Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  Jax gives his order to the waiter. Then it’s me. I have no fucking appetite.

  I order my usual. Porterhouse. Medium rare. No starch. A salad. Oil and vinegar. Bottle of San Pellegrino.

  The president’s eyes flick to Warner. No smile. He pours her another drink, then holds it up for her to take from his hand. Hundred to one, she’s his sub. I couldn’t care less except...shit! I can start to see how this might be played. Gritting my teeth, I pick up my glass. Toss back my drink. And stare across the table at POTUS and our gazes collide. I don’t look away, recalling his last proposal I deflected. I’m ready to reach across the table and clock his cocky fucking face if he thinks he can corner and threaten me into a deal.

  The waiter leaves, and Jax takes the proverbial position as spokesperson. Perfect considering he’s the speaker for the South Wing. Now, he’s the negotiator in a backroom deal.

  “We’ve semi discussed your offer in loose terms.” Jax tilts his head toward North. “In the realm of an informal request. Nothing more.”

  North chuckles. “Yes. Well, let’s cut the bullshit. You’ve taken to extreme privacy with training your newly acquired sub. What I’m interested in is learning the ropes. Literally.”

  If I hadn’t been prepared for this moment, sure as shit my head would have whipped up. My body grows cold. “Explain,” I say in a hoarse voice.

  “I’m leaving office in a year. I fully plan on retiring and pursuing other interests.” His gaze flicks to Warner. “I have the perfect mountain top getaway. But unfortunately, what I lack is something that I can’t exactly order online and have shipped. You possess what I desire to acquire.”

  Before I can unearth what he’s after, two waiters appear, bearing trays. One waiter brings a basket of rolls and sets down bread plates. The other carries the salads and my bottle of mineral water. All the while, my gut wrenches.

  After the waiters depart, I ask, “What might that be?”

  “What you possess...is utter refinement,” he replies, then gestures to Warner. “Pass the bread.”

  “Any one area in particular?” And then it’s my turn to cut the shit. “Or similar to what you requested the other night with my sub?”

  The skin over his nose and cheeks flattens, but in lieu of answering my question, he seems to study the breadbasket, finally picking up a pumpernickel roll.

  Warner eyes the president as he lifts the roll and breaks it in half, setting one piece on his plate, then slowly sets the other on hers. She drags her teeth across her lip. Her chin quivers incrementally, and yet she does nothing. Sits there as he spreads a thin layer of butter on his piece. When he takes a bite, her lips part, and I swear I can hear her stomach growl.

  “I’m impressed by how you handle yourself,” he replies tersely. He takes another bite of his bread, chews and pours himself another shot of vodka but not for Warner. He picks up his glass, seems to deliberate what to say next. “Just want to get a handle on dominance. That’s it. This isn’t the type of education that can be acquired easily. I want the best and I believe you’re the man for the job.”

  “I’m not a teacher.”

  “You are. You’re good, but you’ve gone to running in a tight circle. I want in. I’ve learned so much over the last two years. Senator, of course you don’t realize, but opening this door into my psyche has changed my life. Immeasurably. Do me this one favor, Stone and I assure you, I won’t forget. Either you or your submissive.”

  Does he know that Xavia is my sub? If so, she’s become a commodity to powerful people, and it’s my fucking fault. There’s no way he could. We’ve covered our tracks—on the surface. Yet with the POTUS’s resources and Virginia Ryan’s greed, if by chance those two are working together everything is fucking probable. I’m not about to get up and leave without first uncovering the specifics of what North wants and if he knows my sub’s identity. The unspoken message hangs in the air.

  “I don’t do quid pro quo for professional gain,” I reply. “And neither would I tether my sub for an advantage.”

  “Then might I add, I helped divert a disaster for you less than a year ago. A few calls, and a scandal was forestalled. For all three of you.” His tone sharpens as he flicks his gaze from me to Jax to Angela, and then back to me. “I repay my debts. Both forward and afterward.”

  The knot in my gut twists tighter with the reference, and I refuse to scowl at Senator Warner. She, on the other hand, maintains a placid expression, and doesn’t seek to correct the record. Regardless, I’m not about to let stand this fuckery that Angela almost embroiled me within. “You’ve got the story all wrong. I wasn’t ever involved in anything concerning—” I don’t mention Angela’s name, but cut my gaze to her for a millisecond. “Requiring your intervention.”

