by Alice Ward
“Hey, girl?” she said as if sensing exactly what I was feeling. “Are you all right?”
“Well… I’d rather just go with you,” I said, which was the truth, if not all of it. “How about tonight? Downtown?”
She huffed, but I could sense that it was her being overdramatic, and in fact, she was flattered. “Since when did you become such a difficult bitch?”
I couldn’t really say it was because I hated her boyfriend. So I said, “I want you all to myself, gorgeous, and I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Fine. Capital Grille? Seven?” she asked, naming one of our favorites.
“Perfect.”
After ending the call, I made it to work at eight, and as I climbed the stairs, I had a small crisis of confidence, trying to remember who I was pretending to be. Brooke? Cassandra? Violet?
Violet. Assuming her hunched over, meek persona, I opened the door, then said my quiet good mornings to the other people in the office and scurried to my desk.
Cameron wasn’t there. It was, as I’d known, his busy day, full of meetings, but he was just downtown. I hoped he’d stop in to change his suit and freshen up midday, as that had proven to be a regular thing for him. Every time the door opened, I found myself looking up, hopeful. But it wasn’t him. At one time, a man came in, holding a large garment bag. “Dry cleaning for Mr. Brice.”
Bob stood up and took it, then motioned to me. I watched as he reached into his top drawer and pulled out a key. He handed the key and the garment bag to me. “Please put these in his office,” he said to me with a wink.
I nodded and scurried to the back hallway. I quickly opened the door with the key, found the hook on the back of the door, and deposited the freshly cleaned items where they belonged.
Then, I looked around. Yes, there were plenty of places where secrets could be hidden. And I had a few moments to snoop. I could have quickly gone through his drawers, or the massive file cabinet in the corner of the room.
Instead, I studied his personal things. A plain white mug with the remnants of black coffee at the bottom. A jar of pens. Actually, there was nothing very personal, at all, as if he’d been well-trained to hide that side of himself from the world. I looked up at the small mirror on the wall, where he’d freshened up so many times, wondering if it had seen any of his secrets.
Then I turned to the suits. Something compelled me to reach up, pulling down the zipper in the middle of the heavy garment bag.
I saw the crisp lapel of the suit first. All of his suits may have looked the same to the untrained eye: They were dark, conservative, and likely custom and expensive. But I could sense the subtle differences. The one in front of me was the dark one he’d worn this last time with me. It was like every last detail of that night had been engrained in my head. I could tell by the color of the buttons, the weight of the fabric.
I reached up and looked at the label. It had been hand-sewn with the name of the tailor.
I ran my fingers up and down the fabric, then grabbed a sleeve, bringing it to my nose. It smelled slightly like the dry-cleaning solution, yes. But I could also detect the smell of him. It was a scent I desperately wanted to bottle. I inhaled it deeply, again and again, until I knew my time was up.
I quickly zipped the bag, feeling ashamed of myself again. I’d had the perfect opportunity to do what I’d been hired for, and instead, I’d gone the insane stalker route.
Closing the door behind me, I handed the keys to Bob, who placed them in the upper tray of his desk drawer. Well, at least one good thing has come out of this. I know where the keys are to his office.
Not that I’d ever use them. Still, what if the insides of his drawers were just as clean and secret-free as the rest of the office? What would I do then?
Bob had me addressing invitations for some gala in June during the afternoon. A party at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. As I wrote out the names of every millionaire in the city from A to Z, I could just see Cameron ascending the Rocky steps with the woman in the blue dress. Bernadette Dryden. I’d learned her name during my marathon weekend googling session. I wasn’t sure if they were exclusive, but they’d been seen together a lot in the past few months, so I assumed so. She was twenty-eight. Her father was a billionaire, and she was the sole heir to his fortune. She’d grown up in one of the most expensive properties on the Upper West Side of New York City, being showered with every possible privilege. She’d graduated top of her class from Wharton, and was, as I’d noticed, the perfect candidate to decorate the White House after 2024.
God, I hated her. I wondered if she’d be able to keep that First Lady poise and refinement if she knew her boyfriend had been fucking me last weekend. I wondered if she knew how dirty he really was, frequenting sex clubs, making me wear that chain thing while I ground on his cock.
Ugh. The thing was, I didn’t think he was her boyfriend. He looked more like her obligatory escort than anything.
Did she know that? Did she know that he didn’t look at her the way he looked at me? Did she care? Or had her path been laid down for her too? Did she care for Cameron or was he a means to an end?
I wondered if she knew other things about him. Like how much he liked painting. Like how he hated all the structure in his life.
She looked all business. Stuck-up. Tight. Boring. I, for one, loved art. If I were on his arm, I’d stroll the halls in the museum, listening to him comment on the art, the lines, the use of light.
Not like I would ever have that chance.
When I got to the “W” names, it was the end of the day. I heard the others leave and reminded myself I needed to cut out soon so I could make it to dinner with Kiera. I had to get back home and change out of my disguise before making the drive. I was just writing one of the last names in the pile when the door opened and in walked Cameron.
