The Choice

by Alice Ward

  Just one more reason why what Cameron and I had didn’t matter. I couldn’t bring Cameron home to my parents any more than he could bring me home to his.

  “But the building of that development will at least be good for creating jobs in that town,” I said, paraphrasing what Cameron had told me. “The sugar plant closure left a lot of people out of work.”

  She snorted. “Brooke,” she said flatly, “how many factory workers do you know have the skills to build a house?”

  I tried to think of a rebuttal, but nothing came. That was why, in a family full of attorneys, I usually stayed silent. It was impossible to win an argument. Plus, I didn’t sound like the daughter she’d raised, and I could tell I was annoying her. I sounded pathetic, like I’d taken one too many shots of the conservative Kool-Aid.

  “Oh,” I finally said. Time to change the subject. “How has your week been?”

  “You know, saving the world, one potholder at a time.”

  I smiled at that. My mother made potholders in her spare time, which she sold at various flea markets and donated all the proceeds to the women’s shelter. My parents may have both been attorneys, but not wealthy ones, and though we didn’t have a lot of money growing up, the corny saying was true… we made up for it with a lot of love. We couldn’t go on expensive vacations, so we did a lot of fun, explorative, educational things like hiking and visiting museums. My parents were a few decades too late, but they should’ve been hippies. They were always preaching love and working to help the poor and oppressed. They abhorred the rich and powerful establishment.

  Like Cameron. They hated everything Cameron Brice stood for.

  When I thought of that, I frowned. “How many are you up to?”

  “Two hundred and eight!” she said proudly. “Did I tell you that the Bensalem Record wants to do a feature on Barbara’s Potholders next week?”

  “No. That’s great.”

  “I’m going to bring a slew of them to sell on Saturday. You’re still coming, right?”

  Saturday. It suddenly hit me. My mother had texted me about that protest weeks ago, and I’d completely forgotten. “Um. What is the protest for?”

  “It’s at the Hunter’s Hill Development. They’re breaking ground then. It’s for the toads.”

  Oh, those yellow-horned toads again. “I’m sorry, Mom. I made plans,” I said, already feeling guilty. “I’m going out of town.”

  “Really?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “Plans with who?”

  Oh, no one, just the man you hate desperately. Good news though. It’s not a relationship. Just extremely hot sex.

  “A friend,” I said vaguely.

  “A male friend?” my mother pressed on. She was an attorney. She was not going to let this slide without a thorough line of questioning.

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “Because if I end up getting a call at two in the morning that they found your body in a ditch, I would like something to go on.”

  I let out a quick breath. “Mom. That’s horrible.”

  “Well, that’s how mothers worry.”

  My mother, the Queen of the Guilt Trip. I shook my head and sighed. “Fine. It’s not a man. It’s a girl from… work.” Anticipating her next question, I closed my eyes and spat out the name of the woman with the bow blouse, a woman I hadn’t even said more than “good morning” to since I’d started my job. “Alicia Briggs.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Beats me. “Alicia” is keeping that information from me, and when we get there, he’ll likely fuck me senseless again.

  “Just a road trip,” I mumbled, then looked around helplessly. “Oh, wow, is that the time?” I had no idea what the time was. “I have to go, Mom. Talk soon?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Love you!” I hung up and threw my phone on the bed, feeling agitated and guilty. I’d never lied to my parents before. Never.

  I started to change into sweats, wondering if I should even attempt to tail Cameron again today. His calendar had more of the same boring shit on it. Church way out in Bucks, as usual, followed by brunch at his parents’ house in Solebury, along with a dinner at the opening of a new boutique hotel for the ultra-rich downtown. Lame, and utterly pointless, if my real mission was to get dirt.

  But my real mission had gone beyond that weeks ago. And I had that niggling sensation inside, once again, that had only grown stronger. I wanted to see him again. Even if he was with mannequin woman. Even if he was touching her and holding her and doing all the things I wished he’d do with me. Even if he wouldn’t be able to gaze at me with that desire that made my heart catch fire.

  Shower. I ran to the shower, stripped down, and twisted the knobs to get the water warm. As I did, I thought of the shower I’d taken with Cameron, and the way he’d felt, thrusting into me as the warm water fell around us. I thought of the way he’d told me that any sex toys would be a distraction. Of how he’d called me the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Surely, I meant something more to him than just sex?

  As my mind turned over thoughts of him, I found myself aching. Desperately, my hand found its way between my legs.

  I’d always felt fine living here alone, since my college roommates had moved out after graduation. I’d had boyfriends, but never the live-in kind. I never minded. I liked the privacy. But I’d never felt as lonely as I did in that moment.

  I imagined Cameron beside me, holding me, even while we argued. I loved the way he held my feet to the fire, the way he made me think, all the while making my body feel things it never had before.

  I began to move my hand in circles on my clit as I waited for the water to warm. Closing my eyes, I thought of his smooth hands running over my body.

  God, I wanted him with me.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. My apartment was probably the size of his living room, this bathroom, the size of his linen closet. He’d be disgusted by how worn it all was from use by the dozens of college students who must have come before me, the rusting fixtures, the chipping paint, the floors and cabinets that hadn’t truly been cleaned in decades. But in my fantasy, we could look at nothing but each other. The desire was heavy in his eyes.

