Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  Heartless

  R.C. Martin

  Copyright © 2017 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover and Interior Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2017

  www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by R.C. Martin

  About the Author

  Para Jenny, quien ayudó a darle vida al héroe de esta historia.

  El té hizo suspirar antes de conocerlo y a quien amaste hasta el final.

  Me encantó compartir contigo este viaje riesgoso.

  Gracias por ser parte de mi trayecto de escritura.

  “WHAT IF HE doesn’t?”

  I look up from my Wisconsin Brat, catching her gaze from across the table. Absentmindedly tracing my finger along the edge of the red, plastic basket, I ask, “What if he doesn’t what?”

  Her pretty brown eyes grow sad, and my heart aches at the pity I see in her expression.

  “Blaine—darling, what if he doesn’t actually leave her? What if he doesn’t come back?”

  I shift my gaze down into my lap and stare at my hand. With my thumb, I spin the ring around my middle finger over and over, all the while reminding myself that her what ifs are just words. I convince myself that what he and I have, it’s bigger than our circumstances. I shield my heart against the lies that lie in what if—in the silence—in the waiting.

  “Blaine…” she murmurs, leaning against the table to shorten the distance between us.

  I curl my fingers into a fist and lift my eyes to meet hers once more. I ignore the way her worry tugs at her brow and the regret I know she harbors in her thoughts. I ignore it all. I have to. For Michael, for us, I have to.

  “He will,” I state resolutely. “He’ll come back to me.”

  “But—”

  “He will!” I insist, pounding my fist against my thigh. “He has to. He has to.”

  Michael

  We enter the house through the side access door at the rear of the mansion, just as we do every morning. When we reach the end of the hallway, I lift my chin in a silent expression of appreciation to Clay—my security detail and running mate. Still as breathless as I am, he dips his head in a nod, offering me a wave before heading to his quarters. I glance up the stairs and then make my ascent to my own bedroom, well aware that we’ll both be taking our leave with the sunrise.

  Even though it’s barely five-thirty in the morning, and I’m sure I made not a sound when I got up for my usual run an hour ago, I return to the master suite to find Veronica is already awake. I don’t see her when I sit on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed to unlace my sneakers, but the sheets are empty, and the lamps on each nightstand flanking the mattress are illuminated.

  “Morning, sweetie,” she murmurs softly, walking into the room.

  I look up and watch my wife exit our closet, her short, black robe left open. I let my eyes take in the matching black negligee she wore to bed last night, the silky material hugging her hourglass figure. Her long, black hair hangs down her chest, hiding her full, heavy breasts, but that doesn’t stop me from remembering that they are there.

  Lifting my gaze to meet hers, I pull off one sneaker and then the other as I reply, “Good morning.”

  “How was your run?” she asks, as she so often does.

  “Good,” I assure her. “It’s brisk out, but I appreciated it after the first mile.”

  “Good.” Once she’s closed the distance between us, she leans down to pick up my shoes. On her way up, she stops and puckers her lips. I accept the invitation thoughtlessly.

  “You’re up early. What do you have going on today?”

  “Do I have to have a reason to be up?” she asks, turning back toward the closet. “Can’t a wife just wish to see her husband off to work?”

  A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I follow after her, yanking my sweat soaked t-shirt from off of my back. Joining her in the closet, I toss the soiled garment in the hamper as I reply, “You say that like I haven’t been paying attention to you for the last decade. I know you better than that, Vee. Idle hands are not something you’re familiar with.”

  She chuckles—the sound throaty and mischievous—and discards my shoes before she starts picking through my suits. “Your new interns start today, don’t they?”

  I sigh, having forgotten that to be true. I spent the duration of my run thinking about the session that I called for today. Legislatures have been on my ass about this bill, but I won’t sign it until it’s right. “Yeah,” I mumble, tugging off the rest of my clothing. I think about what that means for my day, and I rake my fingers through my hair as I head for the shower.

  “…you know how I like to stop by.”

  “What was that?” I ask Veronica, only catching the tail end of her sentence as I start my water. I turn away from the glass stall and come face to face with her.

  She smiles, holding up two ties, and I point to the solid blue one before she repeats, “Cookies. It’s tradition. You know that.”

  “Right,” I nod, stepping into the shower.

  “Anyway, I’ve got a busy day,” she goes on to tell me, speaking loudly so that I can hear her as I wash. “I thought I’d get the cookies baked this morning before I went to Mercy Hill. You know I’m in charge of the clothing drive this Saturday. Your dad wanted to meet and get the run-down on the morning I have planned.”

  “Right,” I repeat, trying to remember if I knew about this clothing drive.

