by Alex Elliott
“Angela, don’t make a scene,” North warns, then he snaps his chin toward her. Some sort of signal I believe. Confirmed when a cloud of dark suits flank us, really him, and between a wall of Secret Service agents, I see Warner being led away.
Just a stepping stone. North’s words hit me, and the truth blares loudly. Angela Warner is the ‘she’ he referred to. His sub.
The president doesn’t say another word to me, just glances back and winks before he’s whisked away. There’s a warm crush of bodies around me, guests and several Secret Service agents. Droplets of sweat prickle across my skin, and all I want to do is find Ben and get the hell out of here. I’m jostled by the crowd until I manage a detour into a lull forming in the throng.
“Finally,” Bennett says and I realize he’s the one parting the people around me.
“Hey,” I say coming up to him. My face feels on fire and I plaster what I hope resembles a smile onto my face for his sole benefit.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a low voice, threading his fingers with mine.
“Absolutely. Just hot.”
“Looks like Senator Warner said something. What happened?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It happened so fast.”
“Did she say something to you? Tell me the truth.” His fingers tighten on my hand, and then the dots start to connect. Her venomous stare at me tonight—at work in the corridor. Worse while I danced with North, and the way she glared from Bennett then to me during dinner.
“Were you Warner’s lover?” I answer him with a question, disregarding how he dislikes when I do this. He doesn’t reply and I watch as he inhales. His shoulders rise as his broad chest expands. “Right. Guess this is one of those ‘we need to talk’ replies you’re infamous for. Don’t bother.”
I go to move past him, when his hand shoots out and takes hold of me by my arm. “Are you ready to leave?”
Without looking back, I speak over my shoulder as my whole body goes numb. “Just need my wrap.”
The after-party tent isn’t as organized as the dinner. People are up and moving about, and the path is littered with guests, the media, and the Secret Service. Ben is constantly accosted by people with something to say or a question to ask. Unlike us. We walk back to the table in a dense silence that feels as if I’m dragging a cement block or two along the floor.
When we arrive Gran smiles but her expression changes to concerned as she observes me picking up my wrap off the chair. “Are you leaving?” she asks in disbelief.
“Yes.” It’s all I say.
“We didn’t get to talk much. What about lunch or dinner this week? We’ll be in town until Sunday.”
I’m bone tired, angry, and not in the mood to sling smart commentary. “I’ll let you know.”
“I tried to phone you before we arrived...” she begins.
“Please, Gran, I’m working hard on the Hill. It’s not all fun and cocktail parties.” I expect her to tut or launch into an explanation that her schedule is jam-packed and she must have an answer right this second. But she doesn’t.
“You’re not still hanging around Mr. Richter? Not when you have other interests to attend to?”
“What are you talking about?” I feel a snap! along my nerves.
“It’s just...he’s not the right sort of associate you need now.”
I’m close to telling her to reinstate the severing of our ties. So so close. Even though Jon and I are at odds, I don’t want her to blame him. Do something to potentially harm him. “This is probably my fault. I let you think something false because it helped my cause. We’re not nor have Jon and I ever dated. We’re only friends.”
“Why would I think you’re dating a gay man?” Gran retorts as Pop sidles up, his usual bourbon and Coke in his hand.
“Princess, you looked picture perfect dancing with the president.”
For the second of sanity I possess, I ignore Pop as I question Gran. “You know?”
“Of course I do. I’m aware of lots of things. All you have to do is ask if you’d like the truth. Believe it or not, your grandfather and I don’t gossip. We want our family to be happy. We don’t do scandal. Spreading rumors is no better. Be careful on that front, dear.”
“That sounds reminiscent of a threat, Gran.” I glance over to Bennett. He’s conversing with a man—someone from Castro’s cabinet.
“Nonsense; it isn’t. I promise. Call me, Xavia.” Gran taps Pop on his shoulder. “Stan. A little help, sir.”