I sucked in my breath and held it, afraid that if I let it out, he’d render me breathless. The clamps around my nipples seemed to pinch slightly, as if they were an extension of his fingers.
Because god, even at the end of the day of a million meetings, he still looked fantastically fuckable.
“Hello, Violet,” he said loudly and pleasantly, using a voice a person would for a grandmother or a child in a sick ward.
Ugh. I hated looking like such a loser in front of him. I wanted to show him my best side, the side that made him hungry for me. And yet, here I was…
“Hello,” I choked out, looking down, having yet another crisis of confidence. It was clear he hadn’t recognized me, but maybe he would now. Now that we’d made love. No, now that we’d fucked.
He strode closer and tapped on my desk.
“Whew,” he said, yawning. “Long day. I might just fall asleep under my desk.”
Okay, I told myself, knowing I couldn’t keep staring away from him since that would be more suspicious than anything else. It’s now or never.
I turned to him and used my quiet, Violet voice. “Was it really busy?”
He nodded and checked his watch. “And it’s not over yet, unfortunately. I need coffee.”
So far, so good. He hadn’t really taken a good look at me, but he didn’t seem to think anything other than that I was Violet. I jumped up. “Can I get you a cup?”
He waved me away. “Fuck that.” He stopped. “Sorry. Forget that,” he said apologetically, pointing to the massive stack of invitations I’d addressed. “You’ve had a long day too. Why don’t you finish up what you’re doing? I’ll get the coffee, and you can join me for a cup in my office?”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just left me there, feeling so stunned that it took me damn near forever to start writing out envelopes again. He wanted me to have coffee with him, in his office? Whatever for?
A thousand possibilities ran through my head, but only one seemed remotely plausible.
He was on to me.
I quickly finished the last few invitations in the pile, feeling more and more nervous. Of course he was on to me. This was Came
ron Brice, Ivy League educated, top of his class, not some dumbass. But if he was on to me, why not rip off my wig and shout, “Aha!” Why invite me to his office for coffee?
Deciding it was now or never, I wiped my sweaty palms on the thighs of my hideously large denim prairie skirt and scuffed my way toward his office. I took a deep breath when I saw him in there, bare-chested in front of a small mirror. He’d shaved and was just buttoning up the buttons of a new white dress shirt as I stood in the doorway, completely melting from desire.
He turned as he started to tuck in his shirt, pushing the hem under the belt of his pants, and all I could think of was the massive cock that those finely pressed dress pants concealed. I knew I was blushing, my face as hot as the two cups of coffee steaming on his desk.
“Sorry,” he said with a smile, gazing at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Can’t have that five o’clock shadow at five o’clock. It makes me look — god forbid — human.”
He motioned to the coffee, which was in one of the mismatched mugs from the kitchen, surrounded by little packets of different sweeteners and creamer.
“Didn’t know what you drank, so it’s black. Do with it what you will.”
Do with me what you will, Prophetess.
I felt dizzy.
“It-it’s okay,” I stammered, sitting down on the chair across from him. I poured in one packet of Splenda and a creamer and stirred demurely with the plastic wand, vaguely aware that I would be late to my dinner with Kiera.
But of course, the second he’d walked in, I’d gone beyond caring.
“So,” he began, finishing with his cuff links and shrugging on his vest. “You intrigue me.”
I blinked, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought more about where I’d seen you before, and I realized… you’re Cassandra. “What?”
“When you said that last week. About those I’d hurt.”
I relaxed a little, remembering the conversation. “Oh?”
“Well, I know we don’t ask your political leanings during the hiring process as it’s against the law,” he said, running a red tie under his collar. As I watched his fingers, I began to imagine just what would’ve happened had he recognized me. Would he have run me out of his office? Fucked me silly again? What?
He started to pontificate while I imagined the latter. Him, stripping me bare and taking me right on the desk. I only snapped out of the fantasy when he said, “But it stands to reason that if you’re interested in working for the Republican Party, you’re likely a conservative. Otherwise, I imagine this work would be very difficult to stomach.”
Oh, god. It was the former. He was toying with me and was going to run me out of his office.
“I am a conservative,” I blurted.
“Right. I mean, you’ve been to my rallies.”
I had? What the hell was he talking about? Like I would set foot anywhere near those Tea Party scumbags. I opened my mouth to speak as it came to me. I’d told him that during our first meeting, when he’d wondered why I looked familiar.
“Yes,” I said, shifting in my seat. I demurely leaned forward and took a tiny sip of my coffee. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was merely playing devil’s advocate.”
“Assumed,” he said, nodding. He walked around his desk and leaned back, taking his mug of black coffee in his hand. “But the truth is, I do hurt a lot of people. Unintentionally. And I have to justify that to myself.”
“There has to be a middle ground, though, right?” I asked. “A compromise?”
He let out a snort. “Perhaps. But if you take the middle ground, you run the risk of both parties hating your guts for being too ‘soft.’ Thus, the dilemma. Better have one party’s hate than both, right? Even if I end up compromising my own beliefs?”
I just stared at him.
