Seduced By The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  Engineering the Truth

  I’M WORKING the aisle and Bennett is totally owning the room. He’s owning me if I’m willing to be honest. The smile splitting my face is mostly from him, but it’s also from the people around us. The throng imparts a contact high, and I’m surfing within a sea of endorphins. Each time my gaze connects with Bennett’s, it’s a livewire jolt to my nerve endings.

  Yet I’m also enthralled by the crowds. Talking with them. Answering questions. I turn, holding the mic for a man with a piece of paper. His hands tremble as he reads his note while asking his question about tax reform.

  Bennett is cool. He gives this guy his attention, and a serious answer about the economy yet he also interjects a joke and has the guy and the audience laughing. Over and over, I’ve witnessed this type of interaction, and it’s blowing my mind how Ben is so out and out captivating.

  Another man steps up to the mic. No paper, no nervousness, if anything he looks pissed. This time the question goes to foreign policy. Bennett nods, acknowledging the speaker by repeating the man’s question, directing the cameras to spotlight the guy. Again, my awe inspiring senator keys in and raises a point, answers the question—hell, he goes well beyond an answer. The man at the mic thanks him—thanks me.

  I’m surprised by this kooky business of meeting people, listening to them, and addressing their concerns—in essence, giving them a voice. It’s unbelievably potent even if I’m only an intern. So entrancing, and I’m psyched. Energized.

  “Whoa. Look at you,” a familiar voice whispers behind my head.

  I swing around and meet a pair of menacing eyes, the color of wet cement.

  “Colin, what are you doing here?” I grimace, seeing my cousin in the aisle and potentially blowing my stack as I consider him.

  “Isn’t that what families do? Stick together?”

  “Not our family,” I reply.

  If anyone would take pleasure in reporting to my grandparents what I’m doing and where I’m doing it, it’s him. I want to hurl and laugh and scream. Colin looks at me and smirks. His eyes glint as if I’d done something incredible that he can use to ingratiate himself to Gran aka get a financial handout. Instinctively, I adjust my scarf, afraid he’ll see the bite marks and hickeys adorning my neck.

  He shrugs. “Since when did you get into politics? And with a republican. Pity. Does Gran know that you’re hanging out here...with Senator Rolling Stone? How committed are you?”

  Anger rockets through me and I flash a glance at him in disbelief. “If you want to ask a question, the line starts over there.”

  He juts his chin toward the stage. “You’re not serious. Is this some type of rebellion? Gran and Pop will blow a fuse. Better tell the politician, adios.”

  “What I do, is none of your business.” Fuck, my viper of a cousin will use this and I can’t let him. I won’t! His words hit me in the pit of my stomach and my pulse spikes. Tilting my head away from the mic, I’m about to splinter. “Seriously, what do you want and why are you here?”

  “Get real,” he replies. “Nolan invited me.”

  Several people snap photographs around us. I shield my eyes, vainly trying to think. I was afraid Dean Nolan would mention seeing me to my family, and that’s why I downplayed the introduction. Right now, I need to ice my cousin—if that’s possible. Ignoring Colin, I focus on the man at the mic.

  “Here’s a bumper sticker.” I smile at the guy in line, and turn to another person waiting to ask Bennett a question. Nodding, I point to a young lady who beams, wearing several ‘Elect Senator Stone’ buttons, and I hold out the mic.

  Colin steps away and I think, good he’s leaving but he doesn’t. He recedes behind me and whispers loud enough to hear, “You haven’t even heard me out and you know, I’ve got to say my piece. What you’re doing here isn’t groundbreaking. Go tag on to another campaign trail if you’re serious about senators. Gran supports several.”

  If only it were as simple as smacking my stupid cousin in the face. I can’t let him get an inch closer to the real ‘senator’ issue and I force myself to smile. Laugh. “I’m doing a favor. Jon is working on a story. He’s outside.” I stare at Colin to make my point.

  I sure as shit am not going to hightail it out of here because of my cousin, but I don’t want him hanging around either. I have a choice and need to deal with Colin sooner than later. I give the mic to the woman in line, then move to my cousin’s side, grasping at what I can say to forestall this colossal shitstorm of when he goes running back to our grandmother. “So just what do you intend to do?”

