Always Yours (The Always Series Book 2)

by J. P. James

  Always Yours

  J.P. James

  Copyright © 2019 by J.P. James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  For My Readers

  Blurb

  1. Chase

  2. Chase

  3. Blake

  4. Chase

  5. Chase

  6. Chase

  7. Chase

  8. Chase

  9. Blake

  10. Chase

  11. Chase

  12. Chase

  13. Chase

  14. Chase

  15. Chase

  Epilogue

  The End

  For My Readers

  Join my exclusive newsletter and get a free romance novella when you subscribe.

  Enjoy!

  JP

  Blurb

  The billionaire bought me as part of a political campaign.

  Chase Adams is headed for the stars. He’s got a job as a cub reporter, and he’s dating up-and-coming politician BJ Jones. But BJ’s made enemies, including powerful billionaire Blake King.

  Blake’s been at the top of his game for a long time. He’s a fixture on the DC circuit, and taking down the corrupt politicians like BJ Jones is no big deal. But when Blake meets BJ’s handsome boyfriend Chase, suddenly his heart and his motives are called into question.

  Note from JP: Hot hot hot! Put on gloves because your Kindle’s about to catch fire. Sit down and enjoy a romance with wonderful characters and steamy scenes that will make you melt.

  1

  Chase

  “Vance, you have got to be kidding me,” I call from his walk-in closet. I’ve known Vance since our freshman year of college, and he’s nothing but chipper and optimistic 24/7, which drives me crazy sometimes. How does he do it? It’s probably the twelve cups of coffee he drinks per day.

  But now, my friend’s cruel side is coming to the fore because I’m here standing before racks upon racks of fancy suits, and the garments are mocking me. I didn’t expect Vance to play such a bizarre prank by teasing me with these slim-cut blazers and trousers. They’d only look good on guys who are tiny with twig-like arms and legs, whereas I’m fit and athletic. I look down at my abs and shake my head.

  “I can’t wear any of this tonight. Are you nuts? I can’t even get a leg squeezed into some of these pants,” I say like I’m pleading for mercy.

  Vance knocks on the closet door, ever the male fashionista.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice muffled. He bursts in just as I’m pulling on my brown sweater. At twenty-two, you’d think I have a right to privacy, but not when my roommate’s concerned.

  I clear my throat as Vance sails into the closet like nothing’s the matter. When he catches a glimpse of the suits behind me, he throws his arms up and shakes them. My buddy’s starting to look more and more like his Italian grandfather, albeit with gay tendencies.

  “Chase, these will look great on you. Here!” Vance exclaims. He moves past me and picks out a royal blue suit hiding between what looks like a gray sharkskin suit and a cream linen one. “Come on! Try this on for me, and I’ll vacuum and do the dishes for an entire month,” he promises, crossing his fingers over his heart.

  My eyes go wide because my friend is really focused and disciplined when it comes to his job, but not so much when it comes to chores. If he’s making an offer like this, he must be serious. But still, I have to be realistic.

  “Absolutely not,” I say emphatically while walking out of the closet and plopping myself onto the bed. I lie back and let my breath out with a whoosh. Vance marches out and lays the blue suit next to me.

  “Come on, Chase. You can’t wear what you have on,” he wheedles. He grabs part of my ratty sweater like he’s looking at the underside of a moldy bathmat. “I’m a professional stylist. It’s an affront to my senses. You just can’t.”

  “What’s wrong with my sweater?” I plead, but I know he has a point. This sweater is getting old, but it’s my go-to for special events. It’s cashmere, it’s modest, and, in my eyes, it’s perfect for tonight’s event. My boyfriend BJ is running for DC mayor, and tonight is a special fundraiser for his campaign. Vance and I will be there to support him, if I can just convince Vance to let me wear my own damn clothes.

  Vance snorts at me. “Who would have thought that I have a best friend who’s frumpy? Moi, who practically belongs on the Italian runway,” he says dramatically before marching back to the closet with a purposeful stride.

  I sigh. “Remember, the function’s about BJ, not about me. He’s going to be an excellent mayor and we’re there to convince the crowd that,” I remind him.

  But then I bite my lip and think to myself silently for a moment. BJ’s great, but he’s not perfect. Immediately, guilt makes me feel bad. My boyfriend’s a budding politician, for crying out loud. No politician is perfect, and I should be thankful that BJ’s not trying to hide me away. After all, gay politicans are still relatively rare, but my boyfriend has never been shy about his sexuality. It’s the twenty-first century after all, and voters are much more accepting now.

  But Vance isn’t listening. Clothes have always meant the world to him, and tonight is no exception. They consume all of his thoughts.

  “I call dibs on this one!” Vance calls out, throwing a wildly bright pair of tangerine pants onto the floor. I’m glad my dad taught me Texas Hold ‘Em when I was a little boy because my poker face is top notch. Even though the pants are crazy, I manage not to laugh out loud.

  I get up from the bed and sigh again before looking in the mirror. It’s just me, Chase Adams. I’m good looking enough, I suppose. Nothing that BJ would have to hide under a rock (I hope). But then maybe the unease I’m feeling has nothing to do with my outfit and rather everything to do with BJ. Immediately, I catch myself. How can I have these disloyal thoughts? We’re dating, and these aren’t things I should be thinking about a man I’m supposed to love.

