Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story) (127 page)

I knew
that I had a great deal to think about—that I hadn’t allowed my mind to
consider all my options the previous evening. Better, I’d thought, to cling to
the fun moments I had left with my friend. Surely, the seasons would change.
Surely, I wouldn’t see her as often, very soon. It seemed that everything was
coming to a head. We would resolve our friendship with the occasional dinner
and drink; we’d find lackluster things to talk about. But we’d drift apart. Our
lives were too different, now.

I
stood from my desk and tapped out of the West Wing, winding my way down the
staircase. I nodded toward a secret service agent, one that held eagle eyes
toward me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked me.

I
nodded toward him primly. “For a walk in the White House grounds,” I murmured
back, blinking my long eyelashes toward him.

“It’s
quite chilly today. Below fifty, I’d say,” the secret service agent answered
back.

I
shrugged, showing him the black coat I’d draped over my arm. I brought it
around my shoulders like a cape, and I murmured toward him. “I won’t be gone
long.”

At
this time of the year, the Rose Garden had been shrouded up, brought to face
the dull and driven winters of the Washington D.C. area. However, I felt a
sense of solace out there by myself. In the summer, it was swarming with
tourists, with guests of the White House. But then, it was only me. My thoughts
swirled around me, staying low beneath the shaded, cloudy skies.

There,
in the rose garden, I considered a future in which Xavier and I could stay
together. I hadn’t given myself over to such fantasies, not yet. Falling into
them felt oddly like falling asleep. So satisfying.)

In
this daydream, Xavier and I stayed together—continually sneaking around,
keeping our love and our affair a secret from the greater population and from
his executive staff. We would meet in our small, hidden rooms throughout the
White House, and we’d allow work to fall from us with our clothes. We’d bring
our bodies together, and we’d fuck until the sun came up. Only then, would we
scurry back into our natural, political personas. Only then, would we face the
music.

But
what would happen? Would we even make it that long—all the way to the end of
his term, a whole year from now? And if he won the election? What would happen,
then? Would I have to find a new job? I remembered what Xavier had told me:
that there was always a position for me at the White House. But if his wife
knew about our affair—surely she’d want me out of the White House, for fear
that I would somehow give myself away and make her life a living hell?

If I
ultimately had to leave the White House, as a result of my love for Xavier,
where would I go? Certainly, I’d want to receive the position on my merits,
alone. I wouldn’t want any sort of hand-out from Xavier. Sure, he’d still be
the president. He’d have all the power. But I’d never gotten anywhere on simple
handouts. Although, sometimes, I was inclined to believe that men gave me these
higher up positions simply because of the size of my ass or because of my
breasts. I hated that feeling.

I
stood at the edge of the Rose Garden, looking up at the illustrious White House
before me. I stomped my foot in the ground lightly, knowing that many things
about the horizon had altered with the comprehension that Camille knew about
our affair. I knew that I had to reevaluate my entire career—that I had to stay
out of her way. She wouldn’t destroy me, unless I made myself apparent. In many
ways, I had to disappear.

This
ultimately brought me to the question. Should I simply fade away from this
relationship? Was my love for Xavier actually equal to the love and hard work
I’d churned into my position in the political sphere? My heart ached with the
question, and I sat on a bench, feeling the October wind whip against me.

Okay,
okay. I sighed into my fingers. If Xavier and I did stay together, all
throughout both this term, and the next one, what would happen, then? I’d heard
of presidents all-but retiring, folding away from the public sector. But that
wouldn’t be for me. I’d be at the height of my churning career. Thirty-four
years old, at that time, and rearing toward Congress, toward a greater
position, perhaps. Would I be satisfied getting married to the president, at
that time? Would it look “off” if he immediately divorced his wife after the
four years were finished and married me? Would there be questions about my
“right” to the White House, to the political world?

