Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

“I am not seeing Jeff.” Christiana’s forced laughter did nothing to cool the heat rising in her face.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Swear to God, Avery. The rumors of hot preppy guys at UVA were exaggerated too.”

  “Well, who is he? Wait. He’s married, isn’t he? You’re doing a married guy.” Avery’s eyes grew twice their size.

  Christiana laughed for real. “No. way.”

  “Okay, play it that way. You’ve got someone. I can tell. I’ll get the truth out of you yet.” Avery sipped her beer and scanned the crowd. “Jesus, where are all the men?”

  Christiana took a large swallow of beer, hoping it would ease the tangle of guilt. She wondered if she’d ever be able to unravel truth from white lies and outright falsehoods after the last few weeks she’d had.

  Avery droned on about the guys she’d met at school and the girls who threw jealous looks her way at every college football and soccer game. Christiana listened and sipped a second beer; Avery was already on her fourth. Or was it her fifth? Christiana’s focus had begun to waver by the time Avery switched to her plans to the fashion show. She hadn’t built her immunity to alcohol like Avery. But then, she’d never figured out where Avery got her suspiciously high tolerance, and Avery had never explained.

  “So, what do you think of my idea?” Avery’s lips curled into a smile. “Using real women as models? I mean, you’re looking good these days. I guess sex becomes you.” Avery leaned into Christiana’s shoulder in a move of solidarity.

  Christiana tried not to recoil.

  Avery’s face registered disappointment. Christiana clearly hadn’t hidden her revulsion from her friend. “You used to love my ideas.”

  A vibration and a chirping sound came from Christiana’s purse. Crap, how could she answer a call from Jonathan here? Relief flooded her to the core at the word “Dad” blinking across the screen.

  Christiana slipped from her stool and answered. “Dad, where are you?”

  “Hey, Chrissy, checking in. Sounds loud. Where are you?”

  Christiana jogged to the end of the bar in a vain attempt at escaping the loud fiddle music.

  “Oh, nowhere special. Where are you?” she asked.

  “Tennessee. So, I’ll be home next Tuesday. Got a special invitation to the club’s annual fundraiser from Brond’s office. Next Thursday. They suggested you come as my date.”

  “Oh?” Another lie, another thin string of deceit, wound around the knotted ball.

  “Yep. Gonna be big.”

  She laughed. “See you then, Dad.” She killed the call.. With Jonathan at the fundraiser, maybe it’d be different this year.

  She headed back to a swaying Avery who seemed enthralled by the music.

  “Hey, I’m headed to the ladies’ room,” Christiana called over the loud singing. “Watch my purse?”

  Christiana stood in line with three other girls in the cramped hallway, stale beer and urine scents surrounding them. Christiana rethought her decision to pee. Well, she couldn’t hold it any longer. She wondered how Avery managed to do so after so many beers.

  Why did everything with her friend seem so awkward these days? Because you’re a lying, disloyal, and quite frankly, increasingly slutty friend, a part of her accused. Wow, alcohol and guilt definitely didn’t mix.

  She finally was able to slip into the dirty one-toilet bathroom and relieve herself. Only none of the guilt drained away with the swirl of the flush. Time to face the music, literally.

  The Irish music hit her as soon as she rounded the corner. She nearly stopped short as she watched Avery reach into Christiana’s purse and pull out her phone. Had it rung?

  Avery’s eyes darted to Christiana, and she lifted her shoulders in question. But then she put the phone to her ear.

  Christian nearly knocked over a waitress carrying a heavy tray in her attempt to get back to Avery.

  “Hello? Christiana here,” Avery said sweetly into the phone. “What do you mean where am I? Where are you?” Her face darkened.

  “Give it back to me!” Christiana yelled. Avery’s head snapped backward as if slapped. Christiana had never raised her voice before. Then realization spread across Avery’s face. Of course. Jonathan’s voice was unmistakable. Avery slowly set the phone down on the table. Her eyes bored holes into Christiana’s face.

