Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  I flung back toward the kitchen and began to rifle through the cabinets, tossing things to the ground. Cereal fell to the floor: bowls, plates, everything. I heard a wine glass crash to the ground and fling itself into a million little glass pieces. I tugged at my hair, wondering where the cameras would be.

  Finally, I swept back toward the fine armoire that sat on the other side of my dining room table. On the inside of the armoire sat all the fine china that had been passed down on my mother’s side, from my grandmother’s grandmother. It glinted in the afternoon light.

  On the inside of the armoire, I found it: the camera. It was blinking at me in the darkness of the cabinet, as if it was saying hello. I sniffed at it, turning it this way, then that. I whispered into it, suddenly, muttering the words: “I’ve got you, here. Yes I do.”

  I suddenly flung the camera into the sink. I turned on the sink and allowed it to die there at the bottom, still blinking at me for several moments before finally giving itself over to death.

  Breathing heavily, I was finally able to pulse through the rest of the apartment and find the remaining cameras. I found three in total, and I allowed each of them to die a very wet death at the bottom of my sink. I poured myself a very full glass of wine and drank it alone at my kitchen table, still watching the light from the lamp as it glimmered over the broken glass on the floor. I knew that this was representative of the terror of my situation; I knew that I was currently mid-repair. How long would this fucking situation put me back from my goals?

  I would have to be careful in the future. I would have to watch my back. I couldn’t get bleary-eyed with adoration for that man—the President of the United States.

  I was smarter than that.

  Chapter 3

  The rest of the afternoon, I drank heartily from the wine glass before drinking from the wine bottle. I wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation, but I knew I couldn’t miss another day at work. I called in at around four in the afternoon and spoke in a strained voice to Jason’s second-in-command, the man beneath both me and Jason—a man named Scott. “Scott?” I said, my voice a bit gruff, a bit strained.

  “Amanda. We’ve been worried about you. Are you coming back in this afternoon?”

  I shook my head into the phone, feeling frustrated. “No. I’m under the weather, I’m afraid,” I muttered. “Please tell the team I’ll be back with them tomorrow. Please apologize for me.”

  Scott affirmed that he would. I imagined him telling these words to Jason; I imagined Jason’s ominous laughter once more—the sheer understanding that he’d put me in my place—that I couldn’t even comprehend going to work, to face that atmosphere.

  Ultimately, I fell asleep that night in the kitchen chair with my head on my hand, with my wine glass still half-full. I felt the anger and anxiety of the day fall away from me, and I finally allowed myself just a few hours of sleep.

  Until suddenly, at six in the morning, I stood up suddenly out of my slumber, blinking my eyes wildly at the surrounding arena. The kitchen light was still on, and it seemed so ominous above me. I shuddered, looking down at my now-ruffled work clothes. I knew I had to be at work a bit earlier that day because I’d missed the previous day. No rest for the campaign manager, I thought.

  I rushed into the bathroom, allowing my clothes to fall to the ground as I walked. The water pounded upon me like a baptism. I closed my eyes beneath it, allowing the steam to calm me. This had been the worst experience of my life. But I was going to come out of it with flying colors.

  I didn’t have another fucking choice.

  I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my head as I exited the heat, allowing the water to evaporate from y skin. I shivered slightly as I brushed my teeth, allowing my elbow to rotate slowly at my side.

  I chose a fine, prim, black suit—something that didn’t create any sort of sexuality, I was certain. It was even a bit bigger on me than my other suits, thus forcing my body to look a bit overweight. I nodded at myself in the mirror, sure that I could go to work, do my job, and then simply come home. Someday—maybe ten years from now—I would allow myself to feel passion once more. But god. Not now.

  I took a taxi back into work, preparing my mind for the day ahead. I didn’t want to see Dimitri anymore; I felt he knew too much about my situation. When I saw him at the entrance to the White House, I skirted my eyes away from him, saying a prim: “Good morning.” I was a ghost to these people, now. I had to be.

