Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (104 page)

I
nodded, knowing that this evening hadn’t been a part of my plans—that
everything I’d really done in the past few months hadn’t been a part of my
plans. “Sure. That sounds—great.” I landed on the final word with emphasis,
wanting to assure her. This was what I really wanted. I wanted to go out into
the world and explore it with my best friend.

We
dressed quickly in dancing clothes and swept into the world, toward The
Mousetrap. Rachel talked on and on in the cab about Michael—about how he had
acted at work that day. “A bit nervous, when he entered. He told me he had a
great time with me, that he’d love to do it again. And then. He told me about
dancing. Isn’t it strange? I don’t know many men who actually suggest going
dancing.” Rachel’s words were rapid, escalating from her mouth all too quickly.
I laughed, sensing her excitement.

We
arrived at the bar, then. We entered and peered around us. The place was dark,
a bit crusty, with graffiti on the walls. Twenty and young thirty-somethings were
dancing with great movements, tossing their arms into the air, holding their
drinks high. The music bumped into my heart, and I smiled toward Rachel,
mouthing the words: “Do you want to get a drink?”

We
each got a gin and tonic from the bar, and we sat near the wall of the club,
peering around for Michael.

“Just
got a text!” Rachel jolted, holding her phone up like a beacon. “He said he’ll
be here in five minutes!”

I
paused, taking a drink from my gin. “It’s so good to see you happy,” I
murmured. I knew she could hardly hear me over the music.

Rachel
understood. “Thanks, Amanda. I want to see you happy, as well. And you do—you
seem like things are working out? What is going on, anyway—with everything at
the White House?”

I bit
my lip, knowing I needed to tell her. She was my best friend; she was the only
person I could trust in this world, besides, of course Xavier. “I can’t tell
you too much, of course,” I began. The music pounded into our faces. What a
strange, oddly private place to discuss an affair with a president, I thought
abstractly. “You’ve been such a help the past few months, always listening to
me as I complain. But I have to tell you. I think it’s almost over, that it’s
finally working itself out.”

Rachel’s
eyebrows rose. “How is that?”

“Well.
I suppose it isn’t working itself out so much as I’m simply meant to—to loosen
up a bit. About my five year plan. About everything. He’s understanding about
my goals. And we’re just going to take it easy, have fun.” I nodded, affirmed
in the words. My heart lightened with each moment.

A
smile stretched across Rachel’s face. She placed her hand over my arm—a
comfort. “I think that’s wonderful, Amanda,” she breathed. “Have fun with it.
Live and learn.” She swallowed. I sensed that she didn’t have much to say—that
her mind was lurking with thoughts of Michael. But finally, she said something
else: “Please remember. I will always be your friend. You can count on me to
tell me things. I can keep secrets.” She winked toward me, stretching a grin
across my face.

Suddenly,
before us stood a large man with broad shoulders, a goofy grin. He held two
drinks in his hand, and he gestured one out for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes
were bright toward him. She stood up beside him and greeted him with words I
couldn’t hear over the driving beat. The man named Michael shook my hand, and
the two young lovers swept out onto the dance floor, to understand each other
better in this rushing world.

As I
watched them, I stood up, knowing it was time for me to take my exit, that I had
to find a different route. That Rachel didn’t need me, just then. I spun
around, allowing my pretty brunette hair to gloss down my back. I was gone from
the club in an instant. As I rushed down the street, my hand held high in the
air to hail a taxi, I could still hear the bumping beat of that club. It seemed
that everything felt alive, in these moments. Everything was vital.

Chapter 9

The
following day, I sat at my office desk, speaking with a client in California—a
big-wig guy who was willing to donate a good deal of money to the campaign. I
couldn’t trust any of the campaign workers to handle him. He was all mine.

“I
understand that, sir,” I said, smiling into the phone. “We would just really
appreciate your support in this next election. Please remember. You have three
children, and the president aims to completely re-calibrate the education in
this country. Please consider that you could be changing the lives of both your
children and of millions of children, all over the world.”