  My fingers quickened their motion.

  I looked at myself in the small mirror over the vanity, and that turned me on more, seeing the way I was getting off on the thought of Cameron. I felt myself rising to that point, getting hotter, so, so close, when…

  The doorbell suddenly rang.

  I straightened for a moment, then told myself to forget it. I’d just started to rub myself again when the sound came again. This time, more urgent.

  Shit.

  Wrapping a towel around my body, I raced out of the bathroom, across the living room, and to the front door. I opened it to reveal my employer, Owen Blakely.

  Double shit.

  “Hi,” I said, pulling the towel tighter around my body. While it covered everything, it suddenly felt too small.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked, sounding very businesslike as he scratched one of his graying temples. His eyes fluttered over my towel. “Of course I did. I apologize, Brooke.”

  Yes, I would say that this was quite possibly the worst time I could imagine. The only worse time would have been at the sex club on Friday night. I’d just been getting off on the thought of Cameron, his arch-enemy, the man I was supposed to hate.

  “It’s okay,” I said, opening the door farther and directing him inside. When he was standing in the entryway, I suddenly realized my apartment was a sty. There was laundry everywhere, a sink full of dirty dishes, and there was junk on every possible surface I could’ve offered him to sit on. I ran to the kitchenette, pulled a pile of mail off of it, and offered it to him.

  He didn’t sit. He stood there in typical Owen Blakely attire — Dockers, a dress shirt, and a navy sweater vest over it, which just barely covered his stomach pooch. There was a grave look on his face. I knew what was
coming, so I decided to do damage control. “You did catch me at a bad time, but it’s okay. I’m just getting ready to tail our subject. He’s at church now, and then brunch—”

  “Brooke,” he said, holding up a hand. “From your expense reports, it seems you’ve been tailing him an awful lot.”

  I swallowed. He’d told me to submit mileage anytime I’d tracked Cameron. And I had, listing the routes, as he directed, to all the places I’d followed him, except Camden. “Yes.”

  “But you haven’t learned anything new?”

  My shoulders slumped. My face heated. I tried but failed to look him in the eye. I was trash, accepting a paycheck from this man while I went and screwed the person I was supposed to be helping him bring down. “No. Unfortunately, very little.”

  “And that leads me to wonder how effective tailing him really is.”

  I cleared my throat. “Oh, well. Of course that’s not all I’m doing. In his office, I’ve been privy to a lot of information. His schedule, for one.” I thought about the few times I’d been alone in his office, and how I’d foolishly squandered the time. I thought about all the times I daydreamed about him when I could’ve been going the extra mile, digging harder. “And now I know where the key to his office is, so I think things will—”

  “Brooke. I need the information now. Yesterday,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t acceptable. You can’t possibly tell me that with all the rumors swirling around this man, you can’t find one to pin to him?”

  His voice was steadily rising, to the point where it was nearly a yell. I swallowed with difficulty the lump in my throat. “I need a little more time.”

  “Time? I have a debate with Brice in less than two weeks. I need information now.” The last word was so booming that I swore it shook the walls. Owen Blakely wasn’t a slouch when it came to pinning his quarry, in a debate or otherwise. I suddenly felt two inches tall.

  It almost forced tears from my eyes. I fought them, but not hard enough, because I knew that he could see them. “Yes, I will.”

  He pressed his lips together, then sighed heavily. I could just see the father in him breaking through. “Brooke. You know I love you like a daughter, but this doesn’t bode well for a career in the FBI. Have you ever thought of a different path?”

  I didn’t know if it was a threat, or a challenge, or just some fatherly advice. But whatever it was, it was well deserved. If I’d been in his shoes, I would have thought me incompetent too.

  I forced the tears back. “I’ll try harder,” I told him, pulling the towel tighter around my body and straightening. “I promise you, you will have good, usable information next week. Count on it.”

  He nodded. “I sure hope so.”

  When I saw him out, I closed the door and leaned against it, wondering what I was going to do. I wondered if I should text that anonymous person back, but when I thought of the dirt I’d hear about Cameron, it made my stomach hurt. I felt like I was straddling a fence, with my feet in totally different worlds, and only inches away from getting splinters in my crotch. How could I betray Owen like this? My family? Kiera?

  How could I betray Cameron?

  Maybe this was how he’d felt about the toad. Because the only thing I knew for sure was that no matter what I did, someone was going to get hurt.

  I looked down at my towel and sank down onto the floor, feeling so sick and wrong for having such desperate desire for Cameron. As much as I still needed him with every pore of my body, I knew it was wrong.

  Burying my face in my hands, I began to cry.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cameron

  Another hellish week dragged on, made more so by the impending debate with Blakely that was drawing closer by the day. It didn’t matter that I was the one the media singled out for his debate skills and that my father had never excelled in public speaking. My father played armchair quarterback, lecturing me again and again about what to say, and since I was politically inexperienced and his son, I respectfully sat there and took it.

  But I couldn’t say I actually absorbed it. No, it all bounced off me like I was wearing a suit of armor.