  “What . . . the . . . hell . . . have you been up to?”

  Here it comes. Over the cliff, burning.

  “Nothing.” Christiana grabbed the phone, her purse and spun toward the front door. The iPhone vibrated in her hand as she reached the exit.

  “Where are you?” Jonathan’s voice matched Avery’s fury.

  “Ireland’s Four Provinces. Um, across from the Zoo.”

  “I’ll be right there.” The line went dead. Her insides did the same.

  Christiana pushed open the door and lurched toward the street sign pole, using it to balance herself. Avery stood in front of her in seconds.

  She had never seen Avery so angry, and that was saying something. “Why is Congressman Brond calling you? You interning for him, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “No. I’m not his new intern, Avery.”

  “Then what? Do not tell me you’re going out with him.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Avery’s chest rose and fell in angry pants. “Well, what then, exactly?”

  “It’s nothing.” It’s everything.

  “So this is why you’ve been avoiding me all summer.”

  “Avery, it’s not like that.”

  She crossed her arms. “He’s using you. That’s what he does, ya know. I hear ‘short term’ is his specialty.” Her words hit Christiana square in the chest.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Christiana spat.

  “I thought you were the last honest person in D.C. Guess you showed me.”

  “You mean like how you’ve been honest with me? Camden told me how you can’t stop calling Chase.”

  “Camden will say anything to get me. He’s wanted me for years.” Her voice dripped nonchalance.

  “Yes, I guess everyone wants you, Avery. And only you.”

  “Not everyone, apparently. So tell me. Congressman Jonathan Brond cares for you? Wants to date you? Only for the summer, of course. Probably purely out of compassion because of your—”

  Avery’s words choked off at the sight of Jonathan’s convertible swinging in a neat U-turn in the middle of the street, cutting off some annoyed drivers who started to honk. They abruptly stopped. The drivers either recognized him, or they were stunned by his looks. Confidence and composure flitted across Avery’s face, and she straightened. Jonathan stepped from his car in a flash.

  “I’ll take it from here, Avery,” he said as he took Christiana’s arm.

  Avery smirked her cat smile. “Hello, Congressman.”

  “When your father said to look after you in his absence, this was not the behavior I expected, Miss Snow.” Jonathan’s voice encased her body.

  Christiana understood she was to remain silent. He spoke words he needed Avery to hear. After all, Christiana had learned to anticipate what he wanted all the time now, hadn’t she?

  “I’m getting you home,” he said to Christiana.

  Avery grabbed Christiana’s other elbow like she was trying to steady a drunk. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Congressman. I’m the responsible one here.”

  “Need cab fare?”

  “She has a car,” Christiana slurred.

  Christiana didn’t know how they’d gotten back into his convertible so fast, she in the passenger seat and he behind the wheel. All she knew was they were heading down Connecticut before she had a chance to look back.

  Jonathan was furious. Christiana’s hair whipped into her face. Why the top down now?

  “You need air.” Jonathan answered her unspoken question.

  “I’m okay. I didn’t have that much.”

  “The way your head is swaying, I’d say you’ve had more than muc
h.” Jonathan slapped his steering wheel. “Are you going to make me go 24/7 on you, Christiana?”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. She also understood he wasn’t really asking her.

  “Why do you hang out with that girl?”

  “My Dad likes her.” The honesty of her answer stunned her. She guessed alcohol was good for one thing.

  “You don’t feel she’s using you?” The bitter tone in his voice cleared the fog in her brain as much as his words.

  He was worried she was being used by Avery? The man who wanted her as a sexual concubine? The irony of her situation forced a giggle from her lips. He shot her a look, eyes narrowed.

  “That’s what Avery said about you,” she said.

  “She would.” Jonathan stopped at a red light and turned his face to hers. “There is a vast difference between being used and being useful, Christiana.”

  Useful? She could be useful to Jonathan Brond? The new thought rattled inside her brain. She continued to turn the word around and around in her head until its meaning slipped from her grasp—and a migraine threatened her fogged head.