  I should have guessed when Warner needed to cover up her scandal...edgeplay gone wrong...she’d turn to the one man with the clout to make things go away. She tried to involve me. Tried to say I was there and had my hand in what went down. Now the truth comes to light. The power of the Commander in Chief wiped the slate clean for her and in return she’s indebted—now enslaved herself. I can see it in her eyes. I bet when they’re alone, she grovels. Eats at his feet. Sleeps on the floor next to his bed. Is tied, gagged, bound, and left for hours to wait upon his pleasure.

  One of the Secret Service agents walks over to the table with a cell phone in his hand. “Sorry sir. It’s Evergreen.”

  Secret Service code for the first lady.

  “Excuse me,” North says to me, then looks to Jax. Not to Angela.

  “Pardon me, sir?” she asks, her eyes downcast.

  He ignores her, rising from the table, yet motions to an agent. “Escort Warner to the ladies room.”

  She huffs a protest, her face darkens, but she obeys getting out of her seat, casting a cagy frown at the Secret Service agents standing nearby. I exchange glances with Jax. He lifts a solitary shoulder, shrugging slightly. The president’s got a distorted idea of what domination entails—that much I confirm after spending fifteen minutes in his unguarded presence. At the White House and around the Capitol, I’ve never seen this side to him. Until today, his extramarital affairs weren’t my concern.

  What demented shitshow has Jackson brought to our House doorstep by setting up this meeting? White-hot anger scalds my blood. I’m being backstabbed twice by Warner, but worse, is the feeling of betrayal that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Jax is nothing but some version of Judas, sitting here and brokering this deal. What in the fuck is he getting in return? I turn to him and state, “Thirty pieces of silver. Is it worth it?”

  * * *

  “CAN YOU give me a statement about Senator Stone? What’s he like? The real guy?” Kelsey asks. A reporter for the Times. “Is he a good kisser?”

  I glare at the files on my desk, marveling how one moment I’m treated like a professional, and the very next, this feels reminiscent of high school gossip.

  “Kels, we were talking about foreign trade, Cuba, Castro, and Senator Stone’s visit,” I remind her, mentally constructing a list of what I need to get done today. “You don’t even cover human interest features.”

  “Hashtag hottest, hashtag senator,” she relays. “I’m jumping ship, if you give it up. Exclusive interview. I swear Xavia. I’ll owe you. My firstborn child. My car. Crap, what can I offer you?”

  Sighing, I refocus on the pile of folders on my desk. “A magic genie. Preferably one who has a handle on social media and can get my work done.”

  “Dammit, just a snippet. Please!” she begs.

  “I’m saying goodbye, Kelsey.”

  “But—”

  “Goodbye, Kelsey,” I repeat and hang up.

  This day is quickly disappearing. I shoot a text to Brooke. “Test? How’d it go?”

  “I aced it!” She sounds happy...hopeful. It’s been a week and she’s stuck to her guns. No partying. She’s had her nose in a book, and even accompanied me to a yoga class yesterday.

  “Doing wha
t later?” I text back.

  “Stacks. Burning the midnight oil. Prepping a brief.”

  “Proud of you! Hugs.”

  After reviewing the polling results on opening trade with Cuba, I forward the last round of press releases to the reporters I touched based with today who still treat me like I’m a junior press secretary—not the woman seated next to the hottest senator to rock the Hill. Officially, Ben hasn’t announced he’s the running mate for Ryan, but there’s a whirlwind of talk about his closed-door meetings with the vice president. For the last day, his consistent statement, “I’ll get back to you” is what he’s saying about his immediate political future, and “we’re close friends” when asked if he and I are dating.

  A day until he formally announces his intention to run. The press is camped outside the building like a shiver of sharks after a drop of political blood.

  Christ. I almost forgot. Rapidly, I download and forward the translated foreign trade documents to the printer for Bennett’s hardcopy folder. Doesn’t matter that we keep an up-to-date encrypted digital folder for him, I can’t fault his system of maintaining copies of everything from speeches to White House memos, and he does. Worse than Nixon, or so I hear.