The word ‘sir’ coming from my grandmother’s mouth knifes me in the head. No. Absolutely not the same term I use with Bennett. I try to recall how many times she’s uttered it and can’t think straight.
“Listen to your grandmother for once.” With the force of a wrecking ball, Pop takes hold of my arm and squeezes. Gone is his endearing affect and he regards me coolly. “It’s taken a lot of jockeying to get you here. You’re not the only person with interests at stake. The world economy is unstable. Time to grow up, Xavia. Don’t let this chance go to waste.” His frigid words slowly sink into me.
I can’t pretend I’m not shaken as I search his face and envision who he’s referring to in his reference to ‘jockeying’ and my position.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stillman,” Bennett announces, standing close beside me. “It’s been a remarkable evening.”
“Senator Stone,” Pop replies as he and Ben shake hands. “We’re more than impressed with your record and your future. We spoke with the vice president and we’ll meet soon.”
Sounds like more political civilities, the same banal BS I’ve endured nonstop tonight, and I hate this part of the game. Gran gives me a curtailed hug as does Pop. I feel their stare as I silently slip on my wrap. When we say goodbye, I’m numb, confused, and can’t get away from the White House fast enough.
* * *
“THIS ISN’T my imagination,” I tell Bennett as he pulls into the underground garage of the Franklin hotel. “My grandparents are in on some...plot.”
“What are you referring to?” he asks as he parks the car in the private bay for the room he owns. The one where he’s brought other subs and I return to the question I posed about Senator Warner that he’s refused to answer—were they lovers?
“I don’t know. It’s a gut feeling.”
It’s dark outside, but inside me is darker...dismal with all the sleazy lies and dirty secrets that are coming out of the woodwork faster than I can process. I stifle a shiver at the thought of the president, my grandparents—possibly the Veep...how many more are in on plotting a move within this warped political chess match?
“If you’re unsure, how about we talk about something concrete?” He opens his door before I can answer. What can I say without lighting a fuse?
After opening my door, he takes hold of my hand and draws me up. “Nothing’s concrete. That’s the problem,” I reply.
“But a few things have come to light. And yet you’re holding back.”
I don’t answer him. I’m not the only one.
“State dinners are never boring, wouldn’t you say?” His voice holds a mocking tone. I look into his brooding eyes which house a hint of anger within those green depths. Slowly he blinks, and the sweeping of his dark lashes is as captivating as ever.
“Stressful. But being around my family for five minutes will do that. Difficult to tell.” I remind myself this isn’t the time to spill all my secrets.
“But you do have an opinion,” he remarks.
We walk toward the private elevator and when we stop in front of the polished metal doors, I glance over to him. At least my aggravation for as cutting as it feels, it’s the lifeline holding me together rather than ripping me apart. “Can we wait until we’re upstairs to discuss what happened?”
“No pressure—where ever you’d like.” The doors glide smoothly open, and he gestures with his open palm.
Usually by this time, he’s pinning me to the wall of the elevator with his tongue thrusting into my mouth, fisting my ha
ir, and giving me the ride of my life. Not tonight. We stand next to each other, our shoulders don’t even touch.
He ushers me from the elevator and here we are standing in front of the hotel suite doorway. There’s so much chorusing within me, begging to be freed while needing answers. He swipes his magnetic card, the same one he’s provided me.
The voice inside my head whispers, “You and how many others?”
Don’t go there! Don’t keep deliberating on how many times he’s done this. He opens the door and pauses, allowing me to enter first. I wrap my arms around my middle, walking forward as he follows behind me like a silent shadow.
Inside our feet tap along the floors. The tip-tapping sounds echo against the walls in a syncopated rhythm, matched only by my heartbeat battering against my ribcage. This isn’t the time to run and hide. This chaos is good. It’s obliterating. There’s only one recourse. All I need is the courage to act.