  “I’m taking you home.” His voice, quiet and cold, spoke of defeat.

  God, she’d fucked up.

  21

  Jonathan slammed his fist on the desk. “Find out who broke into my house and why. Today.” Upon returning home late last night, a police car had parked halfway up the walkway, as if they’d been in a hurry. An intruder had tripped his alarm system. They found a back window jimmied open and a file drawer in disarray. The one file he’d been too careless to put in a safe had been taken. Jesus, he’d never imagined he’d be so reckless about his greatest secret.

  The muscle in Mark’s jaw twitched once. “The cops didn’t find any fingerprints. But I’d guess the person following you is tied to this.”

  “Then you better find out who’s following me.” Jonathan tried to sound calm.

  “It appears to be a woman.”

  “What? It couldn’t be—”

  “No, she hasn’t left the Jefferson in three days.”

  Jonathan’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t tell me? Tell Shane to cancel my meetings this morning until after lunch.”

  “It’s not safe for you to be seen—”

  “Concentrate on finding who’s following me—and who broke into my home. I have to check on someone this morning.”

  Mark began to speak but then snapped his lips closed when Shane stepped into the room.

  “Congressman, we may have a situation.”

  “Not now, Shane.”

  “Sir, this can’t wait.”

  “Nothing ever can, can it?” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter.

  Shane placed the Washington Post’s Thursday weekend section onto his desk.

  “The paparazzi took this the other night. It boasts how Irish bars are now the popular place to go. It says that even members of Congress attend. Single ones, especially.”

  Fuck. The front-page picture showed an angry Jonathan leading a young-looking blond into his car. The angle captured Avery Churchill in the background. She looked ready to crawl in right behind the girl in the photograph, who, though faceless in the paparazzo’s shot, could only be Christiana. Hell, Avery would’ve straddled the hood of his two-seater and ridden to his house that way if he’d allowed it.

  A sidebar picture showed him squiring Yvette DeCord out of The Oak. To think the Post used to be a reputable paper. Now they were one step up from Hello! Magazine.

  “I promised Peter Snow I’d look after her. She needed a ride.” He didn’t have to look at Shane’s face to hear how inept his words sounded.

  “Thought Snow was on the arm’s-length list.”

  “Listen, I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I have another situation that’s more urgent. Cook up your usual crisis communications plan. We’ll talk this afternoon. And close the door behind you. Please.” At least his voice grew calmer with each word, unlike his insides, which wanted to throttle a certain brunette.

  Mark resumed his stance after Shane shut the door behind him. “Sir, if I may—”

  “No, I’ll drive myself. Meet me at The Oak Room for lunch in an hour.”

  Jonathan jogged down the steps under the harsh sunlight to his car. Over the last three days, the mysterious car had been behind him, everywhere: to and from his townhouse, meetings, and events. He knew the prowler would follow him to Charlottesville next. If the stalker breached his Alexandria home, an unrecoverable scandal loomed.

  Christiana’s world was about to change, significantly. He had to calm the storm about to break. Years of guarding his privacy had honed his crisis planning abilities to an art form. His mind spun a plan.

  First, be honest. He’d taken an awful chance picking Christiana up at the bar the other night. He’d taken too many chances, everywhere.

  Second, identify where he went wrong, where he lost control. His explanation to Avery of why he showed up in Christiana’s life seemed plausible in the moment. For all he knew, though, Avery had hired the photographer and ensured the picture was published. She’d proven she hadn’t inherited the Churchill’s legendary discretion.

  Several photographers were camped out front of The Oak Room when he pulled up. Damn media. They might have figured out Christiana Snow’s identity and discovered where she worked. If he didn’t get upstairs fast, there was no telling how he’d react to seeing Christiana, and the photographers mustn’t catch his honest feelings about the woman.

  Third, change the story. His inner fixer switched tactics. He knew what to do.

