Struck from the Record (3 page)

“We could have,” he agreed. “But it was my girlfriend.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re an ass!”

She rushed into the cab and glared at him as the cab pulled away.

Well, that had been easier than he’d thought. That was the normal reaction he would get from people when he told them that he had a girlfriend. No one really understood their relationship, nor did they care to figure it out. It was easier to just let people believe he was a philandering asshole than to explain that they had been in a successful open relationship for the last ten years.

Easier to let people believe he was the bad boy of the Maxwell political dynasty than to clue them in on his long-term plan—top of his class at Yale, clerk at the Supreme Court, federal judge, attorney general. Thinking of it both excited him and made him feel sick. He wanted to live up to the man his father expected him to be, but following the mold made him crazy. It was a double-edged sword, a line he constantly skirted.

That girl would have been a treat for completing his clerkship and moving one step closer to the end goal on his path. Another thing completed on a checklist. Finishing didn’t seem fulfilling in the same way it had when he was accepted to clerk. But, tomorrow, he would have to clear out his desk and get serious about deciding on which private practice offer he would accept.

He had been staring at three offers for over a week now, and since each position began in January, they were expecting an answer by Christmas…maybe New Year’s at the latest.

But he didn’t need to worry about that tonight. He could have Andrea as a treat instead.

Clay fished his cell phone out of his pocket again and smiled.
Four minutes. Perfect.

He dialed Andrea’s number and waited for her to answer while he waited outside of the building. It clicked over to voice mail.

He scowled down at the phone. “What the fuck?”

Then, it almost immediately lit up again.

“Can I help you?” she asked curtly.

Clay cracked a smile.

“So, where are you? I’ll grab a cab now and meet you.”

Andrea made a tinkling giggle. “Do you think you’re the only one who can have fun, Clay Maxwell?”

A smile spread across his face. “You’re bad, and it turns me on.”

“Well, you’ll have to do something about it by yourself. I have…other plans,” she said breathily—for his benefit, he was sure.

His body itched from the challenge she was posing. Andrea always seemed to do this. He could fuck so many other girls, and then one little giggle from her would make him want to claim her all over again.

She was a continual challenge. She was beautiful with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a tall, lean frame that he knew intimately. But every time he thought he had her figured out, every time he was sure she was going to do one thing, she would do something else. She liked to play games, and he liked her games.

Because, at the end of the day, he knew exactly where her head was in all of this. It wasn’t seeking out a Harry Winston engagement ring. It wasn’t demanding an
I love you
before bed. It wasn’t a scowl for his philandering or the way he treated his brother or innumerable other reasons. It was just an arrangement for two people who cared about each other…in their own way.

“Pray tell, love. Who is the lucky bastard?” Clay asked.

He was already sliding into the cab that had appeared for him and adjusting the purple-striped bow tie at his neck.

Andrea came from old Southern plantation money. Her mother was a Southern pageant queen, and they had both been raised in the South Carolina Junior League. Her father owned half of Charleston and regularly purchased, stripped, and resold the other half. The Maxwells could stretch their lineage back to Thomas Jefferson himself. They had been in real estate in The Triangle area of North Carolina for just as long. Clay was a Southern boy through and through, and if there was one thing Andrea couldn’t resist, it was when he acted like it.

“He’s no one you know,” she told him.

“I know everyone.”

“Not this one.”

“Stop teasing me.”

She giggled. “Oh, but you don’t really want me to do that, Clay. You probably want me to describe him on the phone. Should I start with his suit or how big I think he is?”

“Always good to know your competition,” he said.

“Well, I don’t have time. I have to get back to my game. I don’t want him to think I have a doting boyfriend waiting for me at home.”

Clay snorted. “Doting. Sounds just like me.”

Andrea was silent for a moment, and if he couldn’t hear the bar noise in the background, he might have thought she had hung up on him.

“Sometimes, it’s not that far off,” she said quietly.

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Doting, Andrea?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, you’ve always known that. Now, I’ll show you doting. Where are you?”