  Because the truth was, I didn’t fucking care.

  What Cassandra had said wasn’t right. I didn’t hate the idea of being an attorney. I hated certain aspects of it. Lying, pandering, overpromising, presenting an image that was far from realistic. I wanted to help people, and make the world a better place, but I sure didn’t like the shit I had to do to be afforded the opportunity. As senator, I knew it would be more of the same.

  Wednesday afternoon, my father called me into his office. I knew it was something shitty because he never warned me ahead of time about that. When I went inside, he introduced me to Alan Larsen, the conservationist from the EPA who’d been providing us our data. He was a small, slight guy who looked like a stiff wind could blow him over, with a bad comb-over and bad acne scars. He had a clipboard in his battered briefcase, which he pulled out and handed to me. “This is the data you wanted.”

  I stared at the facts and figures, my head pounding. “What does this mean?”

  “It says, quite obviously, what you’d been hoping. That the swampland will remain and that the area will eventually be conducive to supporting a similar ecosystem as what currently exists.”

  My father nodded proudly in a We got those liberal tree-huggers by the balls way. I looked at Dr. Larsen. “Eventually? What do you mean eventually?”

  “Well. The project is rather extensive. There is a good chance that in the building itself, it may impact the area, what with the excavating, and the tree-clearing that’s necessary.”

  “All right. But don’t we need to investigate that?” I said, turning the papers over in my hands. “I mean, if we go on saying the toads aren’t going to be harmed, and then we go and wipe out an entire species—”

  My father interrupted. “By then, they’ll have forgotten all about it. That’s the way these liberals work. Toads are the topic du jour. But next week it’ll be whales off the coast of Brazil or manatees or wolves. Trust me.”

  I stared at my father. “I’m sorry. If we assert something, we should have our ducks in a row. Why did we make that original decision if we didn’t have all the data? I’m not fucking going to be held responsible for this.”

  “You won’t be. Trust me,” he said, looking at the conservationist. “We’ll just blame the EPA.”

  The idiot EPA agent nodded along dumbly. Was Larsen in my father’s pocket? I knew how this worked. The EPA would just blame us, or someone else, and no one would ever take the fucking responsibility. I jumped from my chair. “No.”

  Even though I was standing above them, my father did his best to stare me down. “Sit down, Cameron.”

  I shook my head and looked at Larsen. “What will it take to do a study on the effects of building?”

  Dr. Larsen began to speak, but my father cut him off. “We don’t have time or the money. It’s set. We break ground on Saturday.” He stood up, as did the doctor, and they shook hands. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Larsen. An assistant will show you out.”

  After I’d shaken his hand, and he left, my father closed the door and his jovial smile dissolved in an instant. “What the fuck are you doing, boy? When you make a decision, you need to stick by it!”

  My teeth squeaked, I ground them together so hard. “I didn’t have all the information.” I left out the one glaring part: My father might have played a large part in the withholding of it. “Now that I’ve had a chance to consider it, I’m not so sure that this is the best course of action. There has to be a way to make both sides of this argument happy.”

  He stared at me like I’d just bitten the head off a chicken. “Of course not. You want to make those toad-lovers happy? I’m talking about a billion-dollar investment here, and you’re talking about a slimy creature that eats its own shit. Do you seriously care about a fucking toad?”

  “They have a valid point,” I offered calmly. “And we
lied.”

  “We didn’t lie. We just didn’t tell all the truth. Besides, this development is going to help a lot more people than you know. The residents of the town are crying out for it.”

  “All right. But that doesn’t negate the fact that those against the development have a valid point. If we all respect these viewpoints, we can come to an agreement. I think in the end, we essentially want the same things.”

  “The same things? I don’t want to make nice with a frog, do you? I say, kill all the frogs! Let them roast! Progress is the name of the game.” He looked away from me and shook his head as he stalked back to his chair and collapsed into it. “Same things, my ass. We’re divided for a reason. This is an all-out war, and the only way to have war is to have someone to fight against.”

  Of course my father would think that. They’d nailed his ass to the wall during Shadygate, and he’d never give any Democrat courtesy again. “I—”

  “My firm has sunk everything into this development, and we’re getting it done. Now. We’re not going to all play ring-around-the-rosy on that land and sing ‘Kumbaya’ to a bunch of fucking frogs,” he said, his voice even but hard. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, which he handed to me. “Speaking of war, you have a meeting with this man next week.”

  I studied the card. It said Dick Evans, Private Investigations. “About what?”

  “About what? What do you think?” he said, crossing his arms. “Boy, you’re about to go into your first debate, and you have no clue what you’re up against. You might say you do, but you don’t. The press may say you have a silver tongue, but if Owen catches wind of anything untoward, he’ll rip it clean off, leave you there with your ass hanging in the wind. You need to fight fire with fire.”

  My eyes shifted from the card, to him, and back again. “You can’t seriously be saying what I’m thinking you’re saying.”

  “You don’t go into war without ammunition,” he said, taking the card and stuffing it back into his breast pocket. “And Dick is the best in the business. He’ll get the goods on Blakely if he hasn’t already.”