The
man thought on the other line for a moment. I knew that my words were strong,
that they’d already convinced him. He sighed. “Yes. Okay. Put me down for one
million,” he said gruffly. It was still early, there. I knew to catch him
then—at seven or eight to our ten or eleven in the morning. I was bright-eyed,
even as he mumbled through his words.

“Thank
you, sir. The president appreciates your service to the country,” I said—my
normal phrase. I pumped my hand into the air, alerting the rest of the campaign
team that I’d snagged one million dollars—no small sum in terms of campaign
work.

I
slammed the phone down, and everyone in the room cheered for me. I stood up and
bowed to them—a bit silly, sure. They laughed, knowing that I was the only
person they could trust to lead them to victory. On the other side of the room,
Jason sat at his desk once more. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t even look up. I had
no clear idea of what he was working on, truly. I wasn’t sure if the president
had trusted him with anything after their previous meeting. Maybe he had a
crossword puzzle?

Suddenly,
the phone started ringing once more. I recognized the number immediately.
“Hello, sir,” I answered, my voice lined with a hint of sensuality—something I
knew the people around me couldn’t detect.

“Amanda.
Could I see you in the Oval Office, please?” Xavier asked. He was nearly
laughing. “I just saw one million signed onto the donation account. Good work.”

“Just
a little thing we here in the campaign offices call ‘commitment,’ sir,” I laughed,
teasing and flirting with him. “I’ll be right there.”

I
tapped down the hallway, feeling light as air. It seemed that so much had
fallen off my shoulders in the previous day. It was incredible. I tapped on the
Oval Office door, and a secret service agent opened the door before leaving the
office, himself. He left Xavier and I alone in the well-lit, luxurious office.
I brought my hands over my flat stomach and peered toward him, a bit of
laughter on my cheeks.

“Hello,
Amanda,” he said. “Please. Sit down.” He gestured with his strong, stoic arm
toward the chair before his desk.

I
leaned down, smiling at him in such a girlish way. I couldn’t stop myself.

Xavier
brought his fingers together, lacing them. “I’d like to talk to you about
Jason,” he said finally. His words were deep.

I
nodded. “I noticed he disappeared yesterday,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Right.
I told him to take the day to compose himself, to come back today fully ready
to proceed with the campaign.” Xavier leaned forward in his chair and he tapped
at the desk before me with his firm fingers. “Listen, Amanda. He won’t be
bothering you anymore. Right now, I have three secret service agents—who are
specifically trained in security—searching through your apartment to find the
hidden cameras. If it’s there, they’ll find it.”

I
breathed a sigh of relief, thinking about my apartment once more. My lonely,
luxurious apartment. I swallowed. “Thank you, Xavier. If you don’t mind me
asking, what happened yesterday during your meeting with—with Jason?” I
remembered Jason’s face, so splotched with red, so withdrawn.

Xavier
turned his head toward his desk. He paused before answering. “I am simply a
very persuasive person, Amanda. You have to know that about me by now.”

I bit
my lip. “You didn’t persuade me to do anything,” I told him, my voice stern.

“Well.
You’re different from everyone else,” Xavier said, laughing. “Essentially,
Jason didn’t want you to tell me anything about the photographs because he knew
I could shut him down instantly, like that.” He snapped his fingers with such
efficiency. “He knows that I’m a powerful force, someone who can ruin him.”

I
swallowed, trying to imagine the conversation. “What did you tell him?”

“I
told him that if he wanted to continue his political work at the White House—in
any fucking capacity—then he had to forget about the photographs. He had to
forget entirely about the affair, about blackmailing you, about all of it. If
he didn’t want his entire life to be ruined—and to rot in jail for many, many
decades—then he had to turn in the USB. He had to sign an affidavit declaring
that these were the only copies of the photographs he had.” Xavier cleared his
throat. “He seemed—generally upset. If you saw him yesterday, he went a bit
crazy when he learned that I knew about his blackmailing. He started smacking
his face, tugging at his shirt. He started having a sort of panic attack. He’s
not strong, mentally. Not like you.”

