by Tara Oakes
I roll my eyes. Tami’s been married over twenty years, and her favorite motto is “I can look, but I can’t touch.”
Well, she’s damn well looking right now. She’s looking really hard, too.
“Whoa!” I stumble past her and try to stop myself from falling, but it’s no use as I topple to the ground, sending a maelstrom of papers up into the air.
“Jessica!” As he’s closest, my dad is the first to lunge from his chair, and takes hold of my arm; helping to lift me from the inglorious face-plant I performed in from of the entire room.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Darling? Are you all right?” Cooper’s New England accent expresses concern while he moves to help, taking my other arm as I crawl to my knees.
A strong grip takes hold of my waist from behind and pulls up hard, bringing me to my feet so fast that I fall into the impenetrable barrier behind me — Chris’s chest.
“She’s fine, she’s fine. Just a little distracted. Heels were always a little tricky for her.” I’m close enough to feel his words vibrate as they rumble through him and into me.
I feel something else, too — something subtle and familiar, yet overwhelming. I clear my throat and step away from Chris, putting space between my ass and his....
“Oh, that’s right. You two know each other already,” Cooper’s quick to add.
Please, Lord. Don’t let this turn in to a pissing match. Cooper damn well knows we know each other. It was one of the many reasons he not only objected to reaching out to the FBI for help, but vehemently opposed requesting Chris specifically be assigned to the case.
“Let’s just move along, shall we?” I feel the heat rising, covering my neck, my cheeks, and I can only pray they don’t look as red as they feel.
I keep my eyes low, studying the ground before each and every step — not only to avoid another tumble, but also because I just don’t have the nerve to meet anyone’s eyes.
My dad’s seen me make an ass of myself plenty of times. It’s not him I’m too embarrassed to look at … it’s the person standing directly behind me, whose eyes I can feel burning into my back. Knowing him, those eyes are fixed right on my ass.
“Let’s dive right in,” I toss the hefty file of paperwork and photographs onto the sleek table surface directly in front of the seat I think is best to take as my own. Sitting beside Chris will keep me from having to look directly at him.
The three gentlemen take the seats they hastily abandoned due to my groundbreaking performance in high-heeled acrobatics.
“Blackmail. Plain and simple.” I flatten my palm onto the top photo and fan them out like a blackjack dealer in Vegas.
The dozens of high-resolution black and white images litter the work area.
I can feel Chris shift in his seat next to me. “Are those what I think they are?”
I nod, not at all happy to acknowledge the truth. It’s kind of like a Band-aid, though. Just rip it off and wince through the pain.
“Yup. Yours truly, in nothing but a G-string bikini, on a stripper pole.”
It’s hard to describe what I feel as I say those words aloud. Shame. Anger, Embarrassment.
Dad nearly had a heart attack when he saw the pictures for the first time. There I was, his baby girl, his pride and joy, looking like a raging whore. I immediately began to explain myself, to offer justification for what he was seeing at the time, but it was a hard sell.
It still sounds utterly ridiculous when I say it out loud.
I’m not too worried about disappointing Roger. He’s compensated handsomely to remain discreet regarding situations like this. Not to mention … he’s been in politics long enough to have seen far worse.
Cooper was pretty harsh when I had first told him. We had only been dating about a month or so. He was aware of my history with Chris, and wanted to know every detail about how we first met. It was probably his own insecurities playing out, needing to know all about his imaginary competition.
Chris and I had only broken up shortly before Cooper first asked me out. I was in a rough spot at the time, having thrown myself into my work to distract myself from the heartache left behind by Chris’s absence after going our separate ways. I had been spending day and night staring at computer screens and getting ready to get daddy’s re-election campaign up and running.
It wasn’t long before I realized I was lonely.
I already spent more time with Cooper than almost anybody else, as our work responsibilities closely tie into each other’s. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he’s cute in his own little way. Most importantly, though, dad thinks the world of him.
Sitting here now, across from Cooper, I don’t feel as self-conscious as I had when I first told him. He claimed he understood, he swore he didn’t judge me for it, and I believe him.
Chris, on the other hand ... I’m not worried in the least at how he feels about seeing the pictures. He knows the whole truth. Although these pictures show a hell of a lot, they don’t show one important piece of the puzzle.
They don’t show Chris, sitting in the front row.
“What are their demands?” Chris is all business, even though his hands are full of half-naked pictures of his ex-girlfriend.
I swallow hard, hating how my poor decisions have affected my dad and his campaign the way they have.
“Fifty thousand dollars, wired into a secure account.” I explain to him as I hand over the email listing those exact requests.
Chris inhales deeply, steepling his fingertips as he examines the text on the printed document. I can see his jaw moving slightly, as if he were grinding and clenching his teeth.
“It’s chump change,” Cooper is quick to add. “We should just pay it and be done with it.”
Chris’s attention shifts to the man sitting opposite him. Chris knows nothing about my relationship with Copper, but you’d never be able to tell by the look of contempt in his hardened eyes.
“Fifty-thousand dollars is a lot more than chump change to most people in this country.” It’s very clear these two men come from very different backgrounds. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t pay it.”
