Authors: Claire Adams
Suddenly, two secret service agents
appeared on either side of the president. One whispered in Xavier’s ear.
Xavier’s eyebrows rose, and he turned toward him, speaking loud enough for me
to hear. “Well, did you tell her I’m working?”
My mind began to rush. Was he talking
about his wife?
The secret service agent whispered in his
ear once more. His voice was so low, I assumed it was in some sort of code.
“Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,”
Xavier stated, then. His voice came gruffly from his throat. He casually rolled
his eyes toward me, like we were sharing a secret joke.
I nodded, feeling my hair as it ruffled up
against my neck. “I’ll see you later, Mr. President,” I murmured casually,
watching him as he walked away. I felt nearly like swooning, for a moment. God,
this was all too much.
I turned my head back toward Jason, then.
He was still at his desk and he slammed his phone onto the wood, his hair in a
tuff above his head. I felt confidence surging through me. I plucked myself
from my desk and walked toward him, feeling my firm shoulders waving this way,
then that. I sniffed toward him, leaning over his desk with such femininity,
such confidence. I knew he couldn’t handle it—that his confidence came and went
with his sliminess.
But he leaned toward me, seemingly
unperturbed. “Amanda. Can I do something for you?”
“Actually, you can,” I whispered. “I would
love to speak with you in the other room, campaign manager. Just if you have a
moment.” My words were laced with sarcasm.
He stood, then. “Lady can’t keep her hands
off me,” he muttered toward me, making another snide remark.
But I turned and led him toward the back
office—the same office in which he’d revealed the photos to me all those days
before. When the true terror of my life had begun.
I closed the door, then, trapping us in
there together. I turned toward him and brought my arms together in front of my
chest. I cleared my throat before I spoke, tracing my eyes over his sloppy
body. He was in such strange contrast to the president.
“How long do you plan on holding these
photos over my head, Jason?” I asked him, then. My voice was high-pitched, but
laced with such anger.
He raised his eyebrows toward me. “Now,
that isn’t the language I want to hear from my champion girl.” He took a step
forward, toward me. He was intimidating. I leaned against the wall. “Better
question is this: have you arranged my meeting with the president yet? I saw
you both speaking a bit earlier. He was giving you those eyes. God, office
romances are the worst, aren’t they?”
I felt the wood of the door behind me. I
longed to rush out, away from him. But I had to stand firm. “Tell me how much
longer you want to play with me,” I demanded in a harsh whisper.
He took an additional step toward me, and
he brought his finger to my face. He traced my cheekbone, my eyebrow with his
first finger. I felt such menace from him: like he would hurt me if we weren’t
stuck at the White House, the two of us. Together and so alone in that middle
room—the very belly of the great political home.
“I can’t be certain how long I’ll need
you, can I?” he finally whispered. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I
braced myself. “I suppose I’ll keep the pictures until I get what I want,
ultimately.”
“And what is it that you want?” I asked
him. I swallowed, feeling such anger and hysteria beneath him.
He shrugged once more. “What I’ve always
wanted, of course. What I’ve always wanted.”
I shook my head. I sputtered another
question, feeling the quivering deep in my stomach. “Are there any more cameras
in my apartment?” I finally asked. I swallowed, closing my eyes.
I felt him step even closer to me. I could
feel his breath on my mouth. I could nearly feel his lips upon mine. His words
echoed over me, then: “I will answer this question, of course. For it is the
most interesting of all. How many did you find?”
“Three,” I said, still keeping my eyes
closed. I wanted to run away. I wanted to get out of there. But I felt so
trapped, like an animal in a cage.
He started laughing, then. I could feel
him tip his head back to laugh stronger, harder than I’d heard him laugh since
that first day, when he’d brought the photos to me—when he’d ruined my life.
“Three cameras. Of course. Those were the ones I wanted you to see. The one in
the armoire? What nice china, by the way. Antique, no?”
I bit my lip, feeling waves of nausea pass
through me. Three cameras. Three. “How many are there total, Jason?” I asked
him. My voice was on the hint of begging. I felt that this was the only way I
could translate my sheer anxiety.
“There are five cameras, my lovely. Five.”
My eyes snapped open, and I viewed his
hand before me—the five fingers out like rockets from his palm. I swallowed.
“Two others.”
“And you’ll never find them,” he said,
shaking his head back and forth. “Never.”
He jutted past me, then. He grabbed the
doorknob and jolted into the hallway, through the crowded room with all the
rushing campaign employees. I began to run after them, but I was immediately
bombarded with questions, with papers. I felt the anxiety close around my
throat. There was nothing I could do, in that moment.
Chapter
7
I sat at my desk for a long time, thoughts
of quitting and leaving the White House forever coursing through my brain. I
actually saw no way out of this dilemma. This terrifying man was watching my
apartment. I was losing control of my position. I was desired by the
president—by this wonderful, stunning man—and yet this was the very root of my
dilemma.
The phone started to ring once more.
Always, it was ringing off the hook. Sometimes, I considered snipping the wire
and falling away from this reality. I looked across the room at Jason once
more, catching his eyes. They were brimming with dispassion, with anger. He
mouthed the words. “Meeting with the president,” in such a way that made me
feel like he still had me pressed against the wall, forming his mouth over
mine.
I answered the phone in a hushed whisper.
“Hello?”
“Amanda. This is Xavier. I need to see you
immediately.”
I leaned back in the chair, then. I felt
my heart beating fast in my chest. “Is your wife all right?” I asked him. I
blinked wildly, knowing I was touching a nerve. I wanted to remind him who he
was and what he was meant to take care of. If he left me alone—maybe I could
get out of this alive and unscathed. Maybe.