I knew
that I needed to address many of these questions to Xavier. I knew that, beyond
anything else, Xavier had a very valid comprehension of the political sphere.
He had made all the right moves, climbed the correct ladders, and made friends
with the right people. As a result, he was nearing the entrance to his second
rally as president.

I
tried to reach the root of my internal problem, and I supposed it was simply
that I didn’t want to tell the public a false story of myself. I didn’t want to
label myself as a money-seeker, as a woman continually looking for power and
using her body to get it. God, I had slaved. I had marched the march, walked
the walk. I stabbed my heel into the dead grass in the rose garden lawn, and I
knew, in my heart, that the only person I needed to discuss these many fears
with lurked, somewhere up there in an Oval Office. I wouldn’t allow him to wrap
his arms around me; I wouldn’t allow him to place his lips over mine. Instead,
we’d become two grown, confident, and ever-intelligent adults, discussing next
steps as one discusses the peace in the Middle East.

I
sniffed and righted myself from the bench beneath me, winding myself back to
the gleaming White House. I felt each of my heels dipping into the mud beneath.
I felt my back arch with a spark of confidence. I knew, in so many ways, that I
would find my way to the top without the guiding hands of my lover. I knew I
had it in me.

Chapter 4

I
neared the steps from the Rose Garden, up toward the White House. I placed my
delicate fingers on the stair railing. Suddenly, a figure darted from behind
the dark shadow of a tree. I brought my hand to my heart, clutching at my
chest. I nearly shouted. In an instant, I found myself being lurched back,
toward the trees. A hand was held over my mouth and nose, blocking any air from
entering my lungs. I cried out, wasting that stale oxygen. In that moment, I
felt sure that I was going to die.

“Just
shut up for a moment,” the voice said gruffly. I felt a shoe fall from my right
foot, allowing a naked toe to be dragged back, toward the trees. I felt a pine
needle pierce my skin.

Finally,
the figure pushed me against a tree. I saw him, full figure before me, his
right hand still pressed over my mouth so that I couldn’t scream. It was Jason.
His eyes looked crazed. I realized that the previous day’s meeting had
ultimately pushed him too far, that his frustration was making his brain burn.
He was breathing heavily. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” he
whispered in my ear. He placed his foot on my naked foot. I felt my bones creak
beneath his weight. Even as he attacked me, held me beneath the tree, he still
looked like a schlub. His shirt was un-tucked; his eyebrows needed serious
maintenance. So strange, to feel so fearful of the ugliest person you’ve ever
seen.

I
tried to bite his hand, then. I tried to pull my legs up to kick him. My brain
seemed to scream, internally.

“Now,
now. Just calm down,” Jason cackled maniacally. “I know you’ve been through a
great deal. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, in a few different
ways.”

I
allowed my mouth to relax. I tried to calm my body, my aching joints, my feet.
But my heart wouldn’t stop beating so wildly in my chest.

“Okay.
So. At the beginning of this—shall we call it—spiel, I told you that I wanted
one thing, initially. And that was to be campaign manager. And you told me I
would get what I wanted.”

My
eyes gleamed toward him. I remembered telling the president that Jason should be
the campaign manager, that it was meant for him. I remembered hating myself for
doing it. It had been all I was working for. And then I was giving it away.

“And
the president ramped up my responsibilities, yes. He told me he was considering
me for the position,” Jason continued. “But then, he ultimately gave everything
to you. Every meeting, you run. Every meeting with a Congressman has you at the
helm.” He arched his eyebrow. “And I’m sure you can comprehend why that would
make me feel out-of-sorts. Can’t you?”

I
nodded quickly, feeling my throat aching as I attempted to take in my oxygen
between his fingers, deep in my nose.

“And
then, of course, there’s this issue of you being—missing. Missing from your
apartment, so I can’t keep an eye on things. Missing from meetings—and
mysteriously appearing just a few moments after the president arrives. What am
I meant to think of all this?”