Swallowing the lump of doubt, I remind myself I’m not about to be played by North. Silently I chant, “I can do this.” I’m going to pull a play out of thin air. I arrived here in D.C., wanting to know the truth. Needing to know the truth! This is a journey, my path, and I’m waging war on all the bullshit being spun. Either I forge ahead, seek what I came to find or I’ll...we’ll... forever be lost. This is a truth grenade—my moment—our moment to come all the way clean. We’re at the point of no return and it’s time to pull out every goddamn stop. What’s my ammo? My smarts, my instinct. My resilience.
We walk into the living room and I wait by the sofa. Here goes bomb number one. “First, you owe me an answer. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without an explanation will do.”
“What happened tonight?” Bennett asks in his gravelly voice when he stops in back of me. His words caress my bare shoulders. Before tonight, it would have been so easy to feign ignorance, lean back, get lost. I shake my head as much to answer him as to motivate myself.
“Were you or were you not Senator Warner’s Dom?” Turning, I face him. Weird how my voice comes out without a ripple when my insides are blistering and liquid.
His gaze locks onto mine and his eyes widen before his whole face darkens. A shade of upset mixed with frustration, and I can’t let my desire to mitigate the pain of razor sharp answers. For him or for me.
“You’re asking because of something North said,” he retorts harshly. “Yet you refuse to tell me anything that went on.”
I notch my chin upward, take a breath to steel my resolve, and hold his fiery gaze. “What does that have to do with you answering the question?”
“Yes,” he says without apology.
Without contemplating what to expect, his simple and direct answer floors me. “Did you bring her here? Screw her in that bedroom! Tie her up and promise her the same things you promise me? Tell me the fucking truth!” I come at him with my fists raised and he doesn’t lift his hands to stop me. I pound on his chest, then grab him by the lapels, staring up at him.
“She was my sub. And you damn well know, it’s a closed subject.”
With his admission, all my pent-up wrath expands exponentially. “Here’s what I think about your closed subject!” I land a stinging slap on his cheek. The imprint from my hand blossoms like a red flower on his skin as he stares down at me with a predatory gaze, fury mixed with hunger. He doesn’t touch the spot where I hit him. Oh no.
He advances on me. “Have you had your fill?”
My body is awash in adrenaline and I’m so not through when I consider him with another woman—that woman! All this time, she’s waltzed in and out of his office. North spoke of an offer, and the memory spikes the liquid fire coursing in my veins. “Did you promise me to North? Is this some sick plan where you’re training me like you did her, and then you’ll pass me off to him?”
“Fuck no!” Ben storms forward, grabbing me by my shoulders and pushing me backward until he’s pinning me to the living room wall. “I’ll never share you.”
“Or is that a closed subject—something you’re sidestepping?”
“Better watch it, little girl. I said I’d never share you and I mean it. Where in the fuck is that trust you promised me that’s supposed to dwell within you?” He lets his gaze rove down to my chest, before his smoky eyes rebound to mine. “Maybe you’re the one who’s full of it!”
“Me?” I yell incredulously. “Then what in the fuck is the deal being brokered? Don’t you lie to me. I want to know what President North is planning and how it involves my grandparents.”
For a second, we both stare at each other and I can see the confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Still playing games?” I can’t believe I put all my trust in him. “North told me. Okay. He might be disgusting and a two-timing SOB, but at least he divulged that you both are planning and plotting together. When you decide to tell me the truth, then I’ll listen. Until then, stay away from me.”
“North is a fucking liar!” he storms. “You have no idea how depraved he is.”
“Oh I think I do!” I’m so wound up, I push past Bennett and make for the door.
“X, don’t leave!”
He’s hot after me and as I pass by the entry table, I pick up a small statuette. Carved marble and I heave it down in his path. The statue strikes his ankle, and he stumbles. I don’t fucking care. At least he’s curtailed from stopping me...wrong. Forget waiting for the elevator.
Bennett limps toward me with a look of unadulterated ferocity. “Stay. Right. There!” he growls.