  After handing his keys to the valet, he forced himself to saunter through the hotel entrance and avoid the restaurant. Yvette didn’t answer when he knocked on the suite door. Jonathan took out his master keycard and opened the door himself. A rancid smell stopped him in his tracks two steps in.

  A long white gown draped over a chair in the entrance, several pairs of heels lay strewn about the hall. A trail of clothes littered the floor all the way into the main room. A room service tray sat on the antique desk in the corner. A half-eaten shrimp salad lay in one white porcelain bowl. A glob of dried, black crystals lay smeared on an abandoned piece of bread. Caviar. No wonder the smell. Where the hell has hotel management been?

  “Yvette? Where are you, sweetheart?”

  A rustle of bed sheets greeted him as he rounded the corner into the bedroom. A murmur broke from under the covers. Jonathan moved to the bed and gently lifted the sheet from a shaking body underneath.

  “Yvette. Did Carson leave you like this?”

  “Stop!” Her crying intensified.

  He would kill Carson Drake. He would then kill himself for telling the man Yvette needed a strong hand.

  “Shh, pet.” Jonathan took off his jacket and loosened his tie, staring down at Yvette who shook in a half-dream, half-waking state. He threw both items of clothing to the floor and kicked off his shoes. He laid down, encircling Yvette’s quaking body in his arms in an instant.

  “I’m here. I’m here.” Jonathan rocked her back and forth. “It’s me.”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Yes, pet.”

  She wrested away and turned to face him. Long trails of mascara streaked her cheeks, and she blinked, as if trying to focus.

  “Yvette. Remember me.”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “No. It’s me. Jonathan.”

  She let out a sigh and kissed him hard on the lips. He opened his mouth to her searching tongue and tasted the fear. He ran his fingers through her hair as she moved her mouth over his as if to force herself back to reality, like trying to wake from a bad dream.

  He finally pushed her face away with his hands. “Look at me.”

  She blinked and grasped his chest, clawing her fingernails into him. How long had she been left alone?

  “You came,” she said. “I-I tried calling. I think.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

  Her eyes darted ove
r his face and down his body, as if she had trouble focusing. He had to ground her, quickly. Her nightstand was littered with half-filled prescription bottles. A quick check revealed nothing too strong—mild sleeping pills, an antibiotic, vitamins.

  Jonathan held her for thirty minutes, her breath warming his chest until they both glistened with perspiration. When she finally relinquished her hold on his arm, banding her tightly to his body, he pulled her up to sitting. He leaned against the headboard and gestured for her to settle between his arms.

  “What happened, Yvette?”

  “I don’t know. Carson was here, and then . . . he wasn’t.”

  “He shouldn’t have left you so ungrounded.”

  “He didn’t. I needed more. He-he stopped, wouldn’t go any further. I fell asleep. I think.” She sniffled. “The papers arrived two days ago.”

  So Arniss finally did it. Well, she would be better off as a divorcee than shackled to that fucker.

  “Are you staying here permanently now?”

  She rubbed a nod into his chest.

  “I do hope you’re sending him the bill,” he said.

  “And ordering plenty of expensive room service on top of it.” She laughed. Good, she’d emerged from her post-scene haze.

  “I can smell it.”

  She laughed.

  “Come on. We’re getting you out of here. I’m getting you a proper meal.” He would make sure she showered, dressed and joined him for lunch downstairs. He wasn’t about to leave Yvette alone in this suite. The photographers would notice, of course, helping step three of his crisis plan: deflect them by appearing with another woman in Christiana’s presence. Christiana would have to understand.

  Brian threw Christiana a disdainful glance as she huddled in the corner of the kitchen, straining to hear her father’s words.

  “Chrissy, what is this about Congressman Brond picking you up at a bar?”

  “Dad, I’m at work. Can I call you later?” Henrick stood nearby, and the way he cocked his head told her he’d been listening.

  “No. I got a call from my office. What were you doing in a bar?”

  Well, that’s calling the kettle blackened and fried.

  “Rumor has it Brond’s been squiring women all over town,” he said. “Didn’t know my daughter might be one of them.”