For the Record (Record #3)

by K. A. Linde

  She even saw Heather nodding along with Brady’s speech. It was nice knowing that she wasn’t immune to his onstage demeanor. Though it shouldn’t have surprised her. Heather was a professional, but believed in Brady and what he stood for. She wanted to further her own career through him, but she trusted him.

  Liz trusted him too. Hearing him speak about his love for the people and his desire to continue to enact change only reminded her all over again why she had fallen for him and how he had won her vote. She had thought that he was just in it for the fame and fortune. Lining his pockets with ill intentions while fooling everyone with a pretty face and good pedigree. He couldn’t have proven her more wrong.

  She held her breath as he got to the next part of the speech, the part that she had helped him work on. His audience was captivated as he started in.

  “When I was elected to serve as the member of Congress for the Fourth District of North Carolina, you conferred on me your support and your trust. You believed me when I said that I was going to take your beliefs and ideas to D.C. with me and look out for your benefit,” Brady said, pacing the stage. “Over the past two years, I’ve done exactly that. Whether I was spending my time on the education committee trying to enact better legislation for our future leaders, helping to get more appropriations for the research community we have invested in, or just spending countless days working among you, listening to you, and taking into account your concerns.

  “I was in Chapel Hill just this last year for a special political journalism colloquium hosted by the university. At that event, I, along with several of my colleagues, spoke about the future of our country. We reached out to students, faculty, as well as any other citizen who chose to attend the function. We wanted to hear you and we wanted you to hear us. We’re here for you. No matter where you come from or what you’re doing right now, this is your country.”

  Liz smiled as she heard her words spoken into the crowd. It was magical, almost like a fairy tale, to hear someone so compelling deliver her words. It almost gave her the same amazing feeling as when she read her words in print and when she saw other people reading them too. But this time it was Brady, and he was swallowing the room whole with them.

  The next part was what Brady added, and it made her blush every time.

  “A particularly precocious young woman spoke during this colloquium regarding education policy. I asked her one question—what important factor from her research should I take back to D.C. regarding education? Her response stuck with me to this day. She said to treat students as individuals and not as numbers on paper. I could never agree more. I never want to treat any of you as a number, but rather as individuals. And the only way I can do that is to win another term in the Congress.”

  The crowd cheered uproariously at the mention of him seeking another term. Brady waited until the crowd died down and then finished the remainder of the speech that his speechwriter had put together. It was brilliant. He was brilliant. He had the crowd at attention and she knew just by hearing the chants and seeing their enraptured faces that they were with him through and through.

  Brady barreled down the stairs and scooped Liz up. He planted a kiss on her lips before releasing her. “You were incredible,” she told him.

  “They loved your words, baby.”

  “They love you!”

  “We’re a team,” he whispered. She shivered at the way he said that and couldn’t keep from inwardly jumping up and down. That was nothing short of what she wanted with Brady.

  “That was fantastic,” Heather told him. “Now let’s move on to the interview and soon enough you’ll be on your way to dinner.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Brady answered question after question regarding his reelection efforts. He smiled and stood for photos. On occasion she would even stand with him when interviewers asked if their photo could be taken together. Heather scowled every time it happened, but she could hardly deny them when Brady himself seemed eager for her to be standing there.

  Liz excused herself from the donor meeting that Brady had to be in attendance for to work on her next article. Since her previous columns were still getting some good press, the editor had offered her a feature piece. He still tried to get her to use her real name, but after she had explained to him that she had no desire for it to show up in papers, he had stopped bothering her. He had started jokingly titling her papers Dear Congress, as a play on the advice columnist Dear Abby, and the name had stuck.

  This was the first article that she had written where the idea had manifested from a conversation with Brady. It had taken hold while she was helping him write the speech he had just delivered, where the emphasis was on the individual rather than the masses. She hoped that it didn’t align too closely with his speech, and she might even have him take a look at it just to be sure. In the meantime she just needed to get something down. She couldn’t fix a blank page.

  “Knock-knock,” Brady said, appearing in the open doorway.

  “Hey,” she said with a smile.

  “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Dinner?”

  He nodded. “I wish we were going straight home.”

  “To bed?” She closed her laptop and stood.

  “That works.”

  “Do we have time for me to change?” She had been in this blue cotton shirtdress all day and she wouldn’t mind a change in appearance before they met with a lobbyist.

  “Not much time.”

  Liz sidled up to him and he wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ll be quick.”

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Only when we’re in a crowded theater.”

  “Tease,” she purred.

  “No. If I was teasing,” he said, turning and pressing her back into the wall. His hand slid up her thigh and pulled it up around his hip. “I would tell you about how much I want to fuck you just like this.”

  A moan escaped her lips and all she wanted to do was tug him closer.

  “But I’m not a tease,” he said before stepping away from her.