  I take the back exit from my office, skirt down the hall and into the main staff office suite. “Well hello,” Oliver calls out. “Post is quoting you today. Did ya see?”

  “Is it happy dance material or cringe worthy fodder?” I ask, smiling. So far he’s taken the news that Bennett and I are quasi dating like it’s nothing. No big deal. As a matter of fact, most of the other staff don’t seem affected by the news. A couple of ‘that’s cool’ and ‘whoa...really’ but not much else. I have enough to think about to avoid catastrophe in a job where my oversight is nothing less than the Veep’s communication’s director, and my fellow staffers’ lack of reaction is a welcomed surprise.

  “That depends,” Oliver smirks.

  “Excuse me,” I hear a Texas drawl behind me and I stiffen.

  “Speaker Carter, good to see you,” Oliver replies and stands.

  “Is Ben around?”

  “He’s out.” Oliver says as I head to the printer and fiddle with the controls.

  I turn and meet Jax’s eyes briefly, but whirl around when a firestorm blazes up my neck. Is he here to discuss with Ben the anonymous message I sent him? Not just one, but a couple about his office and staff. I didn’t name Jon, but gave Jax more than a clear-cut warning. Oh shit. I wait, freaking out on what he’s about to say.

  “Tell him, I need to speak with him.”

  “Will do.” Oliver waves and returns to his desk. “That was strange.”

  “Don’t hold back,” I push him to be honest.

  He picks up his cell off his desk, and reads from his screen all the hashtags he’s tweeted. “We’ve all tweeted,” he says, holding up his palm. “Put it here!”

  “‘Hashtag TY!’” Laughing like that’s what I was referring to, I high-five him, and return to the printer that’s spewing out copies. I haven’t heard from Bennett over my most recent press release; but now, I’m sitting on pins and needles for lots of reasons. I scoop up the stack once the heavy duty-printer spits out the last page, take a seat, and open the rings of the binder, balancing it on my knees.

  “You hear from Ben?” he asks.

  “Nope. Not since noon.” I look up from the documents that I’m arranging. “Do you think something is going on?”

  “Just curious. I’ve traded texts with him nonstop, but he’s not answering his cell, and it’s almost quitting time.”

  “I expected him back by now. You’d tell me if anything was wrong?”

  “Of course. Shit happens. I’m only thinking about the meeting with lobbyists on Monday.” Jax and Oliver aren’t alone in wanting to know the whereabouts of Ben. It’s true, he’s gone MIA, or has been for a couple of hours now.

  “I thought he had a lunch appointment with Carter, but that seems odd after he came searching for our boss,” I reply, keeping my face passive.

  Ben relayed that their meeting today had more to do with the House in lieu of any true political wrangling. Oliver shrugs, looking at the screen of his laptop. “You know how it goes,” he mutters as though to himself. “Not surprising when Senator Warner is around.”

  I collect the binder, prepared to exit, but pause. Senator Angela Warner? There’s something irritatingly chameleon about her. I’ve passed her in the hallway several times, and she stares back at me without dropping a word. I have the distinct impression she wants to say something, but doesn’t. Casually, I swing my focus to Oliver with the large binder caught in my arms.

  “What’s her deal?” I ask him, cradling the notebook to my chest.

  “Besides being the most uncommitted senator,” he says. “I dunno. Not someone I put stock in since January. She’s become a disappointment.”

  “She looks rather put together. Commandeering,” I offer my initial impression.

  “Last year, she was on fire. Co-chaired the Senate Intelligence committee hearings—the ones on the task force regarding the CIA and the debate on torture at Guantanamo Bay. She had the world by the tail.”

  “Co-chaired with?”

  His faces changes into a perplexed expression. “With our boss.”

  A chill works up my spine. “What happened?”

  “Hell if I know. Tied her boat to the wrong starship.” He scrubs his hand across his freckled face, and regards a paperclip on his desk. “She and Ben couldn’t seem to agree on the parameter of the investigation. It happens. Senators gain traction, press is hot after them, and presto. Some think they can walk on water.”

  “Oh,” I say and sense there’s a story he’s not telling.