“Often I would get the feeling that if the solution to these things were easy, it would have already presented itself,” he said, studying the mess of papers on his desk. “I’d go around in circles and never get any further.”
That was such a pessimistic view, it instantly peeved me.
“That can’t be true,” I stepped in before he could say more. “I mean, there are math problems that have baffled scientists for hundreds of years until they’re solved. There is a solution to any problem. Some might just take longer to find.”
“Right.” He set his coffee cup down and looked at me. “That is where I was headed. We may take a few steps forward, a few back, but we are always moving toward the solution. For example, the problem of immigration? Do you think we should open our borders?”
I swallowed. My father was an immigration attorney. He’d defended hundreds of families facing deportation for entering the country to create a better life for themselves. But that clearly wasn’t something I could tell him.
I hesitated just long enough for him to urge me on with, “This is off-the-record. I promise not to fire you if you say the wrong thing.”
It didn’t help me loosen up. If he knew what was truly in my head, he’d probably run me out of the building with a pitchfork. Knowing the answer he was searching for, I said, “Of course not. The country’s already too crowded as it is.”
He pressed his lips together, not pleased as I’d expected. Oh, he was definitely on to me. “And how did you come to that opinion?”
I stared at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Like, where did you get the information you used to come to that conclusion?”
God, now his sexy eyes were boring into me, and my mind was swirling with memories of his cock inside me, the way he’d kissed me as we moved together as one continuous unit. My nipples, already aroused by the clamps, hardened to pebbles. “I just… the news. And…”
“Googling?”
No, I’d been googling him all weekend. He seemed disappointed, but the fact was, I was just spouting off the answers I thought he’d want to hear. Like a good clerk. A good clerk, who at this moment, wanted to fuck the hell out of him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said, holding my coffee rigid on my lap.
He smiled tiredly. “I wanted you to say what you feel. Not what someone on the news told you to feel. If you came into this topic not knowing anything about it, what would you say?”
I thought for a moment. And then I answered, “I’d say that I think people should be allowed to live where they want to live.”
He nodded. “And I’d agree with you.”
I blinked. “You would?”
“Yes. People should be able to do just that. Live where they want to live, marry who they want to marry, do what they want to do,” he said. “Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, right? But then you have the slippery slope.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If we open our borders, how do we prevent overcrowding and reduction of resources? Are we inviting crime inside? With the legalization of same-sex marriage, what is to stop marriage between people and animals, or toasters, or children? For that matter, if a child can identify as transgender in grade school and have her breasts cut off, should we also let her cut off her leg if she identifies as disabled? If we say it’s illegal to abort a baby in the womb, who is to stop us from aborting a child at one minute of age… one week… one year?” He paused, staring at the wall, looking like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’d like to think opposition exists to stop humanity from sliding down it.”
He’s drinking Kool-Aid, I thought to myself. “You really think people would marry toasters?”
“Have you seen the sex robots? There are brothels of them now. I don’t put anything past the American people. We are the most amazing country on the face of this Earth, but also… quite stupid, at times.”
I had to smile at that.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” he said, and my mind flung back to that sofa in The Black Room. Right then, I’d have given anything for his power over me. Absolutely. “Given the freedom to do what
they will, people will take advantage of it, and do what is in their best interest, damning everyone else. Everyone needs a healthy dose of humility.”
I nodded, wondering what he’d think if he could see the dirty thoughts creeping into the mind of the clerk with the kitten sweater. What he’d think if he knew the chain I’d worn while fucking him was touching my skin now.
“I’m sorry. My intention in bringing you in here wasn’t to interrogate you. I assumed that you were interested in a career in politics, and well, I thought I’d impart the best advice I could to you.” He stood up, checking his watch. “And that advice is: There is no ‘us versus them,’ as some people would have you believe. No enemies. When it comes to politics, it is very easy to become disillusioned. If you search for the commonalities instead of the differences, you won’t get disheartened. After all, we all want essentially the same thing — a better life for all citizens. Got it?”
I stood up too, feeling warm. “Oh. Yes. Um. Why are you…?”
He smiled. “Because I’ve been there. Right where you are. Maybe not right where you are, because there never was any question what I’d do with my life. Yale, Harvard Law, you get the picture. But I have grappled with crises of faith and confidence in the political arena. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be human.”
I nodded, my face now pinking over. He hadn’t been on to me. He’d just wanted to have a powwow with his employee, to help her with some friendly career advice. He hadn’t made a single sexist remark, and while I knew Violet wasn’t a sex vixen, he hadn’t exerted any masculine power over her whatsoever.
It was so… not the egotistical Republican asshole I’d expected from him.
As a result, I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to leave. “Yes. Thank you.”
He’d picked up his phone, which he looked up from for a moment as he gave me a genuine smile. “Anytime, Violet. Have a good night.”
I tore myself out of his office, and by the time I checked my phone, I was ridiculously late for my date with Kiera. I raced home, tearing off my wig and slipping into the first pair of jeans I could find, then drove to Center City, replaying his words to me over and over again in my head.