“Don’t ruin my game, Clay,” she said without conviction.

She had called
him
after all.

They had rules, and they were simple. When they were together, it was just the two of them. When they were apart, anything was fair game. But when one of them called, ruining the other person’s game was
exactly
the rule of thumb. He was coming to claim her, and she knew it. They had both known it as soon as he answered.

He could hear the telltale signs of excitement in her voice. He was sure she was pouting to look like she was upset.

“I would never,” he lied.

“I don’t ruin yours.”

“You do if you can help it. Now, tell me,” he demanded.

“Fine,” she said. “But you’d better bring your A game. He’s a keeper.”

“Don’t I always?”

She told him the name of the bar where she was. It wasn’t far from his townhouse or his work, which made him wonder if she had picked it, hoping for this outcome. She was conniving, and he wouldn’t put it past her.

Clay felt emboldened as he left to chase down his girl.

Chapter 2

GAMES

Clay stepped into the dimly lit bar. It was one of those upscale artsy places that Andrea frequented and he loathed. The actual artists wouldn’t be caught dead in here, but art
enthusiasts
congregated in the space. And if Andrea liked anything, she liked throwing her fortune away at art shows.

He spotted her sitting at the horseshoe-style bar in the middle of the room, talking to her prey. She was in a demure black dress that hugged her lithe curves and two-thousand-dollar shoes that she had a closetful of at home. She was facing the entrance, which was likely strategic on her part. Her head had tipped up when he entered the bar, but aside from a passing glance, she didn’t even acknowledge him. But she certainly knew he was here.

That was enough for now.

Bypassing her, he took a seat on a barstool with her in his line of vision. He didn’t often drink by himself out in the city, so sitting alone was a change of pace. He believed it was better to have a wingman or two at his side when picking up women since they tended to travel in packs. It was lucky for him when his friends Cash and Ethan had ended up in D.C. after graduating from Yale Law. He’d had tons of friends growing up and in college, but these were the only two, other than Andrea, whom he could actually still stand.

They would probably laugh at him if they knew what he was up to. While they’d claimed to understand the thing he had with Andrea, they’d encourage his crazy lifestyle. Not that he needed encouragement.

Clay ordered a double Crown and Coke from a passing waitress and leaned back in his seat to observe his competition. The guy looked uppity in a black suit and tie. It fit but wasn’t tailored to his build. He could use a haircut and a shave.

How had this idiot even caught Andrea’s eye?

At least Andrea had made it easy on him.

He would bide his time for the perfect opportunity to make his move.

He went through three drinks in the hour. The bar was clearly an after-hours place because, in the short time it’d moved toward one in the morning, people flooded in. He could barely see Andrea now and knew it was about time. She had flirted her way through much of her conversation with this guy, and Clay decided the poor sap was just a front. Andrea hardly seemed interested even though the guy was mooning over her. Andrea was not the kind of girl for that.

“Anyone sitting here?” a girl asked, coming up beside him.

Clay turned to face the girl. She was hot. Like smoking hot. He’d say she wasn’t his type, but hot was his type. Tall, brunette with freckled olive-toned skin that drew attention to her perfect pink lips. Unfortunately, he preferred blondes and dresses. This girl wore a pantsuit. He hated pantsuits. He understood them as a necessity for women who worked in the business sector, but the misogynistic pig in him loved to get a good look at legs in a pencil skirt.

She slid her charcoal jacket off her shoulders to reveal the silky burgundy sleeveless top underneath. Better but not great.

Clay finally shrugged. “Nope. Go ahead.”

“Thanks. It’s fucking packed in here.”

“Yeah. Didn’t realize the place would fill with hipsters. It’s like we splashed water on them.”

“Gremlins,” the woman said with a laugh. “Nice.”

“Yeah. If only they hadn’t multiplied in the last couple of years, then these bars wouldn’t be so in.”

“Right. So true. I wouldn’t be caught dead in here if my boyfriend didn’t like the scene.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s hard enough, getting over here from the Hill, with goddamn traffic.”