  I tapped up the steps, toward the brimming West Wing. I could feel Xavier’s presence, even as I walked past the closed Oval Office door. I could nearly see him in there, tapping a pen against his lip (and perhaps thinking of me?). I wondered if anything had happened with his wife recently; I wondered if he had left my apartment only to go hold her in his own bed. The thought of this chilled me to the bone.

  Suddenly, after I passed his office, I heard his door open. My very spine seemed to chill. I continued walking slowly, primly, hoping he wouldn’t call out to me. But I could feel his eyes on me.

  Then, I heard him: “Amanda.” The word was so sensual from his lips. I wanted to smack him, suddenly. I wouldn’t have been involved in this debacle if it hadn’t been for him—if he hadn’t of asked me out. He had the true power here.

  I spun around, allowing my hair to wind around my neck. “What is it?” I asked him. I didn’t make eye contact with him, but I could feel his presence before me. His suit was cut so primly; he held his hands in his pockets with such subtle sensuality. His beard was growing in bit-by-bit on his chin. And he was looking at me with such a worried expression on his face.

  “Amanda. I heard you fell ill yesterday at work.”

  I nodded, swallowing. “I didn’t feel very well, no,” I murmured. I tried to smile, but the muscles didn’t work. I wanted to flee back to my desk, to continue my dutiful work. All I could think about in those moments was what I was meant to do: promote Jason. Tell the president, perhaps, that he would be a better campaign leader than I was. Tell him that I didn’t feel like I could take on the role anymore, especially after everything that had happened.

  But I didn’t want to remind the president of what had happened.

  Xavier stepped forward. His eyebrows had narrowed more starkly over his eyes. “Amanda, I need you to tell me if something is wrong. Do you want to talk in my office?” He ducked his head to the right, trying to catch my eyes. But I held firm.

  I shook my head. “I have so much to do, Mr. President. I’ll have an updated explanation to you in the afternoon.”

  “Explanation of what?” Xavier asked. His voice was leading, as if he were searching for something—an explanation for what was going on between us, instead of the campaign.

  I cleared my throat. “Explanation of—of the campaign, of course,” I answered. I smiled at him, still looking somewhere far away from him, down the hall.

  I spun back around and fled toward my desk. I passed by Jason’s, where I heard him speaking on the phone to one of our backers. It took all my strength not to spin toward him and pound his face with my fist.

  I sat at my desk, feeling the chair dip beneath me. I cleared my throat, feeling such anxiety as I passed my eyes over my crew. This crew had been entrusted to me; I was meant to watch over it, to cultivate it.

  Xavier appeared in the doorway, watching over all of us just as I was watching over them. I placed my hands onto my keyboard and began writing up a decidedly terribly email to another backer, something that I immediately deleted after I wrote it, my eyebrows still narrowed over my eyes. I had to get through the goddamned day.

  Denise, from the previous day, approached my desk once more. In an uneasy, shaking voice, she tapped her pen against her portfolio and began speaking to me in what I was sure was English. I couldn’t understand her at all; the rushing in my brain was filtering out her words. I nodded as she tapped. Finally, I agreed to whatever she’d stated to me, and I watched her walk away with such stunning confidence. I had been her, only a few y
ears before. I was only twenty-eight years old.

  And already, I was ruined.

  I considered going into the president’s office and exposing Jason. I considered telling him what was going on, allowing him to arrest him. Before that day, Xavier had been someone I could trust. He had been more than a friend. He’d been someone I could laugh with over lunch, someone I was sure who held a comprehension of who I was and what I had gone through in order to get to the top.

  However, I knew that if Jason didn’t hear wind of a promotion soon, he would expose the photos.

  Suddenly, my computer bleeped at me, forcing my eyes to the screen. Suddenly, the computer showed an image of the president and I, both of us undressed and touching each other, our eyes closed. I saw such supreme desire on my face.

  I snapped the computer closed before me, my face burning with such anger. I looked toward Jason, who continued to tap along at his own desk. However, his face reeked of guilt. He was teasing me.

  I continued staring at him until he turned toward me and raised his eyebrows, mouthing the words:

  “I’m coming for you.”

