American Scandal (Their First Lady Book 1)

by Lucia Black

  I took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to quietly duck behind the other approaching reporters. I only made it a few steps before Preston turned and quickly grabbed my arm, leaning to whisper in my ear. “It was having you run into me again, Miss Moretti.”

  I felt my cheeks heat and I kept walking, not once looking back.

  Chapter 6

  “Pull over right here.”

  “Hmm?” Jimmy asked.

  I sat in the back for appearances. I wished that I hadn’t. I wanted to turn the radio off so I could hear myself think.

  “Pull over,” I said, louder this time. “I don’t want to be dropped off at the door.”

  “As your bodyguard—not your boyfriend”—he looked at me pointedly—“I can’t have you walking alone at night. It isn’t safe.”

  I wanted to reach over and punch him in the arm. The only thing stopping me was that I was in the car that he was driving.

  “It’s a block, Jimmy. Just do it. I’ll be fine. I’m your boss, and I want you to pull over.”

  “Wrong.” He kept driving, the restaurant now in sight. “Bruno is my boss. And I’m way more scared of him than I am of you.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised by Jimmy’s change. I knew it would be hard for him to see me going on a date with someone else. Until the arrangement with Cal, he didn’t have to share me with anyone. But we’d already talked about things and I thought he understood now that this was an arrangement made by my father.

  “Stop, damnit! I’m walking myself inside.”

  I shoved open the car door and stomped my sleek nude heels on the cement.

  “You’re welcome!” Jimmy shouted as I slammed the door. He pulled away from the curb so quickly he missed side-swiping a taxi by a hair and elicited a honk and a rude gesture in the process.

  “Tessa?” When I turned around, Cal was standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. I was early, but he was earlier. I should’ve known. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. That was”—I shook my head—“that was nothing.” I smoothed out the black lace overlay on my beige dress and then stepped away from the curb to close the distance between us.

  “You look beautiful.” Cal smiled and then brought my hand to his lips. He placed a feather-light kiss on my knuckles.

  I fought the need to roll my eyes. That move was almost always cheesy in my opinion, with very few exceptions. That instance wasn’t one of them. But it was a good thing I managed to keep my expression pleasant because a camera flashed as Cal held my hand.

  The busy sidewalk wasn’t just crowded with other patrons of the famous establishment. We’d already attracted the attention of some of the paparazzi who made a living out of hanging around outside swanky restaurants in the city.

  “Thank you.” I smiled and softened my stance, hoping to convey I was attracted to Cal. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He did look handsome; his hazel eyes twinkling in the streetlights. He was wearing a custom-tailored three-piece suit. I had been hoping for something slightly more casual. More human. I felt like I was underdressed standing next to him.

  Cal gave me a warm smile and adjusted the American flag pin on his lapel. “Have you been here before? I wanted to pick a place I thought you’d enjoy.”

  I rubbed my exposed arms. There was an unexpected chill in the night that blew between the buildings and pushed into the streets. “I’ve never been here before but I’m excited to try it.”

  A few more camera flashes went off as we chatted.

  “You’re cold. Let’s get you inside.”

  Cal placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the door to the restaurant as more pops of light went off all around us.

  After the flashes outside, the light inside was soft and it glimmered down from crystal chandeliers suspended low from the high ceiling. Ornate orange and pink floral arrangements decorated each table and sat on top of heavy white linen tablecloths. The Bronze Room was one of those restaurants where each table setting boasted more silverware than the flatware department of Bloomingdale’s.

  “I’m sorry I kept you standing on the sidewalk so long, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be photographed.”

  “I understand,” I said. My words were polite, but inside I felt a little offended.

  “Mr. James. Miss Moretti.” A small bald man suddenly appeared in front of us. I assumed he was the maître d. “We are delighted to be hosting you tonight. I’ve personally seen to all your requests and if you follow me, I will take you to your table.”

  Cal gestured for me to walk in front of him and I nodded my thanks.

  We walked across the main dining room and passed through a gossamer curtain that led to a much smaller back room.

  “You’ll have plenty of privacy back here.”

  The backroom had enough space to accommodate four small tables, but only one was set for dinner. There was a simple, delicate vase on the table with a single rose and beautiful exposed brick walls. It was the complete opposite from the stuffy and upscale main room. This was charming and cozy. Inviting.

  I grasped the back of the chair, but before I could pull it out from under the table, Cal stopped me.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  I paused and allowed him to be the gentleman he so clearly wanted to be. Cal settled in across from me and placed his napkin in his lap. I did the same.

  “May I start you off with a drink?” the maître d asked as he looked at me.

  “Yes, I’ll have⸻”

  “The lady will have a Grey Goose vodka cranberry, and I’ll have a Blanton’s bourbon, neat.”

  I looked at Cal in complete awe. That was what I was going to order anyway, but I had no idea how he would know that.

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Cal slipped a bill into the man’s palm before he disappeared back out the thin curtain.

  “So.” I nudged the handle of my knife with my knuckle. “How’d you know what drink I was going to order?”

  Cal tilted his head to the side and nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder. “I might’ve done some homework. I know our . . . relationship is more business than pleasure, but I’m hoping to change that.”