Boyfriend. Why did that suddenly make her more attractive?

“And where is this boyfriend of yours?” he inquired, momentarily forgetting his game.

She shrugged. “It’d be just like the ass not to show up after making me drive all the way over here. As if I don’t have more important shit to do.”

Clay smirked. It sounded like something he’d probably do.

“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”

“The worst.”

Clay almost laughed. She was serious. He was about to ask why she’d stay with the guy if he was like that, but then he glanced over at Andrea. She was still flirting shamelessly with Bad Suit, and Clay was over here, talking to his second stranger for the night.

He and Andrea both put up with each other’s shit. It worked for them. Had been for almost ten years.

The bartender finally responded to the woman waving cash over the bar, trying to get her attention.

“I’ll take a double vodka on the rocks. Grey Goose. Just keep them coming.”

He eyed her with appreciation, and she just smiled wryly. “It’s been a long day.”

Clay held his hands up. “Who am I to judge?”

The bartender pushed the vodka over to the woman and passed another Crown and Coke to Clay, who hadn’t even asked for it. It was his fourth. He didn’t even know how many other drinks he’d had tonight.

As he took an appreciative sip of the whiskey, his phone pinged.

Where are you? I thought you’d make this harder.

“Girlfriend?” the brunette asked.

“Something like that.”

“She stand you up, too?”

Clay saw Andrea arch an eyebrow over Bad Suit’s shoulder. He raised his eyebrows. She tilted her head toward the restroom, and he smiled, letting her know he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

“Not exactly,” he responded. “Excuse me for a minute.”

“Should I save your seat?”

He wasn’t sure if she sounded hopeful. Most girls would be falling all over themselves by now, but she didn’t seem to be that kind of girl, which was interesting. She just continued to sip her vodka, straight up, unperturbed.

“Yeah. Unless that boyfriend of yours shows up.” Clay winked.

“All right. I’m Gigi, by the way.”

She dropped her suit jacket over his seat and put her hand out for him to shake. He startled slightly at the introduction, as if this were a business meeting and not two people meeting up at a bar. He didn’t even remember the last girl’s name. This was a lot less than flirting.

Wait, is she even flirting with me?

Huh. Maybe not.

He reached out and took her hand. She had a firm grip, which meant she worked in a profession where people looked down on her. She needed this for authority. He liked a firm grip…handshake and otherwise.

“Clay.”

“Nice to meet you, Clay. I’ve got your seat until my lecherous boyfriend shows up.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it.

He wedged his way through the crowd, receiving disgruntled shouts from the people he’d unceremoniously shoved out of his way. When he finally made it back to the restrooms, he found Andrea standing outside the door, as if waiting for the next chance to go inside, which he knew she never did. Queuing was not one of Andrea’s specialties.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, approaching her.

“You, sir, are in big trouble.”

“Tell me all about it.”

A girl left the restroom, and Clay pushed Andrea inside. The girl gave them a strange look, but there were other restrooms for people who needed it. He locked it from the inside and turned to face his girl. He grabbed her around the middle and hauled her against him. She was so small, always had been. She’d been obsessed with her weight in college and ended up in a lot of counseling to try to fix the issue, but she’d always be small.

He pressed her body back against the door, and she met his gaze with a determined one of her own.

“Clandestine,” she murmured in a tone that made it seem as if she were unimpressed.

“You said I was in trouble,” he prompted.

With her words, blood was already pumping to all the right places. Fuck, she turned him on. The chase, the rendezvous, the game.

His hands slipped down her black dress, slinky and sophisticated, and he knew it cost a fortune. Everything that Andrea liked did. Instead of going for her lips, he nuzzled her neck, making her arch against him, and then he trailed rough kisses over the territory he was claiming.

“Yes,” she said, trying to seem unaffected, “you came to ruin my fun, and then you didn’t even make a move. Clay Maxwell, whatever has gotten into you?”

“You’re too hasty.” He nipped at her neck, and she squeaked. Oh, how he loved that sound. “I was assessing the situation and determining when to go in for the kill.”