flipped through the article on Brady’s iPad as she lounged in his bed.

  She wasn’t surprised to see her face there anymore. They had both anticipated that happening. Brady had let Heather know about the airport ahead of time, but she still wasn’t pleased. Liz was certain that she could never do anything right in Heather’s eyes. And at the moment, lying in bed next to her boyfriend in his penthouse . . . she really didn’t give a fuck.

  “I like that they’re still toting that quote from Heather,” Liz said absentmindedly to Brady.

  He’d had Heather make a statement about Erin’s accusations regarding their relationship. They had thought it would be better not to go on the defensive and just make it clear that nothing had happened. The statement read, “Congressman Maxwell never had illicit relations with Ms. Dougherty while dating Ms. Edwards. The details of their split were not made public to protect Ms. Edwards’s privacy and for no other reason.”

  The papers had circulated it over and over again. It was still showing up a couple days later. People wanted to know more, but so far the campaign hadn’t agreed to say anything else. Liz certainly wasn’t going to spill.

  Besides two kisses, she and Brady really hadn’t done anything. They’d just agreed not to bring those kisses up. Since they hadn’t gone anywhere it more or less was irrelevant. They wanted to keep it that way.

  “Mmm,” Brady said, tapping away on the MacBook in his lap. “Heather’s good at her job.”

  “So are you.”

  Without taking his eyes off the screen, he moved his left hand over to her thigh and started working his way up her leg. “I have a job for you.”

  “Why do I have a feeling this is going to be sexual?” Liz asked.

  “Would you deny me if it was?” Liz waited before answering. Brady turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

  “No,” she conceded. She would give him whatever he wanted.

  “I didn’t think so.” He placed his computer on the nightstand, grabbed her by the thighs, and slid her flat on the bed. Liz handed off the iPad and then wrapped her arms around Brady’s neck. He kissed her deeply on the lips and she sighed into him. This was bliss.

  “It’s so good to have you here,” he told her.

  “I think I could get used to this.”

  They stayed like that for a while, lost in each other’s kisses. She pressed her body firmly against his and let her hand trail down his six-pack. Every muscle was defined. Every inch smooth and beautiful. She reached the V that dipped down into navy blue boxers. He sucked in a breath as she fluttered her fingers against the skin.

  “If you keep this up, we’re not going to get anything done today.”

  “Who said I wanted to get anything done?” she asked, lowering her lashes and giving him a devious smirk.

  “And I thought I was the demanding one.” He kissed his way down her jaw. “Though I did have some surprises set up for you. If you want to lie in bed all day, far be it from me to deny you your wish.”

  His mouth had reached her collarbone and she felt his tongue flick out and caress her skin. She shivered.

  Her brain didn’t really comprehend what he was saying. Surprises. Something about surprises. Or lying in bed all day. Mmm . . . sex. His mouth hit her shoulder and his hand reached under her shirt to fondle her breast. She arched into his hand and forgot everything else he was saying.

  He pinched her nipple hard enough for her to gasp. Expertly, he pulled her shirt over her head and brought the hardened nipple into his mouth. Her body came to life under his touch even after the marathon they’d had last night. Her lower half was sore from the exertion, but she didn’t seem to care as he turned her on all over again. She didn’t think she could ever get tired of this man.

  He released her only to remove a pair of pink boy shorts she had slipped on last night. His boxers landed in the pile with her clothes on the floor and then he was hovering over her body, positioning himself between her legs. She lifted her hips to meet him and brought her legs to either side of his hips.

  She urged him forward and then he filled her, sliding all the way into her with ease. “God, you’re perfect,” she groaned.

  “Far from it, baby,” he whispered, pushing her hair back from her face.

  “Perfect for me.”

  And then they were moving together. In and out. Pushing forward. Taking their time and indulging in the feel of being perfectly in tune with another person. Nothing was rushed; every touch, every movement had meaning and purpose. They were pushing each other to new highs, gasping for breath and arching to get closer and closer to that complete oneness. It was like their two bodies had been made for each other, molded out of the same substance, born to lock together and go through this dance called life.

  Liz’s fingers dug into Brady’s back leaving raw red marks as her nails scratched the surface. His hand wrapped around her middle and pulled her to a sitting position. Their lips locked all over again as he started bouncing her up and down on top of him. She felt him hit new depths, and she had to hold back her screams as he filled her over and over again.