  “Meaning?”

  I inhale, seeking to control the urge to throttle him. “For your sake, you’d better not start any stupid gossip about Jon and his project with the senator. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

  Dammit, I feel hollow saying Jon’s name, using my friend to throw Colin off the real trail. It’s not like my intention to work in D.C. for Stone is dissolving, but suddenly I see that the lines are well past blurred. There’s a plan in motion tying Bennett and me together—it’s changing, but not fast enough.

  I can’t explain or dissect this overarching feeling of why Bennett affects me so deeply, but what I do know is whatever this thing is between us, I can’t turn it off. And I’m not about to run away just because it’s unconventional.

  People from the audience are shifting, piercing us with sharp glances. Colin takes hold of my elbow and steers me to the back of the aisle, out of earshot of those around. “Jon’s just a journalist. No one really cares about one media monger.”

  He sounds sterner and in turn, I get a whole lot more serious. “Are you willing to say that online or tweet it? ‘Cause I’m not—I’d never think or say it! Neither would Gran or Pop for that matter.”

  “Let’s talk outside.” Motioning with a jerk of his thumb, he asks, “Can you?”

  “For a minute.” I drop the bag of buttons, stickers, and flags I was handing out on a table at the rear of the aisle.

  I walk toward the exit. With each step, my stomach wrenches. I’ve got to hide how close to working with a senator I am—how close one senator is to owning me. Maybe if Colin thinks I’m still writing for the Globe, he’ll back off. Leave me in peace. Trying to define the reasons why I’m willing to not only risk my future, but am spinning lie after lie to my cousin leaves me without an answer—other than I emphatically want what Bennett offers me.

  The more I try to compartmentalize my ideas concerning the man who’s soon to be my Dom, the more complicated my thoughts become. Maybe that’s a warning—a sure sign that what I’m doing is wrong. If I want to, sure I can step down—not go to D.C. Who’d care? Jon would be disappointed, but he’d understand. Not school—I’ve done more than enough internships. Sure as heck, not my family if they got a whiff of the truth.

  Pausing, I turn back and stare at the stage. What about Bennett? How much would he truly care? Sure, he’s got a possessive streak a mile wide. But would he really be pissed? For about five seconds—okay maybe a week. He wants me with him, but beyond a hard fuck... do I really matter? Or is it his nature to control—his need to dominate—that he’s reacting to? Eventually, a man like Stone bangs his way out of one bed and into another.

  How will it feel when I’m his real intern surrounded by real staff and possibly working in the WHITE HOUSE! Hello?

  I didn’t think about that one until now. Shit. Oh shit! I have more than enough credits to place me one semester away from graduating and if I opted to write a thesis, then I could spend my time in the library. My ivory tower as Stone calls it. Safe and secure.

  Oh, God! Why am I torturing myself this way? Survey says: my grandparents’ undue power grab needs to be dismantled. Only when I’m near them or their desire to assert control, do I feel less than adequate. I rub my hand over my forehead and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, heading along the dim passageway toward the exit. I follow Colin through the rear fire door and stop short.

 
; “What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s got some right to interfere in my life.

  Instead of giving into my frustration and yelling at him, I harness my anger. I’m not going to play this game on my cousin’s terms. I fold the program in my hands as I pull myself together. Process what my idiot cousin wants to hear and what I can possibly say that he’ll eat up with a spoon.

  “Colin, I’m working on a project.”

  “Then why didn’t Nolan say that?”

  “Because it’s not my own. Like I said before, I’m co-researching a piece with Jon. One he’s doing for the Post. Not one of Gran’s affiliates—so shoot me.”

  “I don’t understand. Another internship?”

  “Yes. That’s what people do who want to build a network of connections. I have everything set up. But if you say anything to anybody, then it’s going to screw with my ability to get information from uninhibited sources.”

  “You’re serious about writing? As a career? I doubt our grandparents would agree.”

