by Alex Elliott
When the room is just us four, Ryan leans toward Xavia. “Welcome to the Hill, Ms. Kennedy. I worked on several projects with your stepfather when he was in office. Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?”
“Not at all. I thrive in the behind the scenes arena and talking with folks,” she replies and takes another sips of her water.
“Ah, sounds like the writer in you speaks.”
X beams. “I can’t deny that’s where my heart lies.”
“Nora informed my office about the visit to Harvard and I watched the YouTube of the senator in action. Impressive.”
“Credit goes to Senator Stone for the million or so hits the video has gotten.” X looks at me. “He alone captivated the audience.”
“He does have his ways.” Virginia nods to me, then refocuses on X. “You’re liking Washington though?”
“Well, I’ve only been here since Friday, but yes. I do enjoy the nonstop work that I’ve witnessed so far.”
“Good. And what about the nightlife? Have you enjoyed anything D.C. has to offer?”
“I’ve been here before. And yes, I have. D.C.’s a city I don’t think I’d ever get tired of exploring.” The skin over Xavia’s face turns a shade or two pinker than before, yet she’s smooth in her reply.
“It’s always changing,” Dr. Mazina agrees and I catch the Veep’s eye without looking away.
“Lunch will be served soon, and let me brief.” Ryan turns to me. “You two have talked about my suggestion?”
“We have,” I reply, relishing the past few moments of watching X in action, and I glance over to her. Our eyes meet, and I force my face to bear no reaction. Her shoulders and arms have goose bumps and I clench my jaw, refraining from rubbing my hands over her skin to soothe and warm her. Hell will freeze over in buckets before I give the Veep any indication that this girl is my Achilles’ heel. If X was seamless on stage last night on her knees, she’s positively glowing now.
The Veep focuses on X and smiles. “This isn’t something nefarious that we’re putting into play. We just want Senator Stone’s image to be reconciled to what the American people believe a vice president ought to be. Unfortunately, this isn’t a race of the best man winning. It’s a race of the best PR team and we’re leveling the playing field.”
“I understand all about preconceived notions and I’m comfortable with the presumption that the senator and I are friends.”
“Yes, friends,” Virginia repeats the term and then laughs. “Gracious. That’s perfect. Isn’t it flawless, Dr. Mazina?”
“It is.” The good doctor looks spellbound. “It’s an angle we overlooked, I’m sorry to say.”
“So, is there something you’d specifically like to address?” I cross my ankle over my knee and lean back in my chair. “Perfect or not. A senator dating a staffer can spell trouble.”
“Are we talking about the ‘media’ or in general?” Dr. Mazina asks.
“Every which way,” I reply. “How will that be dealt with? I’m not worried about me. I want Ms. Kennedy’s reputation to remain intact. Untarnished and we all know how brutal the opposition can get.”
“What could be better than friends? Senator, I’m serious. That spin on you two hasn’t been done in forever. As long as you two remain friends there won’t be anything to deal with other than two incredibly attractive people who enjoy each other’s company. It has winner stamped all over it. Are you two friends?” Virginia peers over at us, shifting her focus between us.
“We’re...” I falter in describing what X and I are in understandable terms. There are so many labels, and I don’t think friends is one of them. Lovers—yes. Fuck buddies—no. Friends—I don’t know. I opt for safe. “We’ve gone from acquaintances in Boston and now, we’re colleagues.”
X flinches slightly. “Colleagues?”
From her tone, I can tell she doesn’t like that term any more than I do, but I can’t lie. We don’t know each other—now, that’s a lie. I’ve memorized the taste of her lips, her sighs, her name on my tongue. I could pick her out of a roomful of women if I was blindfolded. I’m haunted by her in my dreams. When I’m awake, it’s no better; especially sitting next to her like we are right now when I can’t touch her.
“We’re on the way to becoming friends,” I say, looking into X’s fathomless eyes. What I say sounds as lame as my dickhead follow up. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s a term for us and that’s okay. I’m sure when we spend time together, we’ll become good friends.”