“Exactly!” I agree. “They’ll only ask for more, later.”
Cooper shoots me a quick look, clearly unhappy that I’m disagreeing with him so adamantly.
Chris is loosing patience with my dad’s right-hand man, and chooses to ignore him and address the man in charge, instead.
“Excuse my bluntness, Senator, but I’m pretty sure you’re worth somewhere in the neighborhood of … ten million? Maybe more?” Dad’s attention is now piqued. There’s a silent unspoken rule among people of my father’s stature. You don’t talk about money — not your own, anyway. “I’m guessing the person who sent this knows that. They also know that if something like this were to be leaked, at just the right time during the campaign, it could garner a nasty little reaction from some of your constituents.”
Dad nods. Most of the people who vote regularly for him are very conservative. Sure, most of them probably go to the type of strip clubs depicted in these pictures every Saturday night and stuff their stiff dollar bills down into the crotch of the women dancing on the poles, but they’re also the ones who go to church the very next day and pretend it never happened.
“So why wouldn’t they ask for more?” Chris’s question is obviously rhetorical, but Cooper decides to answer.
“They’re probably not asking for more money because they think we’ll just chock it up as a good investment and not bother to flush them out. Blackmail is a crime, Agent Gibson.” There is a sharpness to Cooper’s words.
Dad isn’t sure who to side with. He shifts his eyes back and forth between the two men.
Chris shakes his head. “Nah … there’s only one place they could’ve gotten these photos. One man controls this type of information, and believe me, he’s not worried about a silly little thing like getting jammed up for blackmail.”
He’s talking about Nick Faccione, a.k.a. Nick
y The Fish, the man who owns the strip club where these pictures were taken, the man who Chris himself helped to throw in jail for close to ten years.
Cooper’s eyes narrow on Chris, with the two of them locking stares in a very uncomfortable way.
“You can be sure there’s a very real reason why you’re only being asked for chump change. I have an idea what it could be, but there’s one way to know for sure.”
Each pair of eyes around the table widens, including my own, curious as to what it could be.
“I’ll take a trip to Barnsworth Penitentiary and see what I can find.” Chris finally offers.
I find my breath catching. Unless something has changed, Barnsworth Federal Penitentiary is where Nicky The Fish is housed.
“I’m going, too.” I quickly gather the mess of papers, fully prepared for the barrage of objections.
It doesn’t matter, though. Each of these men knows, first-hand, just how stubborn I can be; and, deep down, they must know that their opposition won’t do anything but waste time.
CHAPTER TWO
CHRIS
I rub my hands together furiously under the tap, before allowing a good amount the ice-cold liquid to collect in my cupped palm, only to splash it against the scorching skin of my face.
The onslaught of water is like a breaking wave doing its best to subdue the smoldering under the surface. I knew it would be intense laying eyes on her again, but this is really something else.
I keep my lashes closed, feeling the heavy, beaded drops hanging from them and blindly move to turn off the tap before reaching for the paper towel dispenser. With a wad of the stiff paper in hand, I bury my face in it to rid myself of the excess moisture.
I feel my shoulders rise high and then drop as I breathe in deep and exhale long and hard, pushing the warm air out into the softening paper. The quiet of the men’s restroom offers me just a bit of privacy to let out what I’ve been holding in since stepping through her office door.
Those damn legs! They were the first thing I saw, long and curvy, teasing me. Ah fuck, I remember those legs. The way they hugged around me tight when I would hoist her up. The way they shook when I made her come hard enough to leave her speechless as she would wince and clench her eyes tight while gasping.
The way they would nearly strangle me as they clamped down around my head, my neck, as my tongue had its way with her.
I crumple the soggy paper towel into a small ball and toss it over into the nearby trashcan before resting my palms on the cold, white porcelain base of the sink, letting my head hang.
I’ve got to get a hold of myself.
Sure, her legs were like a fucking lollipop I wanted to lick all the way to the juicy center, but it was nothing compared to the rest of her. The round, perfect breasts sitting high and peeking through the tightly stretched material that was pulling at the buttons that begged to be ripped open. The delicious hips that filled out that little skirt perfectly, although I know from experience they look a hell of a lot better with nothing on them except the tiny strap of her panties.
The slender little waist is just the right size to grab ahold of and pull her in when I want her closer. The naughty gleam in her eyes just begs to be challenged. And those lips … Agh! That sexy little pout that she wears so flawlessly, with its little smirk that reminds me of the vixen she’s capable of turning into.
It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing. She’s one of those few women who can’t manage to cover up the oozing sexuality she naturally exudes. She can be wearing a designer suit like today, a slutty little G-string like in those photos that came dangerously close to rendering a healthy erection under the conference table, or my personal favorite … nothing, sprawled out naked in my bed.
I reach down to shift the hardening bulge that my thoughts are soliciting. I can’t do this, I’m better than this. All of my training, all of my experience ... there’s no way I can just throw that all out the window to reminisce about this shit right now.
I’m a goddamned FBI agent!