  The words sent my heart directly into my stomach. I wanted to start crying. I brought my hands up to my forehead and felt my feet on the ground, bringing me up into the air. I sauntered toward the Oval office, where I knew the president was sitting, waiting for me to approach him

  Finally, I found myself at the door of the Oval office. Outside, Dimitri stood, his face grim and long. “Amanda,” he said, nodding at me curtly.

  “I require a brief meeting with the president to discuss his campaign,” I stated, my voice spewing with professionalism. I could turn it on when I needed it.

  “Absolutely, campaign manager,” Dimitri stated. His voice held none of the warmth of the previous years of our friendship. He flung his hand toward the doorknob and opened it, revealing the stunning, light-filled oval office before me.

  I entered the doorway and found myself face-to-face with the president once more. When I thought about it, I could nearly feel his mouth over my nipple, our tongues grasping at each other as we made love in my apartment.

  I cleared my throat. “There’s something I must discuss with you, Mr. President.”

  Xavier stood. His eyes looked at me with such familiarity. I knew that he felt terrible about the morning; I knew that he felt that I was backing away from our half-hearted relationship, unsure. But he didn’t know why.

  “Amanda. Hello. I’m glad you came.”

  I opened my mouth, my mind spinning. My anger was spewing in my heart. If only Jason hadn’t spied on me, I would be in Xavier’s lap now, kissing him. Falling for him. Laughing with him. But Jason had cut between us like a knife. I was so incredibly angry, because I’d planned to have this conversation with the president, anyway. I wanted to put Jason ahead. Not in my position, certainly. But I wanted him to succeed. At least: in that eternity that I would always call “before the photos” in my mind.

  “I wanted to talk with you about Jason,” I said. I tugged at my oversized black jacket, nodding to him assertively.

  Xavier sat down, gesturing forth to allow me to sit on the other side of his desk. “Please.”

  I cleared my throat and sat, my eyes still peering over his shoulder and not toward his eyes. I could hardly look at him without being filled with desire. “I—“

  “You don’t think he’s working out,” the president stated, interrupting me. “He seems much like a slimy snake to me. We can fire him immediately. I can have a whole series of interviewees to you in just the afternoon.”

  God, Xavier. Just shut up, I wanted to say to him. I couldn’t, of course.

  I cleared my throat. “On the contrary, Mr. President—“ I spoke. There was such tension between us. I knew he wanted to fuck me in that moment; I knew he wanted to take me, there, on his presidential desk. “Jason is a true attribute to our mission here on the campaign trail. In fact, I would like to step down and allow him to move forward with the campaign. I’ll work beneath him; I wouldn’t abandon the campaign in a million years, of course.” I cleared my throat. I watched as his eyes lowered to the ground, disappointed. I knew that he felt I was doing this because of the other night, because I felt uncomfortable in his presence. I knew he felt he would never see me alone again. He was right.

  “I’m sorry you feel this way, Amanda,” he whispered. His voice was so sad, filled with unhappiness. “I believe that you’re doing a fine job at the helm of the campaign. Suppose I didn’t allow you to quit?” His eyes turned up toward me, catching me for the first time. Our eye contact seemed to spew fire. I swallowed.

  I shook my head. “There’s no possible way I can move forward at the helm of this campaign. I am sincerely sorry, Mr. President,” I said as resolutely as I could muster.

  I bowed my head toward him, reducing our eye contact. I wondered if he could tell that something was afoot—that I was being controlled, in a way. I wondered if he could smell it on me: the betrayal.

  Even as I stood before the president, listening to the silence between us, I could feel Jason’s hand around my throat, forcing me to say everything I was saying. I’d never been in this position before: this position in which I was meant to be eternally at the mercy of someone else—in which I gave up my position of power so that another person could take over.

  “I’m sorry to hear this, Amanda,” he said again. He bowed his head, bringing his fingers together. “Please. Send Jason into the office so that I can de-brief him for his role.”