  I nearly knocked the knife off the table. Did he mean pleasure the way I was taking it, or was my mind in the gutter and he just meant he wanted us to enjoy each other’s company?

  I decided to keep my answer safe and not embarrass myself. “Thanks, Cal. I appreciate that.”

  “I would like to get to know you better, though. Tell me what you like the least about your job.”

  “What I like the least?” I laughed. “That’s an odd thing to ask someone.”

  He laughed a genuine laugh. It was a really cute sound, and completely different than the times he chuckled at the fundraiser.

  “Sometimes I think asking someone what they don’t like helps you to get to know them better than asking what they do like.”

  “That surprisingly makes a lot of sense.”

  “Hello, and welcome to The Bronze Room.” A chipper young waiter breezed through the curtain. “My name is Nicholas and I’ll be taking care of you today.” He gingerly placed our drinks on the table before placing a small plate in front of each of us. “I’ve brought your first course, Foie gras de Canard. I hope you enjoy,” he said before leaving us again.

  I sat confused as I watched him walk away. Realizing I had no menu, I looked to Cal for answers.

  “I took the liberty of ordering for you before we arrived. We’ll have more privacy that way.”

  “You . . . ordered for me?”

  “Yes. We’ll be having the filet mignon, medium rare, as our main course.”

  “Did your research tell you I like my filet medium rare as well?”

  “No.” Cal took a swig of his drink. “But it’s Wagyu beef, and the chef here is the best. I have a feeling you’re a woman who likes the best.”

  My cheeks heated. His answers
were flustering me. I couldn’t tell if he was genuine and this was supposed to be flattering, or if he was controlling and rude. When Preston had complimented me, I knew what it was. I cleared my throat, realizing where my thoughts were headed. “Well”—I took a sip of my vodka—“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

  For the tiniest second, I worried he could hear the waver in my voice, but the corners of Cal’s mouth turned up in a tiny smile as he raised his glass. “Cheers to us.”

  “Cheers to us,” I echoed. We clinked our glasses together.

  Cal’s pocket started ringing and he pulled out his phone. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “This is my emergency line or otherwise I wouldn’t be so rude as to take a call while we’re at dinner.”

  He paused with the phone still ringing in his hand almost like he was waiting for me to respond. “Of course. I completely understand.”

  I busied myself with my drink while he stood up and walked to the corner of our small, intimate dining room. I watched him out of the corner of my eye in a show of giving him privacy, but I couldn’t help but hear everything. Something about him completely changed as he spoke to whoever was on the other end of that line. He wasn’t careful with his words anymore. He didn’t sound stilted. He no longer wore his mask of pleasant perfection; his face far more animated as he spoke. And his voice . . . it was commanding and deep.

  “ . . . you have one day,” he said and finished the call.

  This Cal was sexy.

  “Everything okay?” I asked as he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “No, things rarely are in politics. But I won’t let it ruin this otherwise perfect evening.”

  I smiled and drank the rest of my vodka cranberry.

  Our waiter came back with our food and fresh drinks before scurrying off again. My mind was racing, and I couldn’t focus. There was a part of me that found the other Cal attractive—the one I just saw on the phone. I could make things work with him if he opened up a little more like that, and acted less like we were having a meeting.

  I barely ate as we sat in an uncomfortable silence for what felt like an eternity before Cal set down his fork and said, “I want to know more about you, Tessa. Tell me something about you that will surprise me.”

  Cal had a way of catching me off guard with his questions. “I’ll tell you something about me if you tell me something about you in first.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded, then appeared to think about it for a moment. “I rigged an election in the second grade to become hall monitor. It haunts me every day that it’ll come out and destroy this election for me.”

  His confession elicited a belly laugh. “Is that really true?”

  “One hundred percent. Your turn.”

  “I stole a bikini when I was teenager. We were on a family vacation at the beach and my parents wouldn’t let me have one, so I stole it from a shop and wore it to my friend’s houses all summer.”

  “Scandalous,” Cal said and laughed. “I knew there was a bad side to you. No one that attractive has ever led a squeaky-clean life.”

  He’d complimented me. And so help me, I liked it.

  As we continued to talk, I somehow ended up closer to him, our legs brushing against each other under the table. Our waiter appeared once more and freshened my drink. I took a long sip. In an effort to initiate a sliver more of intimacy, I softly placed my hand on Cal’s knee under the table. It only rested there for two, maybe three seconds, before Cal brushed it away, saying nothing.

  I stiffened and moved my leg away from his to create more space between us. He had just called me attractive, hadn’t he? And I thought we were having a good time. We were supposed to eventually marry. I didn’t expect him to end the date by shoving his tongue down my throat or trying to bed me, but a simple touch should’ve been okay . . . right?

  The rejection stung, but what hurt even more was that Cal gave me a glimpse of someone I could tolerably spend the rest of my life with, and then took it away again. This was how it was going to be. Cold and distant and . . . completely fake. I felt like I was going to suffocate if I stayed in the same room with him any longer.