  “Since you’re new, I’ll warn you. Don’t ever relay anything that Ben is up to Warner. She has connections, serious leverage, and that’s the only reason she’s here. You’ll see her flitting about, but take it from me. Less...or really nothing, is adequate where she’s concerned.”

  “Got it.” I hug the binder tighter. “See ya tomorrow.”

  “Need any help getting ready for Cuba?” he asks, loosening his tie.

  “We’re ready.” I smile. At the doorway, I stop. “Thanks for your help. It’s been a good week.”

  “You killed it, Kennedy.”

  “No I didn’t. It’s called team work.” I wink at him and he laughs.

  Walking back to my office, I enter from the rear door. The light on my phone is flashing. I drop into my chair, snatching up the receiver, and sandwich it between my shoulder and head. I press the button for voicemail and listen to a reporter’s message instead of one from Ben.

  Shit! I pivot my chair. The shelves behind me are lined with volumes of hardcopies chronologically organized. A few computer crashes, the ability for the government to haphazardly decide to dump servers, and my control-demon senator deals with tech glitches the old-fashioned way.

  “Knock-knock,” Nora calls from the doorway.

  “What’s doing?” I look over my glasses at her while slipping the binder onto the shelf, and switch gears, halting my voicemail, and hang up the phone.

  “Boss is looking for you,” she says. “He’s called three times.”

  “Really?” My pulses jumps when I hear he’s resurfaced. “I was at the main printer. I ran out of paper.”

  “You have been busy.” She says, writing a note on her pad. “I’ll order a case just for you. But back to the issue at hand; Ben’s eager to speak with you.”

  “Probably the reason for the blinking light on my phone.”

  “He made me promise to find you. Call him. Pronto.”

  I scrunch my forehead, hoping he doesn’t have a bigger issue than the press releases. “Sounds like an emergency.”

  “Don’t think an actual one. But you know how he gets,” she replies as my cell buzzes on my desk.

  “Gotcha. I’ll call him.” This is how my day goes as I bounce between my desktop phone and my cell. Sure e
nough, Ben’s number blinks on my cell screen from a recent message. I’m on edge, answering the phone as Nora stands next to my desk. Cupping my phone, I pray he doesn’t say something provocatively off-the-wall. “Hey, what happened today?”

  “Where’ve you been?” His gravelly voice is demanding. He ignores my question—a sign he’s impatient.

  “Getting you ready for Cuba. How did your day go?” Speaking slowly, I keep my voice in check—not that talking with him is routine. Dead giveaway is the fact that my face feels on fire and I want to ask about Jax.

  “I’m downstairs. We’re having dinner together. Are you ready to leave?”

  I flash my glance over to Nora, straddling my hand over the mouthpiece. “Are you leaving soon?”

  “Absolutely. I’m on my way out. Tell him, we’re all leaving.”

  “Yep. We’re all calling it a day up here.”

  “Then, I’ll pick you up at the rear exit of our building. Do you know where it is?” He relays nothing outlandish, but the confident sound of his voice sends my heart tripping in my chest.

  “No, but I’ll find it,” I reply evenly, pushing strands of my hair behind my ear, and listening to hear if my voice sounds too breathy.

  “Get down here. I’m hungry for you.”

  My heartbeat pounds in my ears. The feeling of being made of combustible material stretches my nerve endings, thinning my skin with the impression that I’m wholly transparent. “Give me five minutes.”

  “Fine. Five but no more...or else.” He hangs up, and the scorched feeling of my face becomes a racing ache in my blood.

  I’m filled with a giddy elation. Setting my phone in my purse, it’s like every atom in my body is cognizant of Nora’s attention on me. I can’t face her just yet. This tingling sensation spins faster, expanding within me fuller. She’s silent and has to be watching me as I struggle to appear normal—dial down the grin threatening to split my face.

  “So.” Nora cocks her head. “You headed out?”

  “Yep,” I answer her, covertly watching her reaction. Strangely enough out of all the staffers, Nora is the one person who hasn’t said diddly-squat about the media’s attention or my recent change in position from intern to a cross between a legislative correspondent with press secretary duties. It’s a door I’d like to open and find out her thoughts, but hold I back.