I
shrugged my shoulders. He opened his fingers, just a tad, allowing me to slurp
up some oxygen and dart out some words. “It was a coincidence! I didn’t even
know the president was late—“ I lied.

He
clucked his tongue at the back of his throat, shaking his head. “Is that right,
my dear? Well. I suppose my next question has to be this. Does the president
know anything about the photographs? Have you done what you’ve been told to
do—in keeping your mouth shut, I mean?”

I
jerked my lips out once more. “I haven’t said a word to the president,” I lied
once more. My voice sounded desperate. The sun had lurked beneath the clouds,
and I was shivering beneath the shade of the tree.

Jason
blinked toward me, expecting something more. He wanted me to give myself away,
to tell on the president, to give him SOMETHING. But I had nothing. I blinked
toward him, feeling as his arm loosened its grip a bit. All at once, I pushed
against him, full-force. I shoved him away from the tree, and I darted out of
the shade, up the steps, and into the shell of the gleaming White House. I
wanted to yell, to scream out the attack! But I knew if I did, the photographs
would be revealed. And so I cried into my elbow for a moment as I rushed
forward, never looking back.

Even
mid-tears, I steadied myself. Jason was finally coming to the end of his rope.
He couldn’t take the pressure anymore. He was impatient, and he was probably
about to make his move—to reveal the photographs to the world. I breathed
heavily, trying to bring this comprehension to my mind. He was a ticking time
bomb, and Xavier and I needed to act fast.

So
much was on the line. I had to alert Xavier. I had so much to talk to him
about—so much about our personal relationship, yes, and then so much regarding
Jason’s terrorizing over us both. I sat on the steps that led up to the West
Wing and cried into my hands for a moment, feeling like the soft, weak girl I’d
never been. I’d always pitied those girls—those girls who couldn’t comprehend
what to do with their problems. I’d certainly never been one, no. But here I
was. Nearly falling from the edge of the cliff.

Finally,
I righted myself. I wondered where Jason had gone. The staircase, the only one
that brought you up from the rose garden, echoed only with my staggered
breathing. I placed my hand on the wall and steadied my shaking body, inhaling
and exhaling and appreciating every second of oxygen.

I
hadn’t believed that Jason was capable of such terror, of such violence. My
mind was suddenly rooted in ideas only of survival. I marched up the steps,
knowing that I had to leave the White House, immediately. I had to give Jason
time to cool off. I had to give myself time to think. I found myself in front
of my desk, breathing heavily over my papers. I felt Jason’s presence in the
room, several feet away. He was discussing something with one of the campaign
team members. Both of them looked toward me as I staggered into my desk. I was
a goddamned mess, and I knew it. Sweat dribbled down the line in the center of
my lips.

“Miss
Martin. Are you all right?” The young girl asked me, taking small steps toward
me.

Jason
leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. I was sure I heard the
word “drug” amongst them. I grew hot, angry. The girl’s eyes molded toward me
once more, confused. I wanted to shake her, to tell her it all wasn’t true.

I
grabbed my things and swept through the room, now hearing the scattered gossip
throughout. “Well. She has been sick an awful lot lately. What do you think it
means? She’s a drug addict, obviously. Can’t get so far into the nation’s
capitol without a little—you know. Extra oomph.”

My
face burned. I dropped a few slips of paper as I scurried from the room, past
the remaining offices. I found myself in front of the Oval Office, knowing that
the president was in there. I wanted to stroke his chest, to ask him to tell me
that everything was going to be all right. I knew that if anyone could assure
me that the world was round, that it would continue to spin, it would be him.

In the
shadow of the Secret Service agent beside me, I stroked the door longingly,
wanting him. Wanting to touch him. I wanted to tell him everything that I’d
been thinking—about our potential future, about how perhaps it would get in the
way of the all-important nature of MY future. The one I had worked so hard for.
I wanted to ram my fists against his chest, like a woman in an old black and
white film, and demand answers from him. He was my president. And I needed his
guidance.