  Liz dropped her leg and stuck her bottom lip out. “Not nice.”

  “Come on, baby. If you want to change out of that dress before dinner, we need to leave now.”

  She threaded his tie through her hands and tugged him closer. “Two can play at this game, Congressman Maxwell.”

  “I look forward to it, Miss Dougherty.”

  They took the town car out to his house so Liz could change. She latched on to his arm when they pulled into the driveway. “Come with me?” she whispered.

  He gave her a searching look. “We don’t have time.”

  “Please?” she pleaded.

  “Begging,” he groaned. She loved using his weaknesses against him.

  Brady followed her out of the car and spoke briefly to the driver before following her inside and up into his bedroom. She plucked a green strapless dress out of the closet and a pair of nude pumps.

  “You requested my presence?” he asked, walking toward her.

  “Stand right there and don’t move.” She must have sounded convincing enough, because Brady stopped and did as she told. “You can look but not touch.”

  He arched an eyebrow, but made a big show of stuffing his hands into his pockets. If he could slam her into walls and turn her on then she could certainly do the same to him.

  Ever so slowly, Liz started turning in a circle so that he could feast his eyes on her body. Her hands went to the buttons on her dress and from top to bottom she plucked each one open. By the time she reached the last one, Brady had taken two steps closer to her. She could see the desire on his face.

  She turned her back on him, shaking out her blond curls, and then dropped the dress over her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, leaving her nearly naked from the behind save for her baby-pink bra and matching silk thong. She heard Brady suck
in a breath behind her and she couldn’t help but smirk.

  Her hands reached behind her and undid the hook and eye that released her breasts from the bra. She tossed it to the ground behind her at Brady’s feet and then slowly turned back to face him. He had moved forward another few feet. This time his expression didn’t just hold desire; it was outright need. He looked ready to pounce on her, but she held her hand up.

  “Uh-uh. Look. No touch,” she cooed.

  His breathing was increasingly ragged as she continued to boss him around. She plucked the side of her thong like a guitar string. His hands twitched in his pockets as if he wanted to be the one doing that. Then she dragged the underwear down her thighs to the floor. She was left before him in nothing but her black heels.

  “What do you think?” she asked, twirling.

  “I think that you’ve teased long enough.”

  “Ah-ah!” she said, stepping out of his grasp. “We have an important dinner to attend. I need to get dressed.”

  “You make this impossible.”

  Liz giggled and walked over to her dress. She pulled it off the hanger and began unzipping the back. She felt Brady’s hands slide around her. “I love you,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “I love you too.”

  “Get dressed and we’ll fix this problem when we get home.” His hand slid between her bare legs and she shook all over. Brady sighed. “All right. Let me just text Chelsea and tell her we’re going to be late.”

  Liz nodded and walked back into the closet to change. She pulled the dress on and started fixing her hair in the mirror, when he returned.

  “Take that off,” he commanded.

  “What?”

  “Off. Now.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “Dinner is canceled. Chelsea asked to reschedule, because she’s not feeling well. She asked if we could just talk at the Jefferson-Jackson gala next weekend.”

  “Is that already coming up?” she asked.

  “Later than last year,” he said with a shrug. “Now back to business at hand. That dress belongs on the floor.”

  Chapter 21

  JEFFERSON-JACKSON GALA

  Three weeks later, Liz stepped out of Brady’s limo in a floor-length teal off-the-shoulder gown. She and Victoria had gone shopping earlier that week for the dress, and the silky material fit like a glove. Her hair was swept into an elaborate updo, with a braided section pulled back into an intricate bun. She brushed her bangs to the side, to conform to the natural wave of her hair, which she tucked loosely behind her ear. She wore dangly diamond earrings and a thin diamond necklace that brushed her collarbones.

  She remembered how two years ago she had shown up in a simple black knee-length gown. She had caught Brady’s eye then, and now she was on his arm. Not for the first or last time, she felt as though she were living a dream.

  Brady stepped out behind her in a tailored black tuxedo. He was all sharp lines and perfectly angular features. His brown eyes were intense and formidable, but his campaign mask slid into place just as quickly. The charm returned with more confidence than most people carried in a lifetime. He offered her his arm, and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  They walked gallantly into the event. The last time she had attended the Jefferson-Jackson Gala was the first time she and Brady had slept together. Their chemistry had been electric, and after only one dance, she hadn’t ever envisioned herself saying no to him. Of course she had, and they had been separated for a time, but that was their past. The five months prior had been some of the best moments of her life, and all she saw when she looked at Brady was her future.

  They drew eyes around the room at their entrance. Some still whispered about the way they had gotten together and vague details that Erin had given the papers, which had died away with time. Some looked on with judgment in their eyes. But others did seem to be coming around to the fact that they were always together. The sooner they looked less like a spectacle and more like a couple the better.