  But the truth is that I feel uneasy about BJ’s politics, and for the past few months, I’ve noticed that he’s been acting differently. He’s not the same kind, fun-loving spirit who first came onto the DC scene. Instead, he’s been schmoozing with every possible power player, from politicians, lawmakers, and business owners, to local celebrities; he wants anyone and everyone to vouch for him.

  For example, Cap Street Cam is a sidewalk performer who struts up and down North and South Capitol Streets. Cam covers himself in gold paint and wears upward of forty cameras around his body as a gimmick. Last week, he told passersby that BJ was, and I quote, “The best dude on the dude ranch.” I tried to persuade BJ to take it as a joke, or even a compliment, but instead, my boyfriend threw a fit. He went to the police and had them suspend Cap Street Cam’s vending license, even though the performer’s been a DC fixture for nearly forty years. Poor Cap had to move off and find different territory, much to my chagrin.

  So yes, BJ has me worried. I see him losing sight of who he is and what he stands for. He’s done close to a hundred meet-and-greets now, and I know I would start to question my sanity after kissing so many asses.

  “Chase, look at this,” Vance says, emerging from the closet in the tangerine pants. He actually makes it look pretty good, to be honest. My friend is a tall blonde with an amazing build, so frankly, almost all clothes look good on him.

  I give him a thumbs-up as he looks in the mirror, casually flu
ffing his hair. Of course, the blonde strands look even better tousled, giving Vance the air of a glamorous surfer dude.

  I sigh again. My buddy is good looking and talented. Despite being young, he’s already a senior stylist at a magazine, whereas I haven’t achieved much professional success so far. Instead, I’m a cub reporter, which means that I’m sitting squarely on the bottom rung in the newsroom. But that’s normal. I’m twenty-two and working my way up. After a long day of interviews and listening to a million different viewpoints, I go home still revved for my job. I love investigating potential leads, and the thrill stays with me, even after the work day is over.

  But even if I’m still the same person, I feel like my boyfriend has changed. I think that all of this mingling and networking is getting the better of BJ, and these days, his politics seem vague.

  For example, BJ has always said that the environment is one of his hot button issues. Just last week, though, he went to a charity gala for more mixing and mingling. I couldn’t go because I had to cover a committee hearing, but he told me he started talking with some rich oil developer and that they have a lot in common. What a red flag! I cautioned him to be careful with his new acquaintance, but BJ just brushed me off. He said something along the lines of “The Arctic Circle doesn’t need preserving as much as American soil does.” I was aghast, to be honest. Are you kidding me?!? Everyone knows that the Arctic has no one to protect it, and environmental groups have been concentrating their efforts there for years now. But it seems BJ thinks differently these days. He has different priorities, different viewpoints, and shifting allegiances that are impossible to pin down. It’s weird.

  I’m also worried because I know his run is a long-shot. Everyone else is at least ten years his senior and has a lot more experience. Still, he’s been getting loads of good publicity, and there’s a growing wave of millennials who seem to gravitate toward him. That could be because of his boyish good looks, but I’d like to think the American public is deeper than that.

  “I don’t want to look crazy tonight,” I tell Vance firmly. He throws that blonde head back and scoffs.

  “I don’t see what the problem is with looking sexy. Please, Chase, enlighten me,” he says before moving back to his mirror and scrutinizing his hair once more. Vance looks stunning, as usual. He could easily be a male model.

  “Vance, we’re going to a fundraising event, not a jazz lounge,” I protest. “This isn’t the time for attention-grabbing clothes.”

  But my friend remains unswayed.

  “Listen, there’s going to be tons of people there, and not just friends, but press and photographers too. They aren’t just looking at BJ,” he warns. “You’re his significant other. They’ll be looking at you too, remember.”

  Damn. Vance is right. For all of the fuss over BJ, I’d forgotten that the press may take photographs of me. I look like I need to sleep for a year straight. I’ve been so concerned with BJ that I haven’t been taking care of myself. Not to mention that all of this worrying has dropped my libido faster than a stock market crash. I have such a good-looking boyfriend, yet I haven’t wanted to make love lately. He’s changed so much that I don’t even know who I’m sleeping with these days.

  “I’m not the one running for mayor,” I insist, although with all of the hoopla going on, it’s starting to feel like I am.

  “You’ll have even more eyes on you because you aren’t running! Everyone knows BJ; they know what he’s doing and what we should know about him. No one knows about you yet, and don’t kid yourself that people won’t be curious who BJ takes home at night,” Vance says.

  I hadn’t thought about that before. Are there really people wondering about our sex life, or what’s left of it at this point? That’s crazy, not to mention intrusive. But maybe that’s just what politicians’ significant others deal with on a regular basis. Honestly, I don’t know if my psyche can handle it. Vance puts his hands on my shoulders and holds my gaze.

  “You’re a reporter – you’re used to being behind the scenes. But listen to me when I say this: you’re going be on someone’s front page sooner or later, so why not dress for it?” His tone while saying this is like a mix between the grim reaper and a fairy godmother. With persuasion like that, I swear, Vance could run his own political campaign.