I know how to separate my personal life from my private life. Hell, that’s one of the main reasons Jess and I broke up. One reason among many, actually, but it was a big one. I was never around when she needed me and she always came second.
It was true, I didn’t bother to deny it. She knew how hard I’d worked to get to this point in my career, hell, she even helped me get here, helping to crack one of the biggest cases of my career.
What are the odds that very same case would come back to haunt us both now, huh? I was fully prepared to move on with my life, knowing she was ultimately better off without me. Then I get the call two days ago. A call I never thought I’d ever receive; Her… asking for my help. Asking to help find the blackmailers that are using that very same undercover case that set our whole relationship in motion, against her.
She wasn’t asking Chris, the ex-boyfriend that had chosen to let her go for both our sakes. She was asking Agent Gibson, the man partially responsible for putting her up on that stage, in a vulnerable position, for those pictures to ever have been taken in the first place.
That’s who I’ve got to be right now. Agent Christopher Gibson. The professional. I close my eyes and concentrate fully on becoming that person, knowing that it will do the trick and quiet the raging erection that’s pulsing between my legs.
The heavy swinging door to the entrance of the men’s room is pushed open, and I immediately stand tall, busying myself with smoothing back the sides of my hair and fixing my tie.
“Agent,” the scrawny blond guy from the meeting earlier walks in. What’s his name again? Braun. Cooper Braun.
I nod through my reflection, acknowledging his presence as he takes a spot at the row of urinals on the opposite wall. I stifle a laugh as I picture the three-inch dick this guy probably has and how it’s perfect for a pansy-ass like him, with his condescending tone and weasel eyes.
He’s just the kind of guy I’d picture working for the Senator. I’ve only met Jessica’s father a handful of times while we were dating, and I could practically smell the disdain coming from him where I was concerned.
I didn’t have enough money, didn’t come from the right family, didn’t have the right kind of job, or education, or… anything. He was more than blunt about it. The one thing I did have, though, pissed him off more than anything. I had his baby girl’s sweet little pussy any time I wanted.
In the end he was right, though. I didn’t have enough, wasn’t enough, for her. I could barely hold my own in a conversation at any one of those stuffy dinner parties she’d drag me along to. I hate to even remember the time she begged me to come along to her family’s country club.
I don’t golf. I don’t kiss other people’s asses while making an even bigger ass out myself, and I don’t play tennis. Or sail. How well do you think that day went? Whatever you picture, yeah, it was ten times worse. The only saving grace was Princess getting all hot and bothered as I massaged her sunblock in, grabbing my hand to sneak off behind some random little maintenance shed and sucking the life out of me.
I don’t know what was better — her giving me what was, hands-down, the best blowjob ever, or the hidden satisfaction knowing that daddy dearest was less than two hundred feet away.
The swooshing water of the flushing urinal reminds me of the chump behind me, with his superior attitude and belittling mannerisms. I’ll bet he sails. I’ll bet he plays golf. And most of all, I’ll bet he kisses ass with the best of ‘em. It’s probably why the good Senator has him on staff.
It’s more than a little ironic, though, that with a blue-blood no doubt ivy-league educated dick like Cooper working here, I’m going to be the one who actually saves the Senator’s ass.
“Before you leave for your trip,” Cooper’s whine-tinged voice addresses me as he begins to wash his hands. “I thought we should have a few words in private.”
Does he, now? Well there’s nothing more private than a men’s bathroom.
“I know
you and Jessica have a history. She’s told me all about it.” Did she? I find it a little odd that Princess would share such personal information with one of her dad’s employees, but I continue to listen. “I want to be upfront and honest with you, Agent Gibson …”
Ha! I nearly choke. Honest? I have yet to meet a politician who’s even remotely capable of such a thing — especially this douche. One look at him, his body language, his eyes, and I have him pegged. He’s a lying sack of shit like all the rest of them.
“Jessica went against my better judgment to ask you here. I’m a firm believer that what happens in the past should stay in the past. I’m not worried about her, necessarily. I know how things can get out of hand in intense, close-knit working conditions. I would hate to see Jessica be taken advantage of a second time.” His thin, dry little lips attempt a smile. “And I also happen to know one of your Superiors. Associate Deputy Director Kinsley. We go way back. Fraternity brothers.”
The threat is very, very clear.
“He assures me that you take your position in the Bureau seriously enough to respect the line between personal and professional conduct.”
I feel my jaw tighten and my teeth clench. Does this sorry little excuse of a man actually have the balls to threaten me? I’ll show him the line between personal and professional conduct, all right — right as I’m smashing his head into it.
“So have a safe, productive trip, Agent Gibson.” He extends his cold, thin little hand in a passive aggressive offer of a handshake.
Now, I’ve been told on more than one occasion, that my temper can be dangerous. Sometimes, it’s a blessing. Sometimes, it’s not.
I ignore his proffered hand and step forward, looking down upon the man who’s just had the audacity to challenge me. His cowardly eyes widen in surprise and he instinctively steps back, crashing against the metal wall of the nearest bathroom stall.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Braun. I have my priorities right where they should be … to clean this mess up as quickly as possible. The mess that you were unable to.”