But Xavier didn’t put up with it. “I need
you in my office immediately.” And then he hung up the phone.
I felt like both the good guys and the bad
guys were hounding me. I hated it. I brought my hands to my eyes and then
tugged at my hair, allowing myself this sensation of real pain. It rooted me
back in reality.
I darted down the hallway, toward the Oval
Office. Again, Dimitri was nowhere to be found outside the office. The secret
service agent pulled open the door for me and allowed me entrance, bowing his
head soundly for me. I felt like a queen, if only for a moment.
I closed the door behind me and turned,
finding the president in the center of the room instead of his usual position,
behind his desk. He looked so serious. His eyebrows dipped over his eyes, and
his mouth was pressed firmly together.
“Mr. President,” I whispered. I both hoped
and didn’t that he’d brought me in there just to ask me out again, to save me
from this terrifying world. I swallowed. “If this is about the campaign, I
think I’d better retrieve Jason.”
But the president held up his hand at
once, shaking his head. “Please. This is a meeting between you and I, only.” He
gestured forward, toward the center couch. I proceeded to sit down, bringing my
long brown hair behind my ear. I felt myself quivering and I hoped he didn’t
notice.
“Amanda,” he began. He sat down hesitantly
next to me, leaning toward me a bit. He brought his hand toward my face and
played with a small curl that wandered around my ear. “I’m worried about you.”
I swallowed. I peered at a painting of George
Washington on the wall. What a terrifying presidency that had been; what a
terrifying life Martha had had to live all those years before.
But Xavier was still staring at me. “I
think about you all the time, Amanda. You have to know that. Before, they
were—blissful thoughts. Thoughts of such happiness we could have together. But
now. Those thoughts have changed.” He sighed, then. He placed his hand on my
knee, and I curled my toe in my shoe, wanting him. His touch felt so good. I
still held my eyes toward the wall. I could hardly look at him. I knew it would
draw tears.
“My thoughts are now—affecting the
presidency,” he murmured. “I can hardly focus on anything anymore. The other
day, I was in a meeting with the Secretary of State and I just stared out the
window, thinking of you.”
I blinked, feeling a small tear formulate
in the corner of my eye. Why was he telling me all of this?
“I feel like you’re pulling away from me,”
he finally said. His voice broke. “I feel like we had something really special;
I feel like we could have really done something, together.”
“You mean as a couple?” I whispered, then.
My voice was breaking, as well. I couldn’t believe he had had these thoughts; I
couldn’t believe that he’d thought about me in any manner that wasn’t sexual;
that he actually admired my talents, my drive, my very being. He wasn’t typical
in this way, of course. Most men just wanted to fuck me and leave me at the
curb.
His grip tightened on my leg, then. He
cleared his throat. “I know it’s insane to talk about. I know I’m a married
man. And I’m devoted to my marriage, of course. But I can’t stop thinking of
you. Please. Assure me that this—this—“
“This?” I whispered once more. The tear
had made a trail down my cheek by then, leaving me seemingly naked beside him.
“This beautiful thing that we have. I
don’t want to lose it. Assure me that it isn’t over, okay?”
My mind was spinning. I knew I needed to
tell him that I couldn’t see him anymore; I knew I couldn’t tell him that Jason
had me in his grasp, that I literally hadn’t a single sliver of free will
anymore. I swallowed and turned my head almost imperceptibly toward him. “I
just—I just have so much on my plate, Xavier. I need. I need some space. Some
space would be really good right now, for me. So that I can focus on the
campaign. So that I can focus on making you the best president you can be.” I
heard the quivering in my voice. I remembered the confident girl I had been
just a few weeks before. I no longer recognized that person anymore.
The president leaned back and removed his
hand from my leg. He clucked his tongue. “You need space?” he asked. His voice
was nearly incredulous. “Space from me? From the White House? From the United
States? Space from what?”
But I just shook my head, knowing that he
could never truly understand. “Just space, Xavier,” I whispered. “I have to
work through this, now. You have to leave this to me.”
Xavier stood. He grabbed a small,
decorative bowl from the table before us and flung it at the wall, allowing it
to crash to the ground. The glass shards crashed everywhere, reminding me of
the wine glass I had broken the week before when I’d been searching for the
hidden camera in my apartment. He stomped his foot, almost like a child but
with a man’s passion, with a man’s anger. In a way, it aroused me, making me
want to leap toward him and take him in my arms, kiss his lips with mine.
He sat at his presidential desk, then. He
left me on the couch by myself, my hands folded before me like a peasant. I bit
my lip.
He waved his hand. “That’s it, then,” he
muttered. It sounded like he was ending a business meeting—something incredibly
formal, instead of the final rousing after an evening of titillating pleasure.
I stood. I bowed my head, feeling such
sadness in my belly. I agreed with everything he said, of course. I agreed that
we could create a beautiful life together. If things had been different. If
people weren’t eternally watching our every step. If slimy creeps like Jason
didn’t exist, always around the corner with a camera, ready to ruin your life.
I walked toward the door and brought my
hand forth. I wrapped it around the handle, hearing him move in his chair. I
paused. His voice rooted me back into reality, humming through my ears.
“Amanda,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to make a
scene.”
I spun my head back around toward him and
bowed, allowing my eyelashes to drip down to my cheeks. I felt so unsure in his
presence, so jittery. “I’m sorry, too, Xavier,” I whispered.
“There’s more,” he said then. “I need you
to know something. Even if we’re never in the same room again, alone. Even if
this beautiful thing falls away forever. I need you to know that I am
completely devoted to you, in this here and now. And I have been for quite some
time. It took me a moment to make a move, and for that I am sorry. I wasted
precious time I could have had with you. That kills me.”