  “Oh right. I could be like you. What is that you do again?” I’m callous but I don’t care. He needs to remember I’m not in a league with him in how he siphons funds in lieu of falling in line with a career, or heaven forbid, standing on his own two feet. He’s Bridget’s son and like his mother, he fucks people right and left to get what he wants.

  “Look, don’t get all pissy with me,” he sneers. “You’ve got to be realistic. Don’t you think I had plans...once?”

  “I can’t recall you doing much more than trading gossip for family favor. So no. I don’t.” I tone down my desire to tear his head off, and jerk the door open, stuffing the folded program into the jamb. I’m not about to get locked out here with him. “If you start trouble, I’ll be so far up your ass you won’t know where you stop and I start. Don’t even think about backstabbing me!”

  It’s chilly outside in the late afternoon and on this side of the building, we’re standing in the shadow as dry bits of leaves and dirt lift up into the breeze. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Then give me something to report.”

  I start to tremble. I’m so angry that Colin believes he can blackmail me. “Are you mental?”

  “Not in the least.”

  I blink and feel my eyebrows knitting together. “Um, correct me, but aren’t there other methods to earn money besides crafting gossip about me?”

  Colin regards me, his eyes flattening—he’s pissed but he’s poised. “That’s exactly what you’re doing with the tabloid story journalism you sling. I’ve read what you write. I’m not much different. My circulation is slightly lower—and like you, I don’t lie.”

  “I’ve never thrown anyone under the bus and yes. You do lie. Bending the truth with half the story is a lie.”

  “That’s conjecture and I disagree,” he replies, smiling smugly.

  “So did you draw a straw, and my name came up—this time? Obviously, you had a reason to come here today besides scoping out politics.”

  “Come again?”

  Inhaling, I try to remain in control. “How did you suddenly decide that today, I was the one? You didn’t just show up because of Nolan. What process of elimination did you use when we’ve got a family full of people you could report on?”

  He scrubs his hand down his face. “If I tell you, you won’t like it.”

  “I can tell you, I don’t like ‘it’ right now. This can’t get much worse.”

  Colin cocks a brow, then he drops his gaze down my body and his smile widens. “Blond bombshell. Close to graduation. Gran and Pop discuss you endlessly. You’re what the media calls a hot topic. Am I right? I’m talking huge.”

  I was wrong. He’s right. I can get a lot angrier. “Well, here’s a response. No two. Fuck you.” I shoot him two birds. “Okay, I think I made myself clear.”

  He steps in front of me to stop me from leaving. “Look, people are already imbedded in their lives. Only you’re a loose end. Give me something. You don’t date. You go to school. Run track. Write. That’s got sleeper written all over it. When I look at you, something doesn’t compute. You’re gorgeous. A Kennedy and a Stillman, and your future is a blank slate.”

  “Not if I write for a living!” I shove his arm, exhaling sharply.

  “Say what you will. That’s not going to happen. Tell me something juicy. Jesus, you’re hooked up with a United States Senator. Have you met anyone from his entourage worth a date? All those Ivy League staffers, better find someone quick if you think being a journalist will support your lifestyle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Your tastes run to caviar and champagne. Not pizza and beer. Either you go the Citibank route, or marry. We both know, you don’t have the usual trust fund—not with how your mom refuses to fall in line and no dad to help you out.”

  I stare at him. My body goes numb at the mention of my father. “Get out of my way!” I speak between clenched teeth. If I hit this sack of shit, I don’t think I’ll stop.

  “Dearest cousin, this jaunt with the senator is short-term. The man is going to get tired of politics in a term or two, and return to his law firm. Get married, produce 2.5 kids, and coach soccer. End of story. Happy as the retired Senator Stone. It’s not like he’s going to be president someday. His need of you, or your name is limited. I don’t need a crystal ball to tell you his future...but yours. Christ, we’re all dying to know what you’ll be doing in a year.”

  “You’re a fucking jackass.” My hands are down, but immediately I raise them back up, giving him two flying fingers. “Here’s an encore!”

  Colin closes his eyes. As he shakes his head, I turn to retreat back into the auditorium but he reaches out, and hooks his fingers around my arm, preventing my getaway.