  The truth is, the First Lady of Colorado is all over the place all of the time. When she’s not running one committee or another at my father’s church, she’s volunteering at the Boys and Girls Club, or organizing a charity gala, or baking cookies for my new group of interns. Keeping track of her feels nearly impossible sometimes, especially on top of my own schedule. I swear, some days it’s a miracle we even see one another.

  “I have to be there around seven, but if you could stop by around nine, that’d be perfect.”

  “Wait, nine? This Saturday?” I ask, my hands freezing in my hair, drenched and thick with shampoo.

  “Yeah.”

  “Babe, I can’t this weekend. I’ve got a golf game. I tee off with Lawrence at seven.”

  “Oh,” she murmurs contemplatively. “I could have sworn I told Heidi—”

  “I’m sure you did,” I assure her, rinsing my hair clean. “I kno
w she had to move some things around on my schedule to fit in this meeting with Lawrence. I’m sorry, Vee, but—”

  “No, no, it’s okay. It’s Lawrence. I know the only time you can get that man to have a serious conversation with you is on the golf course. Besides, you’ve been so busy lately. You deserve a morning game. I’ll just let your dad know when I see him today.”

  Stepping out of the shower, I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist. Veronica is sitting on the short stool at her vanity mirror across the room. Her phone is in her hand as she types something—no doubt adjusting her plans for the weekend. Looking up from the device, she smiles at me and points out, “You forgot to shave.”

  “Damn,” I mutter, reaching up to rub my chin.

  “I’ll go start your breakfast,” she says, making her way toward me. “Oatmeal? Eggs? Toast?”

  “Eggs and toast.”

  “Okay.” Placing a hand on my chest, she pushes up on her tiptoes and presses her lips against the top of my cheek—above my stubble. “I laid your suit out on the bed. I like the way that one is cut on you. Big day today. You should look extra sharp.” She winks and then she’s gone, and I go about squeezing in a shave.

  By the time I’m dressed and headed into the kitchen, Veronica is making her way out, two plates full of food in hand, and the newspaper underneath her arm. I follow her into the dining room, and we both catch up on the local news while we eat—a routine we’ve grown quite accustomed to over the last couple of years when we share our breakfast. She knows this is about the only time I have to read the paper before my day gets hectic.

  When we’re finished, I follow her back to our bedroom, where she helps me into my jacket and straightens my tie.

  “Well, I hope I get to see you when I stop by this afternoon. If not, tonight?”

  “I’ll be late,” I warn.

  “All right. Oh—I’m having dinner with your mom and sister. We’re finalizing the details for the party Saturday evening. You cannot miss it. If Heidi—”

  “I won’t miss it,” I promise, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her lips.

  “Good. Your mom is so excited.”

  “No doubt.” Glancing down at my watch, I see that I’m a couple of minutes behind. Sure that Clay is already waiting in the car, I announce, “I have to go.”

  “I know,” she says, sliding a step away from me. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Love you,” I say automatically, taking my leave.

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  “HOW’D IT GO in there?” asks Heidi, catching up with me as I barge through the double doors leading into the lobby.

  I ignore the murmuring at my back, confident in the decisions that were made during the session. I’m also hopeful that the next presentation of the bill won’t lead to a veto, like I had originally feared. My shoes are not the easiest to fill, and I find myself so often toeing the line between approval and disgruntled frustration. I take no pleasure in being perceived as the bad guy. Rather, I simply work in the best interest of the businesses and special interest organizations constantly lobbying the legislature for better or more favorable laws to be passed—for the people who make up the beautiful state of Colorado. It has always been my goal to serve my state fairly, respectfully, and determinately, even if that means putting up a fight.

  Today, the battle was fought—and hopefully won.

  Glancing down at Heidi, I hide my smirk and button up my suit jacket as I inform her, “Better than I had hoped.”

  “Congratulations, Governor Cavanaugh.”

  “Don’t congratulate me yet,” I warn with a slight shake of my head. “Wait until the bill comes back from the House in a couple day’s time.”

  “Always so humble, our good governor,” she teases.

  This time, I don’t hide my smile, but couple it with a friendly wink.

  Heidi has been an integral part of my staff for the last two years. I first met her when I held the title of District Attorney. She was just getting her feet wet then—an administrative intern I couldn’t help but notice. She was sharp, professional, and ambitious; not to mention, she had no interest in flirting her way up the food chain. She worked late, arrived early, and earned the respect of her peers and superiors alike. When I announced my candidacy for governor, she was anxious to take part in my campaign.

  Now, at thirty years old, I find her far too beautiful, amusing, and intelligent to be chained to her desk for the likes of me—but so long as she continues to show up, I won’t turn her away. Some days, she’s the only reason I can seem to keep my head on straight.

  Keeping pace with me, she informs, “I’m afraid you missed your wife by about thirty minutes.”