  That reminds me, if anyone really knows how BJ’s run for office is going, it would be Jerry. Jerry Kohl is BJ’s campaign manager – that is, the man BJ trusts with everything campaign-related. Jerry is a sweetheart on the inside and a shark on the outside. I should know better than to agonize over my boyfriend’s political career when that’s Jerry’s job. But still, my boyfriend is like a different man lately. Maybe he’s just overwhelmed by the workload but, deep down, still knows where his politics lie. That must be it. He’s probably just overwhelmed.

  Sighing, I look down at my sweater again. “But this outfit makes me feel comfortable,” I comment like a child who can’t let go of his favorite teddy bear.

  Vance smiles, looking at it too. “It sure looks that way. Not only does this sweater not do you justice, but I’ve seen you wear it to almost every event you’ve been to in the last year. It’s time to retire it.” Vance leaves the bedroom and returns with the kitchen trash can.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I plead. I know it’s just a top, but right now, it’s also my security blanket.

  But Vance refuses to back down. When it comes to styling, he’s a beast.

  “If not now, then when? When BJ’s the mayor? When he runs for governor of Maryland? When he makes a bid for Congress?” Vance asks rhetorically.

  “You’re right. Okay, you’re right,” I say to shut him up. I know Vance is onto something, but the thought drives me crazy. The more attention BJ gets, the more I’ll get too. At this point, I feel more inclined to stay at home and clean out the frozen dinners in the refrigerator.

  But Vance’s on a rampage. He drops the trash can and grabs the jacket of the blue suit. Taking my hand, he pushes the fabric into my fist. “Chase, repeat after me: I’m a sexy animal.”

  “I’m not saying that,” I tell him, but Vance holds up his finger in defiance.

  “Bitch, I said, ‘repeat after me’! Now, from the top,” he says as he stands his ground. After a moment, we both keel over with laughter.

  “Alright, alright; ‘I’m a sexy animal,’” I say through a fit of chuckles. I can’t help but roll my eyes. This is ridiculous, but I don’t want Vance to stop.

  “I have a body that doesn’t quit, and brains to match,” my friend goes on. I nearly keel over with laughter.

  I repeat his commandments. Even though I’m mortified to be saying these things out loud, I can feel my chest grow and my posture straighten. A smile beams across my face.

  “I solemnly swear that this suit can do no wrong,” Vance says, and I repeat the oath, curling my fingers around the blue fabric in my hands. I hold it between us.

  “Remember when I told you I wanted to become a hair stylist, and my parents almost disowned me for even considering such a menial job? You said, ‘Just try it. Who knows?’ And then you looked me in the eye with such compassion. You propped me up when I had no one else, and now, I’m here to return the favor. Just try it on. Who knows?” my buddy repeats my words with a sparkle in his eye.

  Vance sits down on the bed. “If we leave in the next fifteen minutes, we’ll still be on time,” he says with raised eyebrows.

  I take one last look at the royal blue suit, then look back down at my shabby brown sweater and sigh once more.

  “Alright, I’ll give it a try,” I say before stepping into the bathroom.

  It doesn’t take me long to get the suit on, even though it is a tight fit. I guess it looks good. These things were cut for men who are smaller and thinner than I am, but I can’t help that I have muscles. Looking in the mirror, my fingers straighten my collar. Then I take a deep breath and push the door open like I’m Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral.

  Vance shows me the b
iggest smile I’ve ever seen and throws his fists in the air. “Yes! Now that is one sexy beast! Damn!” he goes on, pumping his fists like a warrior.

  I turn to the mirror and take myself in. Vance’s right; I haven’t looked this good in years. Or maybe I haven’t dared to dress like this in years. Who would have thought this could be the same Chase Adams that, just thirty seconds ago, was wearing a ratty brown sweater?

  The suit skims my bulges, hugging but not too tight. The dress shirt beneath is blinding white, and makes my skin look tanner than usual. Plus, the slimmer fit emphasizes my long legs. At least I have a pair of fancy dress shoes to finish things off.

  “The photographers aren’t going to know what hit them,” Vance crows.

  “You think so?” I ask in earnest.

  “I know so. This suit is doing you justice in all the right places, way better than that brown thing ever could. What are we waiting for? Let’s get this party on the road!” Vance whoops wildly. Of course, my friend isn’t going to fit in with the DC crowd at all. With his crazy orange pants and free-spirited attitude, he’s going to stick out like a sore thumb. Still, I love taking him to these functions. It’s like letting a dog run wild through a herd of cattle.

  Plus, Vance’s attitude is infectious, and my nerves start calming a bit. Despite my worries about BJ and the campaign, I’m feeling like a million bucks. After all, they say that clothes make the man, and in this case, Vance and the blue suit have worked their magic. But there’s still a little bit of trepidation. After all, cameras make me uneasy, as does getting on stage, and BJ will almost definitely want me to smile and pose before his supporters. But this is all part of the job, I remind myself firmly. You’re his boyfriend, and it’s not up to you. Just do your job.