  “Let go of me!” I reach up for his shirt, yanking him as I’m ramped up on adrenaline. I don’t stop until I push him back against the building wall.

  His eyes go wide. “Just give me a crumb. Something I can use. Gran eats up anything that sounds reasonable.”

  “What’s wrong with you? How can you be a Stillman and crawl on your belly like you do? You recalibrate the Richter scale of torrential screw-ups.”

  “Fine. Be closed lipped. I’ll let Gran know you’re doing your journalist shtick. But when this little hobby of yours blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.”

  “I swear to God...I’ll kill you. Screw with me and see what happens!” I stare at him and he doesn’t react. Just looks back at me—observing me.

  “I can’t say I have ever seen you this worked up, Xavia. All I’m asking for is a clue. What direction are you heading?”

  Holy crap, I’ve already given too much away. I let go of him, disgusted. If we get into a brawl—it won’t go unnoticed. “Why don’t you focus on yourself? You could just say nothing and rejoin the human race!”

  “And what will that get me?” he snaps.

  I can’t believe we’re blood relatives. I shake my head, stepping back from him. “Nothing and that’s what you deserve.”

  “You’ve got a plan. A plot. Tick. Tock.”

  I look into his eyes. My heart is racing. I want to slap his face. “Don’t walk away mad, Colin. Just walk the hell away before I call Gran and tell her you were here, trying to blackmail me into making up shit you can sell.”

  “Xavia, you’ll regret refusing my offer. Mark my fucking words!”

  I watch him spin on his heel and stride away, slinking next to the building until he rounds the corner, and is gone. My flaming face burns hotter with my rocketing outrage and blistering anger. I lean against the door, forcing myself to slow down so I’m not huffing like an enraged bull. The poison dart Colin cast is hard to ignore. Gerrymandering? Sure Nora ate up my family affiliation, but Bennett?

  Stop! This is stupid to let Colin pollute my thoughts. This is what my family does to manipulate. At the door, I pause and think. What am I going to do? Forget next year, I need to figure out the nigh
t ahead. Bennett’s more than my boss. He’s my biggest secret within a widening circle. I don’t want him touched by the place where my demons congregate—leeches like Colin. I want to scream in frustration until my throat is raw.

  But I can’t upset Bennett. Not when he’s on a roll with his supporters. This is my problem, not his. He’ll see right through me if I go back inside. No way can I tell him nothing is wrong—he’ll know I’m lying.

  Every time I think I can hide one stinking thing from him, he proves me wrong. It’s a little over an hour before the cocktail party and dinner. I pull out my phone and text Stone. He doesn’t need my problems. Better he be upset, and I’ll think of something to tell him besides the truth.

  * * *

  THERE HE IS. I enter the ballroom and feel my whole body attune to him. Senator Bennett Stone in his bespoke black suit and red silk tie. I stick to the perimeter of the ballroom, smile and quasi mingle with the guests all here to hear Bennett speak. Mayor Fulton introduces him. Ben takes the stage and the lights lower. Scouring the area, I scan the tables with filled seats except one half-way across the ballroom.

  “Thank you, Mayor,” Bennett says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’ve not just heard the best speech of the evening.” People laugh in response.

  Weaving my way through the packed room, I slip onto the empty seat, smile and nod to the others at the table, but my attention is on the man charming us all from the stage.

  Bennett’s face turns serious. “Tonight, I’m here to talk about peace. More than what we already have and enjoy in the United States. I’m talking about world peace. What we pray for and what we’ve been called to defend.” People clap, stopping him from speaking. When he continues, he says, “The Middle East is in an upheaval. We’re on the verge of exiting one war, and possibly entering another. This isn’t the time to rest. This is the time for action.”

  Stone talks about his vision for the U.S., for reinvigorating the economy, for quelling violence and joblessness, for the tragic loss of life overseas, and why now more than ever we, as a country, must unite.

  For a man who enjoys smacking my ass, pulling my hair, and wants to make me his property—at this moment, I don’t see him as the gorgeous guy with his face between my legs. He’s the senator who has my heart pounding, my hands clapping, and a stream of hope swelling in my chest.