“Uh yeah?” Jori replied in that overly excited voice of hers. “I’ve been stuck in press conferences all day. The Times picked up your convoy story and now the whole world wants answers.”
Anita blinked twice. “Yeah, well think of how bad it would be if you actually had to be one of the people coming up with the answers.” Her voice sounded much more hostile than she had meant it to.
There was a short pause on the other end of the line, before, “Yeah, well at least you’re not getting blamed for decisions you don’t even have a say in.”
Anita glowered at this. “That happens to me every day.”
“This is not a pissing contest, Rhodes. Everyone is dealing with shit right now.”
Anita bit her lip. She was approaching another throng of protesters. Judging from the fact that the majority of them looked like they had just walked out of a crack house and were probably concealing all kinds of weapons, she figured they wouldn’t exactly appreciate her blown-out ponytail and Victoria’s Secret active wear, so she switched to the other side of the walkway and kept talking. “Okay, so why did you call me?” she raised her voice so that she could be heard over the throng of people.
Jori sighed. “I was just wondering if you got an update on Bruce and his pet tiger.”
Anita shook her head before adding a curt, “No.”
“So what the hell? What is he even saying?”
She ducked her head in frustration. “Nothing. He won’t even answer my questions!”
“Hmm…” Jori murmured. “Then it’s probably not a pet tiger.”
“What do you mean? That’s the only explanation,” Anita argued as she jabbed her key into the lock on her front door.
“But it’s not the correct one. If it was, he would have just told you that.”
“So if it wasn’t a tiger, what the hell was it?”
“Honey, I don’t know.”
Anita dropped her bag on the ground and climbed onto her couch, pressing the phone against her ear and hugging her knees with her free arm.
“Okay, it’s obvious that you are extremely stressed, hun. Come out with me this weekend. You clearly need to get your head right.”
“If by that, you mean that I need to have sex, then I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass.”
Jori scoffed. “And what are you gonna be doing when you don’t go?” she asked. “Sitting around thinking about what Bruce is doing at the session?”
Anita glowered out of her window into the dark night as she considered her offer. Then, with her final answer in mind, she stood up and made her way to her bathroom, sighing dramatically.
“Ugh, whatever. Fine.”
Chapter Three
“I know it sounds crazy.” Anita tried to sound cautious, yet calming. She stood her ground in front of President Holland even though the face he made suggested her had just eaten a rancid hamster.
“You’re right about that. It’s absolutely mad!” he barely let her finish. “Harrington.” He turned his attention to Bruce.
Anita knew she had lost the floor for the rest of this conversation, and that if she wanted it back, she was going to have to fight for it.
“Did you even read this nonsense?” he jabbed his pointer finger into the stack of papers that made up the proposed resolution.
Bruce gave him a curt nod, but otherwise, no other sign of distress. “Yes. I assisted in writing it.”
The president released a deep, heavy breath and stood up. As he rounded the table, he faced Bruce. “So, this is what you want? This is what you’re willing to stand in front of 112 nations and present? Are you kidding me?”
Anita had to focus almost all of her energy on trying not to roll her eyes. She didn’t appreciate the fact that Holland acted more often than not like a father instead of a president. “With all due respect, Mr. President, did you even read the resolution?”
Holland glowered at him. “What kind of question is that? It is because I read it that I am disputing it.”
“The resolution is foolproof.” Bruce’s assertive voice filled the room.
Anita couldn’t help but be impressed by it.
“Really? Giving Israel weapons is foolproof?”
“We cannot put troops on their soil. They will see that, not only as aggressively disrespectful, but also as the first phase of some sort of second Middle Eastern bloc,” Bruce argued.
“But the UN will never agree to donating weapons.” Holland practically hissed this.
“We are not donating anything!” Anita yelled.
It was as the two men turned to look at her that she realized she had made a mistake. She sounded almost shrill. After clearing her throat, she added, “It is an investment into our future. If the UN puts troops on Israel’s soil, they will see this as us disrespecting their sovereignty, but if we simply give them resources, they will feel more like an ally, and we will not have to worry about them seeking help from anyone else to drive us out.”
“And what if they use these weapons against us?” Holland asked.
Bruce smirked. The expression was so inappropriate, given the context, that Anita and Holland both turned to stare at him. “You see the conversation we’re having right now?” he asked.
Anita reveled at his confidence. It profoundly bothered her that he could be so sure of himself when he had been on the job for less than two weeks and was already drafting controversial literature. Where did he get off thinking that he could talk to the president like that? Her president, the one who she had stayed up late with in campaigning offices trying to win him the House; the one she had had jovial beers with after hours; the one whose wife she used to get her nails done with; the one who not only promised her job, but reassured her of her capacity to do it. Where did he get off literally falling from the heavens and thinking that he could then control her president? She didn’t care that they were on the same side. She wanted her goddamn spot back. “Is this funny to you?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, as if surprised that she was turning on him like this. “No, but it is ironic.”