  “This way,” Brady said.

  He guided her over to a front-row table that was already full. Each table sat ten people and there were at least fifty tables throughout the massive room decorated in the classic red, white, and blue.

  Brady introduced her to the people seated at her table. Three of the men had worked with Brady when he had been a State Senator and each of them were accompanied by their wife. The only other person at their table was a small woman and her date.

  “Liz, may I introduce you to Chelsea Young, lead lobbyist at EMi.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Liz said, sticking out her hand. Chelsea was shorter than Liz by nearly a handbreadth, with almond-shaped brown eyes and blond highlighted shoulder-length hair. She wore a lavender hi-lo spaghetti-strap dress and pale pink lipstick.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Chelsea said. “And this is my date, Ben.”

  They all shook hands again before taking a seat with Liz to Brady’s right and Chelsea to his left.

  The room quieted as a figure walked out onstage—Brady’s father. He had been the introductory speaker two years ago when she had been here.

  Brady’s father took the microphone in his hand and smiled that Maxwell politician smile. “Hello and welcome to the fifty-fifth annual Jefferson-Jackson gala.” Everyone applauded and Jeff waited for the cheers to die down before continuing.

  “It’s always a pleasure to stand before you at this annual bipartisan event that brings us together as a reminder of the mutual goals we are all looking toward—bettering this great nation. Two years ago I stood before you as your opening speaker, and the Jefferson-Jackson committee has once again honored me by asking me to speak before our esteemed keynote speaker.”

  Liz saw Chelsea lean into Brady and whisper, “Your father seems to get better and better at this every year.”

  Brady smiled politely and nodded. “All the practice.”

  “Are we going to be able to have a word after dinner?” she asked.

  “As promised,” he agreed.

  “Perfect.” Chelsea retreated from Brady and crossed her hands over each other in her lap.

  With the hustle and bustle of the last three weeks on the campaign trail, Liz had forgotten about the dinner meeting with Chelsea that had been canceled. She had been relieved at the time that she got to continue with her little striptease, but was back to being curious about the lobbyist’s role in the political side of the campaign.

  If Brady took the money from the company, how obligated was he to work with their interests? She knew that lobbying companies held a lot of influence. They swayed politicians one way or another with tactics from expensive dinners to just being downright annoying.

  Brady’s father finished his speech to the sound of applause and then dinner was served. Brady ordered drinks from a passing waiter, and a glass of red wine was placed in front of Liz shortly afterward.

  “So, Brady,” the man to her right said. “How is life in Congress?”

  “Exceptional. We’re fighting the good fight.”

  “And that education bill you’ve been working on—do you think that will come to the floor?” another man asked.

  Brady had been working pretty extensively on a bill in the education committee that did a number of things, including lowering student loan interest rates for college students and removing fees for underprivileged students to apply to college and take standardized tests. Liz knew that ideally Brady wanted to include something that scaled back some of the mandates on teachers that put all the emphasis on test taking and less on applied learning, but he wasn’t sure if he could get that through Congress.

  “We’re working on it right now,” Brady said vaguely.

  “Getting stalled in the Rules Committee?” the first guy asked.

  “Just waiting to get it on the calendar. I don’t think we’ll h
ave too much trouble once it’s there.” Brady’s confidence about his projects oozed from every pore. She knew that when he was alone he had his doubts, but everyone was entitled to them. Brady just couldn’t allow his to show in public.

  “Well, I think education reform is essential,” the wife of the second speaker spoke up. She was in her early fifties and strikingly beautiful, with short brown hair and long earrings that dangled to her shoulders. “Have you seen some of the things on the news right now? They say we have the highest test scores and grade point averages for incoming classes, and yet retention rates are down. I think this starts in the primary schools, and once professors get ahold of these students it’s almost beyond their repair.”

  Liz smiled brightly. It was almost as if she were hearing her own words being spoken back to her. Her feature piece had been on this very subject, and it was encouraging to hear that someone else had similar ideas. “I completely agree,” she said, speaking up. “How do you expect professors to teach students critical thinking when they’ve only been taught memorization and how to take the test? You can’t. We need to be treating these students as more than just machines. They should be learning and experiencing subject matter, not plodding away, only able to recall what they had learned for their last exam. My father is a professor, and he always attempted to explain to me how the subject matter had a practical application, which assisted in cognitive reasoning skills. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

  “This is exactly the kind of forward thinking we need,” the woman’s husband said, tapping the table enthusiastically.

  Brady found her hand under the table and squeezed gently. She smiled back at him softly just as dinner arrived. Brady had prime rib. Liz had decided on a braised chicken. She saw that Chelsea had just ordered a salad and was barely picking at it. They resumed the conversation as people began to eat their meals.