I
blushed, feeling entirely content in that moment. I couldn’t believe it had all
worked out—that Xavier had threatened Jason with such force. I brimmed with
rays of happiness. “So. It’s over?” I whispered.

Xavier
nodded, bringing his hands out before him. “It appears to be over. It seems
that you’re free of this terror. You can return to your home, to your life
without fear.”

I felt
a single tear stride down my cheek. I stood up, suddenly, and twirled to the
other side of the desk. I flung my arms around Xavier, feeling his beating
heart just a few layers of cloth beyond my own. I kissed his cheek. “Thank you.
Thank you, Xavier.” My salty tears met with his face.

He
laughed for a moment, allowing me to pull back from him. He rubbed at my back,
at my thin waist. He shook his head. “It was my pleasure.”

I
twirled a bit in his arms, sending him flirty looks. “Does this mean we’re in
the clear?” I whispered to him. “I mean. Jason knows to stay away. Even your
wife knows about us. We can—we can be with each other, in this sort of soft
secret, for as long as we like?”

He
nodded, smiling. “Baby. We can do whatever we like, now.”

I
laughed and kissed him deeply in that moment. I felt the warmth emanating from
his body, from his mind. He allowed me to sit on his lap, rubbing at his tense
shoulders. He peered up at me, blinking his big, black eyes. “You don’t want to
celebrate tonight, do you?”

I
thought for a moment, picking a piece of lint from Xavier’s suit—as I’d seen
Camille do, just a few days before. It was my privilege, then. Our intimacy was
great. “I’d love to celebrate.”

“Good.
Good,” Xavier answered. “Camille’s gone for the day, and we can have the whole
place to ourselves. A few more hours of work. And we’ll meet back here.” He
gestured around his office.

I
kissed him once more before fleeing from his office, a sense of excitement, of
zeal coursing through me. Every limb on my body felt so fluid, so light. “In a
few hours, Mr. President,” I whispered to him before rushing from the Oval
Office and back toward my office.

At my
desk for the rest of the day, I peered around the room, unable to believe what
was happening—and fully allowing the happiness of the moment to glide over me,
unaffected by anything else. I knew that this daydream-y state: this was a
fully-formed version of love. I’d heard about it, read about it. Certainly. But
I had never experienced it so strongly. I heard a woman in the corner whisper
to her friend. “God, Amanda looks happy. She looks like I did after Jeffrey and
I banged the other day.”

“I
hope she’s getting some,” the other friend said. “She’s hot. She deserves it.”

I
laughed, loving these words as they swept toward me. So strange, to hear
yourself spoken about. So strange to be a leader of an entire campaign
trail—with a great year ahead of you. However, I was up to the task. I was the
appropriate person for the position. I would yield incredible strategies to
ramp up votes, to maintain Xavier’s stance in the Oval Office. He was My
President. And thus, I would keep him where he belonged.

After
several hours, people began to peter out from the building, gliding back to
their sad, dismal Washington D.C. apartments in this late October.
Half-heartedly, I realized that it was nearly Halloween. I waved goodbye to
several of the younger staff members, each of them nearly skipping out into the
world. They weren’t made for this schedule yet; their youth and vitality hadn’t
been burned from them as readily. Not yet. I hoped it never would.

Finally,
I was the only one in the grey office. Even Jason had gone, dragging his feet
down the hallway and allowing his briefcase to bounce against his legs.

I
stood and walked toward the Oval, unbuttoning my blazer as I went. I tossed it
onto the white couch in the Oval Office, standing in just my sheer, white
button up and my tight, grey skirt. Before me, the president smiled up at me, a
pen in his hand. He signed his signature jauntily, and then he burst from the
shackles of his desk. He brought his hand around my back and met his lips with
mine, bending me back lightly for a passionate kiss in the dying light of the
late October day. “Shall we?” he whispered.