I unfurl my legs and splay apart my knees. All I have to do is get my ass out of this chair, haul X upward and out the door. Out all the way past the front porch and explain to her...What? That my need for her is taking on a life of its own. My little submissive would hightail it back to Boston after she’d flip me off for good if I relayed one tenth of what I actually feel about her.
“Priceless the way you put yourself and Ms. Kennedy on a trajectory. It’s positively man-thinking. Isn’t that true, Ms. Kennedy?”
“Please, call me Xavia. I’m not ready to attribute a linear plan as strictly a product of male conception. Women haven’t cornered the market on nonlinear from what I’ve seen.”
“I’m with you,” Dr. Mazina agrees. “And don’t let the vice president fool you. She’s the most linear thinker I’ve ever met. Perhaps a little lateral as well.”
“Except when I’m hatching my own plan.” Virginia smiles as if yellow feathers are about to spew from her mouth. “Here’s a thought. There’s a State Dinner coming up. The president is hosting several dignitaries from South America and Cuba. Senator, you’re involved in talks with Castro’s cabinet. Why not attend the dinner as a couple? It would be the perfect time to introduce you to our campaign supporters in attendance as my running mate. Are you both available in two weeks? Friday night?”
“Black-tie,” I say, without committing. I’d heard about the formal affair, not that I was sweating an invite.
I do my political wrangling during the day, and am having lunch with several key Cuban dignitaries during the upcoming weeks. Yet to have Kennedy on my arm, yeah...I’m available. I’ve already had the pleasure of getting the wind knocked out of me in how gorgeous she is in a gown. Blood red. Long. And even more memorable after I stripped it off her.
“Is that something you’re interested in attending?” I ask Xavia, instead of answering for her as is my quintessential desire to make all the decisions affecting us. Treating her as an equal, forces my possessive gut reaction to the back burner as I reel in my emotions. This state of placidity empowers me to put aside being an overbearing jackass. I don’t know how I feel about that one. Now isn’t the time to reconsider the impact of pretending mild interest in Xavia—in lieu of my actual singular obsession to possess her without end.
“May I speak frankly?” X asks, looking directly in my eyes.
Everyone including me stills. What in the fuck is she about to say?
* * *
I SET my water glass down. It’s empty. Unlike me. Seated next to Bennett, my body is a vortex of sensation. Flaring fear launches icy darts up my spine. I totally get that I’m seated on a pile of TNT-laced secrets. Worse, sequestered in the Veep’s private sitting room, the round walls crush me. I go from arctic pinpricks to wave after wave of heat, flushing fire over my skin as I shift and feel the butt plug my charming senator inserted into me, push and slide within my ass. It’s tight—a tingling reminder of Ben’s ownership of my body and his promise, “I’m going to fuck your ass.”
All serve as fuel to ignite our explosive hidden world. His words reverberate in my head, louder and harder to mute as I sit and make nice with Virginia Ryan, possible future U.S. President. I recount how no-holds-barred Bennett and I have been and are planning to go.
He trains his mercurial eyes on me and I’m borderline insane, trying for his sake to remain poised. The irony that my grandparents—for all their epic desire to control me and my future which I’ve battled—have prepared me for t
his moment of giving good face. Hypocritical good face.
Friends! Are they crazy? I’d like to reach out and take my Dom by his gorgeous face, stare into his hypnotic smoky eyes, and scream at the top of my lungs, “I’m not that good of an actress!” But of course, it’s no goddamn mystery why Ryan is interested in me. She, like everyone on the planet, doesn’t truly give two flying fucks about me personally—I’ve got something she can use. Shakespeare had it ass-backward. “What’s in a name?” It’s power when it comes with connections.
“Xavia, go on,” Ben prompts me in his gravelly voice.
Great. Now everyone has their eyes on me as if I’m about to announce my plans to solve world peace, the Ebola epidemic, and how to stop North Korean hackers from screwing with the entertainment industry.
Drawing from my acting experience, I fold my trembling fingers on my lap, take a deep breath, and remind myself to speak in a calm as crap voice. “Madam Vice President, obviously my surname has a lot to do with why you believe I’m a good choice as Senator Stone’s friend.”