Holland shifted his feet, cocking his head at him, his facial features twisted into a confused expression. “Please, enlighten me.” His voice was soaked in sarcasm.
“If we sent troops to the Middle East, from all countries, the Israelis would be having the same conversation we are. They would be questioning our motives and worried about the future. And based on how many times they have been screwed over in the past, I can tell you that they would not make favorable decisions.” Bruce answered.
The two of them stared at Holland, their eyes examining his every movement, from the shifting of his gaze to the purse of his lips. That vein on the side of his forehead was engorged, as if his heart was working overtime to get enough blood to his brain so that he could make this potentially history-altering decision. He stared down at his $4000 shoes, his fists curled so tightly together that his knuckles had turned white.
Anita could see that he was deathly afraid of what he was about to do, but nevertheless, he looked up to the both of them and said, “Fine, Rhodes and Harrington. But if you don’t sell this at the summit, I’ll have your heads.”
Chapter Four
It was as Anita was packing up her briefcase for the end of the day that she snapped. As she danced around her office, discarding unimportant notes from the resolution, her heart still pounding in her chest from that heated conversation, her head still pounding from that headache that had lodged itself in the back of her mind along with all of her worries for the future, that she decided she wasn’t going to let this go. As she stood with her bare feet on the fluffy Persian rug in the center off her office, she couldn’t think of anything but the sight of that tiger in Bruce’s backyard, those eyes that glared at her with surprise, but, more importantly, with recognition. Those were the same eyes that stared down the president in one of his most vulnerable moments, the eyes that questioned his judgment like they were old friends and not in the beginnings
of a high stakes working relationship.
Anita furrowed her brow as she remembered how Holland had shifted his gaze to Bruce more often than not; how he looked for his approval every time she opened her mouth, as if her judgment wasn’t enough, as if she didn’t graduate from Northwestern University at the tender age of 19 and then go on to gain a law degree from Yale; as if her father didn’t have a seat on the Supreme Court; as if he hadn’t hand-picked her himself to be his Secretary of Defense only two years ago. So what changed?
Bruce. That’s what.
Something about the way he could so easily manipulate Holland with his words. He seemed to always take the right risks at the right time. But, her concerns extended beyond that. His influence was almost insidious, and he was impossibly mysterious. His every word felt like it was meant to hide a hundred others.
So what the hell was he hiding?
With that thought, Anita got off of her rug, slipped her heels back on, grabbed her suitcase, and charged down the hallway to his office. She was beyond fed up with all of this, so when she finally got to the door they had only just marked with his name, she stormed right in. “What the fuck are you hiding?” she demanded.
Bruce, who was sitting behind his desk, staring intently at his laptop looked up at her with eyes wide with surprise. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” he replied in an infuriatingly calm voice.
Anita slammed the door behind her and pressed farther into his office. “Don’t give me that, Harrington. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Bruce scoffed, gently closing his laptop and standing up to face her. “If this has anything to do with your little drunken visit to my house, then I have already told you, I have nothing to say.”
Anita winced. “How did you know I was drunk?”
Bruce flinched, looking away from her and down at his shoes. She got the distinct feeling that he didn’t even know how he knew that she was drunk. “Because I remember,” he told her in an unsure voice.
Anita’s briefcase slid from her fingers, slamming onto the ground. Her mind was falling into the obvious, yet impossible answer far too fast. “But you weren’t there,”
He glowered at her. “I was.”
Anita knew he said that only because he had to. “Where? The lights in front of your house were off.” She remembered that moment as if it had only just passed. She could practically taste the alcohol in her mouth, could feel the cold November night breeze.
Bruce stepped around his desk. Anita could see that he had begun to relax a little, for his jacket hung on the seat in front of his desk, his tie had been loosened, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone. Anita tried not to get sidetracked about the fact that she could see his chest hairs through his shirt, and it was more than a little bit alluring. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”
Anita huffed out a breath, then stepped up towards him, completely imposing on his personal space. She got a whiff of his woodsy, yet somewhat refined scent, and then tried to stop herself from going into a frenzy because of it. “You know you are infuriatingly cryptic.”
“You’re ridiculously nosy.”
Anita winced again. It was the one thing she was afraid of him saying. “You’re an asshole for no reason!”
Bruce let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re just mad the president listened to me and not you.”
Anita glowered at him. “It’s our resolution. He listened to us.”
Bruce scoffed. “Oh please. You lost your cool. You screamed at him like a little girl.” He was looking down at her with his nose upturned, as if she was some sort of pariah.
Everything about this moment, from Bruce’s impossibly alluring scent, to the way that he seemed to dismiss all of her questions and shift the conversation to exactly what was upsetting to her in the first place, made her boil with frustration. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to judge me like you know me.”
“Well you don’t get to inquire into my life like some obsessed private investigator.”
“I am not obsessed.” But her voice shook as she said it.