  The heat built between them. Sweat beaded their bodies. Brady grasped her hips and forced her down harder and harder. She felt the orgasm tear through her body all at once as he hit her in the exact right spot. She couldn’t hold back and released the cries, yelling out his name to the city beyond the glass windows. Brady followed soon after and they both were left gasping for air, riding out the endorphin high.

  They lay together in bed for a long time after that, snuggling in the tangled sheets, and listening to the sound of each other’s heartbeat and the gentle hum of their breaths mingling.

  Once they finally got out of bed, they took a long, hot shower and changed into fresh clothes. Liz was considering dragging him back to bed when he scooted her out of his place.

  Frankly, she loved that they could go out together—even if there were reporters who wanted to photograph them together. She would put up with any of this to be with Brady.

  He grasped her
hand firmly in his as he backed his Range Rover out of the parking garage and started driving through the city.

  “So, where are we headed?” Liz asked.

  “Our new home,” he answered immediately.

  Liz choked and then started coughing and then laughing, trying to cover it up. She didn’t think she did a good job, but what had he expected with that kind of statement. Their new home? Um . . . what the fuck was she supposed to say to that?

  She still had to graduate. They had only been together a couple weeks. He was kind of getting ahead of himself.

  Brady started laughing. “You should see your face.”

  Liz reached out and smacked him on the arm. “You’re such a jerk!”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he said with a shrug. “By you, actually. What did you call me when we first met? Power hungry with my only interests in money?”

  “And didn’t you prove me wrong?” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

  “Only with the best intentions. I believe I told you that you just needed to get to know me.”

  “I think I got to know every inch of you that night,” Liz said, remembering the hotel after the Jefferson-Jackson gala they had attended.

  “You abandoned your cheesecake for me. It’s how I knew you were really into me.”

  “Maybe,” she teased.

  “Am I not convincing?” He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her hand, her palm, and then the inside of her wrist. She shivered.

  “Yes, you’re pretty damn convincing.”

  And it was completely true. As a politician, if he wasn’t convincing, then Liz wasn’t sure how he had gotten his job. And he had convinced her in more than just having sex with him—in falling for him, in loving him, in believing in him, in trusting him, in giving him her heart again.

  Brady smirked and laced their fingers back together. He took a couple more turns and then pulled into a parking spot. “Here we are.”

  “Where is here?” she asked as she stepped out of the Range Rover and glanced around. Then her mouth dropped. “The White House?”

  “I did say our new home.”

  Liz couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “The White House is our new home? Still getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Congressman Maxwell?”

  “I like to plan ahead,” he said as they started walking toward the White House. “It’s all worked out so far.”

  “So it has,” she said with a bright smile.

  The only way to get access to a tour of the White House was through a member of Congress . . . and she sure had access to her Congressman’s member.

  She giggled to herself at the thought.

  After showing identification at the gate, they were ushered through and Brady immediately started talking, giving her a full rundown of everything he knew about the building. It was like having her own personal tour guide. Apparently he had been in the White House dozens of times before he had ever been elected to Congress, since his father was a Senator and had been serving for nearly thirty years.

  They entered the East Wing as the last of the regular tourists were being escorted out. Tours ended at one thirty in the afternoon, but since she was with Brady they were able to continue walking around. They passed through room after room. Blue Room, Green Room, Red Room, East Room, State Dining Room. Brady seemed to have more than his fair share of knowledge regarding the various rooms, and he was kind enough to indulge her in taking a picture with the portrait of George Washington.

  Just when she thought it was over, he grabbed her hand and walked her toward the West Wing. Her heart fluttered. She knew it was silly to get this worked up, but she knew what was behind those doors. The President of the United States, the central point of the government, and, most important to her—the White House press offices.

  Brady laughed when her eyes bugged out and he directed her down the hall. He opened the door to the press office. “Have a field day,” he joked.

  Liz walked in, mesmerized by the bustle. It was a weekend, so it was quieter than it would be on a weekday, but it was still abuzz with people working on articles, making phone calls, and speaking animatedly on the phone. She didn’t dare interfere with anything that was happening, but just stared around her. This was her dream, the epicenter of all political journalism, and she was standing on holy ground.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to Brady when they exited a few minutes later. “That was . . . a dream.”

  “Good. I won’t wake you up either.” She smiled up at him, starry-eyed. “I have one more thing if you’re interested.”