  “Mmm,” I hum, nodding my acknowledgment. “I suppose she saw who she intended?”

  “As always,” Heidi says with a grin. “She was a hit. I swear, she makes the biggest cookies in Colorado. Hopefully your interns don’t fall into a sugar coma before the day is done.”

  “Only the strong survive, Heidi.” Tipping my chin at the stack of files she has in her arms, I ask, “What have you got for me?”

  “I’ve got another budget proposal that came across your desk an hour ago. If you want to glance at it now, you can—but the press corps is also scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. Your lunch is still untouched on your desk. You know you do better talking to the press after you’ve eaten. It’s getting pretty late, so I thought maybe—”

  Cutting her off as we turn down the hallway that leads to my office, I instruct, “Grab an intern from the finance team. Have him or her meet me in my office. I’ll eat, they can tell me what’s in the file.”

  “Throwing one into the lion’s den on their first day, huh?” she asks through another grin.

  Chuckling, I remind her, “Only the strong survive, Heidi—only the strong survive.”

  “Cavanaugh,” I mutter into the phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

  “Mmm. I know that tone,” she says, pulling me out of the paperwork in front of me.

  I sigh, running a hand down my face—scratching at the stubble that has already started to grow in on my jaw.

  “I just got home from your parents’ house. I’m still dressed. If you need something, I could have Noah swing me by your office for a minute.”

  “No,” I tell her, shaking my head, even though she can’t see me do it. “Don’t bother. I’m fine.”

  “Mike?”

  “What is it, Vee?” I ask, raking my fingers through my hair.

  “Don’t stay at the office too late, okay? Whatever it is, it’ll keep until tomorrow. It always does.”

  “I’ll be home before midnight,” I promise, shifting my focus back onto the files in front of me. “Don’t wait up. I know you’ve had a busy day.”

  “Skip your run tomorrow?” she asks hopefully.

  I hesitate, trying to remember the last time we had sex. It’s been a few days. A week. Maybe more. We’ve had a lot going on. Not to mention, with shit like this hitting my desk, I’m not always so sure that sex is the release I need. It’s a lot easier to take my frustration out on the pavement of the street than on my wife in the sack. She’s a gentle lover. Always has been. Twenty-one years, I’ve known her body; and in twenty-one years, not much has changed.

  “Mike? You still there?”

  “For me or for you, babe?” I ask honestly.

  She pauses for a breath before she replies, “It’s been almost two weeks.”

  “For you, then,” I answer for her.

  “For us.”

  I nod, wondering if I could manage to squeeze in some time in the weight room at some point tomorrow.

  “Mike…”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’m yours,” I assure her. “Vee, I’ve got to get back—”

  “Right. Of course. I’m sorry; don’t let me keep you. Remember what I said.”

  “Before midnight,” I repeat.

  “I love you.”

  “Yo
u, too. Night, babe.”

  “GOVERNOR?”

  My head jerks up at the sound of Heidi’s voice, and I see her face peeking through my cracked office door. I glance at the clock, note the time, and then furrow my brow at her. “It’s almost ten. What are you still doing here?”

  “What are you still doing here?”

  I toss aside my pen, drawing in a deep breath and letting out a heavy sigh as I lean back in my desk chair. “I swear, some days I take one step forward only to take five steps backwards. This budget?” I shake my head, at a loss for words.

  “You have a team who can help you with that, you know? ‘Course, they’ve all gone home for the evening, but you have analysts on your payroll for a reason, Governor.”

  I stare at her for a moment, noting that she’s right, but still wishing I was given something better this afternoon. After my interview with the press, the rest of my day was full of meetings. I didn’t get a chance to really dissect the numbers until after people started heading home for the day. At times, my impatience for a solution can get the better of me.

  “Cavanaugh,” she laughs, stepping into my office. “I say this with all due respect—but you need to get your ass out of here. Clear your head. Seriously—that’ll be here waiting for you tomorrow.”

  “Now you sound like my wife,” I tease. She grabs my suit jacket from where it’s folded across the back of one of the chairs on the opposite side of my desk.

  “Then I must be right,” she says through a smile.

  It isn’t until she thrusts my jacket out toward me that I realize—“That’s not what you were wearing earlier.” My eyes do a quick scan of her attire from head to toe, noting how the little black dress she has on is something I’ve never seen her wear to the office. “Are you going somewhere?”

  She shrugs, still holding my jacket for me, and I quirk an eyebrow at her.

  “If I tell you, will you leave the office?” she asks with an eye roll.

  “Eventually,” I retort, snatching my jacket out of her hand.

  “It was a date. A bad one.”

  “You’re telling me you went home, went out on a date—a bad date—and then came back to the office?”