Backing up a step, I shake my head, and counter, “Kiss. My. Ass.” And then, I run past the elevator into the stairwell.
I don’t stop at the ground floor. Chest heaving and my thoughts a mess, I skitter across the lobby, only pausing when I’m well beyond the hotel entrance doors.
Chapter 20
CRASH LAND
FOR HOURS, I’ve rolled around my bed, tossing, turning, and torturing myself. Now, it’s the morning and I’m hugging my pillow. I push up onto my elbow to get a look at the clock. Pain lances my head from a kink in my neck. Just fucking great. I haven’t sleep a wink, and my body feels like I ran a marathon through hell and back. During the night, Ben’s called and texted, but I can’t bear to talk with him.
“Stop calling me!” I hear Brooke yell, and then something hits the wall in her room.
God, I so can appreciate that sentiment. Guess Brooke and I both have the inherent ability to hurl things when upset. Stomping feet cross the hardwood next door—hers I imagine.
She laughs bitterly, eerily in the early dawn. “That’s just it, jackwad. You don’t have a say. Not one. Not when you’re married and the father of two kids. All you need to know is... I hate you! Damn you, Derek!”
Hours before Brooke’s abortion and sounds like she’s arguing with the father of her unborn child. Derek? She’s never mentioned him before...has she? I spin through the long line of men she’s dated, but I can’t remember. Crash. Another splattering crack rebounds from within her room, then I hear her sobs that turn to wails. Holy crap!
I rush to her door. It’s closed...I jiggle the handle. It’s locked. “Brooke. You okay?” I call out concerned.
“Perfect! I’m so fucking perfect,” she cries.
“What can I do?” I lean my head against her doorframe.
“I’m going to take a shower. Can you make us some tea?”
“I’m on it!” I let go of the doorknob. Yeah, that’s what I need a task. Then I stop, turn and retreat. “Hold on. You can’t have anything. Remember?”
“Shit! You’re right,” she says and opens her door. “Whoa! Did you go to sleep yet?”
I’m wearing my gown and it’s a wrinkled mess. “Bed yes. I couldn’t get it together to change.”
She rakes both her hands through her hair, shaking her head. “We’re a pair. Aren’t we?”
“Birds of a feather,” I reply and smile sadly.
*
My phone rings. “Hey,” I say,
seeing it’s Jon. Not another text from Bennett. He stopped calling around five and I’m drained.
“Sorry about the other day,” he mutters. “No excuse. I lost it.”
“Let’s just forget about it.”
“So how was it?” he asks.
“Are we talking about last night?” I showered and changed, and am caffeinated ...easier to hide my reeling emotions.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. By chance did you ever ask Stone for an interview for me? Dude’s seriously on fire. And now with you two dating. I laid it out for my editor and she’s on board. Exclusive of you two. Day in the life kinda thing! What do ya say?”
I’m stunned but I can’t lie to him. “Jon...we’re not a thing. Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about? There’s a montage of photographs of you two. My editor is so excited this could secure my spot at the Post. No more freelancing. I’m talking cubicle with benefits.”
My heart squeezes worse at hearing the disappointment in his voice. “It’s over. I’m handing in my resignation come Monday. It’s that bad.”
“Are you crazy? Xavia, don’t be stupid. What happened? The world didn’t end, did it? If he’s done something, fuck how bad could it be? Look at the man! He’s drop-dead gorgeous and wants you on his arm. Don’t be an idiot. Suck it up. Shit, for once can you think of someone other than yourself?”
His words feel like a punch to my chest, ripping me wide open. I swallow as my eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“We need to talk,” he spouts and those words hit me full force. The ones Bennett has said over and over.
“I can’t.”
“Why? Are you afraid I might make some sense? Look, I’m coming over.”
“No. Don’t!”
“What in the hell has gotten into you?” His voice ramps up again, he’s going to lose it.
I can’t tell him where Brooke and I are headed, so I cover for her. “I’m going to the doctor. I don’t feel well.”