  Liz nodded. Brady walked farther down the West Colonnade, pointing out the famous Rose Garden that the Oval Office opened out to. Brady took her arm and directed her into the next room, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Are you serious?” she whispered.

  She was standing in the Press Briefing Room, which was filled with only about fifty blue cushioned chairs facing a small podium in which the president gave speeches and addressed the press. If the press offices were holy ground, this was heaven for a reporter.

  She ran her hands gingerly along the back of the first chair and imagined herself sitting there addressing the president. She wondered what they would be discussing, what topic he would bring forth to the public. She wondered if she would be addressed, what she would say, if her question would be answered, as it had been by Brady at her first press conference as a reporter.

  And then she remembered: no paper and no job. She wasn’t a reporter, not right now.

  She whipped her hand back like she had been burned. She didn’t belong here.

  Her eyes shot over to where Brady was standing by, watching her with an adoring look on his face. He had done this for her. He had known what this would mean to her, and had wanted to make her happy.

  It was with a heavy heart that she realized this pressroom might never be her future, because she was staring at what would be.

  Chapter 12

  MEANING

  With a few hours left before the banquet, Brady and Liz had a small lunch and then drove back to his place to get ready for the event.

  “So, I might have gone a little overboard knowing you were coming to visit,” Brady said.

  “Oh dear,” she murmured. She didn’t think overboard for Brady was like overboard for normal people. “How overboard?”

  “I left you something on your pillow,” he said with a smile.

  He nodded his head toward the bedroom and she couldn’t help herself; she rushed toward it. On the bed she found a small note. Her stomach did a somersault. Brady used to leave her messages like this. The first one she had ever found was at his lake house, which had instructed her on where to find the bathing suits in his closet.

  Your present is in the closet.

  Harder to remove than a bathing suit, but I’ll try not to destroy it.

  No promises.

  —B

  Liz shook her head and then walked into Brady’s massive walk-in closet. A black floor-length garment bag hung facing the door with Versace written in big gold letters. Her eyes widened. Versace? He considered Versace a little overboard? She walked forward and unzipped the bag to reveal a red silk strapless gown. She checked the back and confirmed it was her size.

  She might hyperventilate. It was so beautiful. She ran her fingers along the soft material and wondered how it would look hugging her body. As she moved to pull it off the hanger to inspect it further her foot nudged a box on the floor. She glanced down and saw the word Jimmy Choo written on the top. Who left a Jimmy Choo box on the floor? Blasphemy.

  She opened the box to reveal black-and-silver peep-toe high heels with a delicate strap that buckled around her ankle. She tried to guess how much all of it cost. This was outright extravagant. Everything she had brought with her paled in comparison. Everything sh
e owned paled in comparison.

  With one more forlorn look at the expensive items, she walked back out to Brady.

  His face fell. “You don’t like it? Or it doesn’t fit?”

  “No, no, I love it. I haven’t tried it on . . . any of it. I just . . . too much all at once,” she admitted.

  “Oh, is that all?” he asked good-naturedly. “No worries. It’s on loan for tonight unless you like it and then, well . . . it’s yours.”

  “On loan.” She tried the word out for size. “Like what they do with celebrities.”

  He looked at her as if she was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. “I am kind of a celebrity, baby.”

  “Right. I forget. You’re just . . . Brady to me.”

  He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on her mouth. “And that is why you’re perfect for me.”

  Liz was relieved that the gown and shoes weren’t here to stay, even though secretly she wouldn’t mind having them in her closet. She and Brady had just started dating again. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to accept such an expensive gift.

  Liz returned to his room to start doing her hair and makeup. She pulled all her long blond hair into an elaborate low side bun with tendrils falling loosely, framing her face. When she finished, she delicately pulled on the soft gown. It fit her like a glove to the middle of her thighs and then bustled out in a mermaid design with a short train. The shoes added the extra inches she needed to keep the hem from dragging on the ground. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale, which was all too fitting when she walked out and saw Brady in a crisp black tuxedo with a black bow tie.

  “Stunning,” he murmured reverently.

  She blushed and walked gingerly toward him. “Thank you. You look incredibly handsome.”

  “You look like I want to take you back into my bedroom and find out how fast I can remove a five-thousand-dollar dress.”

  Liz’s mouth dropped. “Five thousand dollars? This is what five thousand dollars feels like?”

  “And you look incredible in it. Almost perfect.”