  I nodded, spinning back around. I felt like I had just taken a bullet in the war, that I was being sent back to the hospital even while the war raged on. I exited the beautiful office, knowing that I wouldn’t spend much time there anymore.

  Dimitri, on the outside of the Oval office, sniffed at me as I exited. “How did it go in there?” he asked me gruffly.

  I knew he thought I’d just fucked Xavier, that I was “that kind of woman” now.

  Although, I suppose, I was.

  I flung my head toward him and whispered harshly in his face. “Don’t you dare fuck with me.”

  And then I walked back down the hallway, feeling enraged. I could feel Dimitri’s eyes on me. I felt terrible, truly. I knew that beyond anything else, Dimitri was one of the only people I could trust in the White House. He was a good ally, especially in the face of Jason’s terror over me. However, I felt too proud in these moments to do anything but spew hatred and anger toward him.

  I was on the verge of a breakdown.

  I sauntered back into the room that was spewing with such activity. The campaign trail was hot, and we were in the pit of the fire. I turned toward Jason, wanting to spit on him in that moment. His eyes met with mine, and there was humor lurking beyond there—like this was all some big, made-up joke.

  “He wants to see you,” I whispered, gesturing with my head to the left, toward the Oval Office.

  Jason stood, pulling at his shift and subsequently yanking it from his belt once more. He sniffed and leaned toward me, kissing me on the cheek. “I knew you’d do the right thing,” he whispered, winking at me.

  And then he walked down the hallway, toward the Oval Office, with such haughtiness. I watched as Dimitri opened the Oval Office door for him, looking confused. Dimitri turned toward me, his eyes dark, searching.

  But I spun back toward my desk, nearly tripping on the chair of one of my employees. I righted myself, feeling my head spinning. I yelled at the man before me: “GET BACK TO WORK!” even as he began to kneel down and help me to my feet. I felt the anger growing in a million different ways and I wouldn’t allow anyone to assist me. I had to destroy this on my own.

  I would get back to the top. I just didn’t know how, yet. I didn’t know how.

  Chapter 4

  I finished the remainder of the day: answering emails, barking the occasional order. It was clear that Jason would eventually make the announcement that he was above me, soon. But I didn’t want to make the a
nnouncement yet. I wanted to dwell in the remainder of my high status before everything came crashing down.

  I ended my day rather early, however, wanting to get out of there. Again, I brought my cardigan around my body and scurried away from the White House—the very home in which I’d felt so sure of myself, just weeks before. When I’d interviewed with Xavier. When I’d wanted him, all the while knowing that I could never, in a million years, have him.

  A million years had happened since then, of course.

  I hailed a taxi and collapsed into it, still thinking about Jason. I hated that after a few days of thinking only about love, I was now rooted in the comprehension of hatred. I just wanted revenge on this man. I wanted to find my way through his terror and come out on top. But I didn’t know how.

  As we zoomed away from the White House, I had a sudden idea. I called up to the taxi driver. “Sir? Could we stop at the monuments? I—I want to take a walk.” I swallowed. I hadn’t taken time to myself like this in years and years: time in which I was meant to reflect, to enjoy my life. In this moment of sheer rage, I knew I needed to take a moment to appreciate everything.

  The taxi stopped at the outset of the great park. I paid him extra to wait for me, and I bounced into the open air. It was September, and summer was filtering away from us. I could smell the winter in the air. For some reason, I could taste Christmas cookies; I could imagine the holiday season.

  I neared the Washington Monument, then, shoving my hands into my pockets. I sighed before it, remembering that eternally, this monument gave me such promise. Now, it simply gave me peace from all the sadness lurking in my mind. The great spear reflected across the water, signifying all the history pulsing beneath the surface of this Washington D.C. earth.

  I remembered that in the past, when I’d faltered—if only for a moment—I’d been able to turn to my roving brain in order to come up with a plan. But there, in front of the Washington monument, I couldn’t feel anything in my mind but despair. I reached into my pocket and brought out a quarter. Washington’s face glinted at me: but nothing lurked beneath his eyes. I tossed the coin into the water, feeling at a loss for my future.