“Please. You couldn’t resist me if your life depended on it,” Bruce stared right at her lips.
Anita was finding it increasingly difficult to remain angry, to keep herself on the offense. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “Does it?” she muttered.
Before she could even take another breath, he grabbed her face in both of his hands and pressed his lips against hers. She almost immediately melted into this kiss. Her whole body trembled in satisfaction at the taste of his lips on hers. But something was tugging at the back of her mind. She didn’t feel like herself in his arms. She felt controlled and manipulated. It was only then that she realized he was just trying to get her mind off of what she was looking for in the first place.
And that made her angry.
She shoved him off of her, the infatuation in her veins quickly morphing into hot frustration. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The hurt from the last time they had done this still hung fresh in her mind.
“Well, clearly I’m your new obsession.”
The nerve…
Before she could even think about it, Anita threw a punch right into his face. Her knuckles smashed against his cheek bone, the sound of it cutting through the tense are in his office.
He staggered back a couple of steps, holding his cheek. “What the fuck!”
“You will respect me,”
But all of her confidence drained from her when he looked up at her and his face looked completely untouched. Her stomach lurched with fear. Who… what was he?
She decided she wasn’t ready to find out.
Chapter Five
“What an asshole!” Jori yelled a little too loudly. The bartender, who had been vigorously shaking a drink, stopped, turning to shoot both Anita and Jori a judgmental glance.
Anita pursed her lips, and she took the last swig of her third drink, then turned to face Jori. “You don’t think I said that myself?”
“Yeah, well, apparently it didn’t do you any good because he just kissed you again.”
Anita motioned at the bartender for another drink before she turned to look back at Jori. “Yeah. I mean, do you think I’m crazy?” she asked.
Jori let out one humorless chuckle. “Honey, I was there.”
Anita nodded, watching as the bartender refilled her vodka cranberry. “That’s what I fucking thought,” Her words slurred. Her fingers stung as she reached for her glass. “And the weird thing is that he didn’t even look like anything had touched him,” she said, remembering the way he looked back at her, with a face that looked completely untouched.
Jori winced at her. “That is weird.” She took another swig of her corona. “Are you sure you punched him hard?” she asked.
Anita ducked her head, for a second, questioning whether Jori was crazy herself. “Of course! I’m a fucking fighter, remember?”
Jori nodded, her shrill laugh lost in the loud music. “Right. A fighter. Of course I remember.”
“That punch would have knocked a normal person out,”
Jori nodded at her, but her eyes went wide as she glanced over her shoulder. “Holy shit.”
“What?”
“Anita. Anita. Anita,” she hysterically tapped on her shoulder.
“What?!” Anita demanded, following her gaze. Her eyes went wide when she caught a glimpse of what Jori was talking about. It was a man at the end of the bar. Even though he was sitting down, Anita could tell that he was tall—six feet, three inches at least. He had what looked like dusty blond hair that contrasted exotically with his tanned skin. His hazel eyes glowed in the dim lighting…. And they were trained right on her. “Holy moly,”
“He’s fucking hot,” Jori whispered into her ear.
Anita gave a frantic nod, then gulped down her last vodka cranberry.
“Easy…” Jori muttered, “Ea
sy…”
Anita nodded. “Should I go over there?”
Jori shook her head. “We don’t want him to think you’re the kind of girl to have sex with him in the bathroom.”
Anita shook her head, confused. “Wait. This was supposed to be for fun. What kind of girl am I, then?”
Jori ducked her head, her eyes wide. “The kind of girl to have sex with him, in his house,” she spoke as if the answer was obvious.
“Oh.” Anita was quickly realizing how rusty she was with all of this. “So what does that girl do?”
Jori narrowed her eyes. “Shit, he’s coming over, turn around.”
Anita waited until she saw him stand up and walk over to her to follow her best friend’s directions.
“I couldn’t help but notice you finished your drink.” His voice was silky as hell. Anita had to make a conscious effort not to whimper at the sound of it.
“Would you like to get me another?” she asked in the most seductive voice she could muster.
He smiled. “Sure.” With that, he motioned for the bartender, who almost seemed surprise to find that Anita had snagged someone, and asked her for another drink.
With the fresh cocktail sitting in front of Anita, Jori picked up her drink and stood. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” Her voice trailed off as she held out her hand.
“Boris…” he replied, shaking her hand.
“Boris,” Jori repeated, before turning to face Anita, “but I’m gonna go dance with somebody.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Anita before disappearing into the thick crowd of people standing around the bar.
“So,” Boris started, sitting next to her. “You come here often?”
“Do you use that line often?” she countered.
He shrugged. “I think we’ve both kind of agreed that this is going to be at least a little bit scripted.”
Anita couldn’t help but to giggle. “I guess you’re right.”
MILITARY ROMANCE: The War Within Himself (Alpha Bad Boy Marine Army Seal) (Contemporary Military Suspense & Thriller Romance) Page 56