  I stood up quickly, grabbing my clutch. “I’m going to pass on dessert for tonight. I’m sorry. I’m not feeling too well, and I have to get up early tomorrow for a lecture.” As he got up, I turned and walked to the curtains and into the main restaurant.

  “Tessa, wait—”

  “No, really. I just need to lay down. Too much to drink , I think.”

  Cal had hurried to be beside me, holding the door open for me to exit.

  “Thank you for this evening, Tessa,” Cal said as a few people turned to see us. “I had a wonderful time.” His politician mask was back on for the photographers that had waited for us.

  “I did too, thank you,” I said and smiled, the sounds of clicking cameras echoing in my ears. I waved at Jimmy parked down the street.

  Jimmy pulled up to the curb and Cal leaned in to give me a chaste peck on the cheek before he opened the car door. I could feel the lingering touch of his lips and it left me feeling nothing but resentment.

  “Goodnight, Tessa,” he said as he closed the door.

  I took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to cry. This was too much for one night. An arranged marriage. To him. Rejection. Confusion. I just wanted to feel . . . something. Anything but this . . .

  “You ready to go home?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah—oh wait. I left my pashmina at the table. Could you get that for me?”

  “Your what?”

  “It’s like a shawl.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as Jimmy vanished inside the restaurant, I pulled the black business card from my purse and dialed the number on the front.

  “Preston? It’s Tessa. How about that drink?”

  Chapter 7

  “I almost knocked out an old bald dude in there,” Jimmy said as he got in the car and closed the door.

  “What?”

  “That guy in there said you didn’t come in wearing a thing-y. So do I have to go in there and kick some ass to get it back, or is he right?”

  “Oh.” I had hardly heard his rambling. I stared at my phone while I waited for Preston to text me the address of the bar we agreed to meet at. “Yeah. I forgot I didn’t wear it. Sorry.”

  Jimmy sighed. “It’s fine. You can make it up to me in bed tonight,” he said.

  I didn’t want to engage in that conversation with him, so I ignored his statement and waited. My phone finally chimed with a text. “I need you to take me to Sal’s, on Irving.”

  “What?” Jimmy pulled away from the curb. “Why the fuck would you go there?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but my dad needs me to meet someone there.” I opened a compact mirror to check my makeup. Jimmy spent more time watching me reapply lipstick than he did the road.

  “If it’s a business meeting, why do you need more makeup? And why so late?”

  I recapped the lipstick and tossed it in my purse. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a date, Jimmy. It’s nothing.” I couldn’t think of any other way to diffuse his anger, so I smiled at him so he’d see me in the rearview mirror.

  “Tessa, I’m sorry, okay? I just . . . you know. It’s fine.”

  I sighed. I needed to tell my father it was time for another bodyguard. I realized I was keeping Jimmy as an insurance policy for myself. Nothing was going to happen with Cal. That was obvious. I was playing with fire agreeing to meet Preston for a drink anyway. I didn’t need to do something even more foolish like go home with him. And after seeing Preston tonight . . . I’d need to get off. It was Jimmy or my pink vibrator, and that wasn’t fair to Jimmy.

  Everything about this was wrong. What I was doing was wrong, and I knew it.

  We pulled up to a dimly lit bar, tucked between a bodega and a laundromat. The neon sign had more letters out than working. I gave my dress a curious glance and doubted
anyone else inside would be wearing anything similar in style.

  “Be quick, okay?”

  “It’s going to take as long as it’s going to take,” I said. I got out of the car and slammed the door before Jimmy could give me any more orders. I was thankful Preston wasn’t waiting outside.

  The door stuck when I tried to open it, forcing me to pull with all my strength. I nearly tumbled in and half expected to fall into Preston. I didn’t. Mismatched tables lined one side of the cramped room and the long, curved bar lined the other. It smelled of stale beer and peanuts and my heels stuck to the floor as I walked.

  Sal’s was the exact opposite of The Bronze Room and I couldn’t have been happier.

  I spotted Preston all the way at the end of the bar wearing a plain gray t-shirt, a pint of beer sitting in front of him.

  “Hey.” My greeting startled him. He hadn’t seen me come in. He quickly regained a cool, nonchalant expression.

  “Hey.” He stood. He took in my dress and said, “Oh, damn, did you think Sal’s was somewhere fancy? I’m sorry, I should’ve said—”

  “No,” I cut him off and climbed onto the red-topped stool next to his and sat facing him. “This is perfect. I was just . . . somewhere else before I was here.”

  Preston raised an eyebrow and sat back down. “You were somewhere dressed like that, but now you’re here with me?”

  “What?” I faked confusion. “Does this dress not look okay?” I fought the urge to cringe at my question. I was fishing for compliments—something I never resorted to doing—but Cal had shaken my confidence more than I thought.

  Preston leaned in closely. Almost close enough to whisper in my ear, but stopped just short. I held myself back from leaning in more. “You could never look just ‘okay’.”

  A knot formed in my stomach, but not the nervous kind, the exciting kind.

  “What’ll you have?” The bartender sported a hot pink bob and had one piercing in her nose and two in her lip.

  I glanced at Preston as if he were going to interrupt my order. When he didn’t, I said, “I’ll have a vodka cranberry, double.” There was no point in switching drinks.