“That’s a tiny part,” she replies, tilting her head as if she’s trying to assess where I’m coming from.
I swallow, forcing myself to stay true to the course. Better to lay the foundation and let the Veep in on exactly how far up the ‘S’ list I am in the world of Grace and Stan Stillman. I’m not a person with political connections and I need to clarify that right now.
“Madam Vice President,” I begin as she stares back at me with her unblinking blue eyes. She nods when I falter. Keep going. “Uh, a week or so ago, I severed the ties with the maternal side of my family. I’m not a person who possesses aspirations or the connections I suspect you believe I might.”
Dr. Mazina and the Veep exchange knowing looks—the sort that have the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. The vice president leans forward and smiles pleasantly. “Xavia, thank you for being honest. Ben relayed you’d hit a rough spot with your family, and since we’re being honest, let me assure you, your grandparents love you. They aren’t put out. If I may say, I don’t believe whatever dispute took place has any far-reaching affect.”
What is she talking about? “I don’t understand. How would you know?” I feel my brow crinkle and I can’t fake being unaffected by the news that she’s potentially contacted Gran and Pops.
She laughs. “I personally spoke with Grace and Stan. They both assured me, they’re on board with you working for Senator Stone. I believe ‘thrilled’ would be the term I’d use to describe your grandmother’s reaction to the idea that you might be doing more than simply working with Bennett.”
No. Ooohh no! Gran doesn’t understand the term ‘friends.’ My grandmother hears the word friends and in her self-serving thinking pattern, it turns into affianced. Friends are the threshold by which she barges into one’s life. I can imagine Gran has already contacted Tiffany’s about china and sterling patterns, and has blocked out the family chapel for wedding dates.
“And Patrick?” I ask in a strained voice, curling my toes into my sandals. “Did you also talk with him about me?”
“Patrick and I do speak on a number of topics. And of course, he inquired about you and how he could help. Your stepfather may have stepped away from the political arena, but he’s someone with his own interest groups and maintains an office nearby. A good reason why many people get out of Congress. They want to direct policymaking from the wings.” The vice president glances over to Bennett. “Unlike us.”
If I look over to him, I’m going to combust. I can’t believe I was an idiot to trust him. Friends...we’re not friends. What the in the heck are we? Seething, I inhale slowly as my cheeks grow hot and hotter. My heartbeat hammers in my chest and it’s taking every iota of strength to remain seated. I swallow the vitriol infused sentiments racing through my mind. Over and over, I tell myself, I can’t believe Ben is backstabbing me. He’s screwing me over as he screws me without a qualm and like a savage. He’s not just linear, Madam Veep! He’s a master of manipulation and to think, I’m so blatantly naïve to believe what we have means something.
“Xavia, would you like to attend the ball?” he asks me again, and I turn toward him, tightly clasping my hands together in my lap. He’s got that cocky smug grin in place. Sweet Jesus, if we were alone what I’d do.
I squeeze my fingers that itch to slap the smile off his gorgeous face. “Sure. Why not, Senator Stone?” I can’t help that my tone has a serrated bite to it—it’s the best I can do. His eyes widen incrementally. I hope he gives me hell later so I can refute whatever he has to say with the shitstorm running through my head.
“Then it’s a date,” the Veep says, but Ben and I both refuse to break this staring contest we’re neck deep in at the moment.
“Shall we? I’m famished.” Dr. Mazina stands. It must be time for the senator and Mrs. Ryan to glad-hand those present.
Ryan remains seated. “Dr. Mazina, please show Xavia to the garden. There’s refreshments being served. Senator Stone and I will be right along.”
Superb. I’m being dismissed, but I guess it’s better than having to exit with Bennett. With my pulse pounding in my temples, I scoot to the edge of my seat, then hurry as he stands. I don’t want him to touch me so I burst out the chair and reposition myself on the side. Awkward...I don’t care—this is my best move—the only one at my disposal that won’t have a Secret Service agent in here, subduing me, a kicking and screaming submissive to the cream-colored silk rug under my feet.
I gather what little working brain cells I still possess, and curl my lips into something other than a sneer. Glancing to Bennett, I speak between my clenched teeth. “I’ll see you outside.”
A muscle twitches along his jaw and I swing my focus to the Veep. “So very nice to meet you, Madam Vice President.”
She comes forward with her arms outstretched and hugs me. This would be the point to recalibrate myself by closing my eyes and taking a cleansing breath. Hell, I tell myself to close my eyes, but stupid me just has to peer over at Ben.
As Dr. Mazina opens the door, he mouths to me, “Your ass is mine!”
Narrowing my eyes, I tilt my face from the Veep’s slightly, and silently I shoot back to him. “Fuck. Off!”
“See you outside.” Virginia pats my shoulder, then refocuses on her assistant who entered with another message.
“We’ll be down shortly. I’ll come find you, Ms. Kennedy,” he growls, the skin over his cheeks is flushed redder than I’ve ever noticed and his eyes darken as he stares down at me. His hands are at his sides, curled into white-knuckled fists—a sure sign that Ben is ready to blow.
Like the scotch he drinks and has poured over my navel before he lapped it up, his deep voice is smooth and evocative. This is the same voice he uses when he’s stressing a point—said or unsaid. My traitor body reacts to one of his tells as though my mind is disconnected—not on the invitees list for this fucked up party about to unleash between my Dom and me. My nipples tighten in what I imagine is seventeen shades of insane anticipation. Just great. From the neck down, I’m strung out, sensing how this can go hardcore in all the wrong ways. If having sex is dangerous at work, getting my ass pummeled while at Number One Observatory Circle with teams of Secret Service nearby has got to be the doorway marked best-worst-idea ever concocted.
I don’t know which I want more: to get into a heated debate with Bennett or a screaming fuck. Neither! Am I looney?
He gifts me with a quirked brow as his gaze drops proprietarily down my body. Unspoken volumes are interjected by his commanding glare, and for a second, I actually consider flipping him off.
“Xavia,” Dr. Mazina softly says my name from the doorway, reminding me that shuffling my feet is not an effective exit from the Veep’s personal sitting room.
Jesus, Joseph, and Mary what a poor impression I must be making, but at least Bennett gets my insolent drift as I refuse to break eye contact when I move past him, almost daring him to do something.
I
follow Dr. Mazina down the stairs as she chats about the media present and who to trust versus who will play me like a tool. Should I tell her? Listen, Doc... I’m the official tool of the Hill and no worries!
At the French doors leading to the garden, scads of people wander about just beyond. A sea of shining facing, dark suits, and photographers. My stomach knots. The garden party reminds me of my grandparents and I slow. “Excuse me,” I say to Dr. Mazina. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Do you need a moment?” she looks over the edge of her glasses.
“Several,” I scoff, yet when her eyes widen, I follow with, “I’m joking.”
“Agent?” She taps a man on the arm who stands unobtrusively to the side. “Please show Ms. Kennedy to a restroom?”
This is the last of my emotional straws. “Thanks,” I say hoarsely. I follow the agent who doesn’t say a word or nor does he look at me. He keeps his face directed forward as we walk down a hall.
Up ahead another agent lifts his hand. “Hold up.” The other’s no-nonsense tone has me rolling my eyes, and then I realize the agent escorting me is also watching me.
“Sorry,” I say, not sure why I even care.
He smiles and crosses his arms. “You’re different than the other people here,” he ventures. “Would you like to go upstairs?”
“Excuse me?” He had better not think I’m like my Aunt Bridget who routinely does the house staff.
He points his finger to the ceiling. “There are other restrooms—”
“That’s all right,” I reply, turning on my heel, and retreating down the hall. This is fantastic. I just overreacted. This is only going to get worse if I stay here—not because of him, but I need a moment. But where?
“Wait,” he says from behind me. “Miss Kennedy, hold up.”
At the end of the hall, I can either keep walking blindly, my emotions in turmoil, and head out into the garden, still out of sorts...or get myself together. I slow, seeing the doors to the garden open and close. Slices of the people beyond. Staff carrying trays. This is worse than being at my grandparents—I’m stuck here without my own wheels.
