by Emily Snow
Ms. Sutton? Apparently, Graham is taking the confidentiality portion of our verbal agreement seriously, fudging my last name in an effort to throw off everyone who comes in contact with me. It’s a gesture that’s much appreciated. Dipping his head, the driver quickly skims questioning dark eyes over me.
“Is there anything you need before we arrive?”
Running my tongue over my lips, I pray my face isn’t an inferno as I slide into the backseat of the SUV. I hold my oversized purse to my chest like a security blanket. “No, thank you.”
AJ smiles, probably to reassure me he doesn’t think I’m not the trust fund call girl his boss has bought off. “No problem, Ms. Sutton.” Then, before he walks around to the back of the vehicle, he holds up a finger. Withdrawing a small white envelope from his jacket pocket, he passes it to me. “This is for you.”
Staring down at the thick, masculine handwriting on the front—just my first name, Eleanor—curiosity eats away at my stomach. Once the Mercedes starts moving, and AJ seems to be more interested in the traffic than what I’m doing in the backseat, I carefully open the letter.
E,
No filter, no clothes, no inhibitions. Leave the pearls on. Go to the room at the end of the hall. No more games because I’m tired of waiting.
-G
I touch the pearl necklace dangling against the square neckline of my black top. Rubbing the heart-shaped clasp between my fingers, I consider taking it off but then I decide against it. I allow the desire to clench my muscles and want tingles through me.
Sliding the card back inside the envelope, I drop it in my purse, startling when I feel my phone vibrate against my hand. Thinking it might be Graham, I answer only to hear a bubbly female voice greet me.
“I’m trying to reach Eleanor Courtney. Is she available?”
I shoot a glance at the front seat of the SUV, where AJ is holding on to the steering wheel tightly. Not once does he glance into the rearview mirror at me, but there’s no such thing as too much caution. “Yes ... this is Elle. I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Janelle Fitzgerald. You know, the redhead from 202?” How could I forget her? It’s been just two weeks since I worked alongside her, even though with everything that’s happened, it feels like months. When I murmur that I remember her, she continues, “How’ve you been?”
“I’m ... doing well.” Where exactly is this conversation headed? While she’d been friendly enough, I never expected to speak to her again. Sighing, I break down and ask, “Are you calling because I left something at the restaurant when I was fired?”
She laughs. “No, you grabbed everything, I promise.” Covering her phone, she says something muffled before returning to me. “Look, the reason I’m calling is that I just got a promotion last night. Chad’s put me in charge of all the hiring, and I want you back on my team whenever you have spare time.”
Well, isn’t this a week too late and several thousand dollars short? While I have every intention of keeping my job as Mr. Kyler’s assistant once that starts, Graham had sent me email confirmation this morning that my spring tuition had been paid in full. My sole reason for working at 202 has already been resolved.
“What happened to me not being—” I cast another glance at AJ before whispering “202 material?”
Janelle grunts. “Please, you were doing a pretty kickass job, if you ask me. Chad just hates having girls quit on him—says he’d rather be the one who initiates the breakup. Typical guy, right?”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, don’t you think it was kind of odd Chad fired you right after you accepted that internship with that representative from Delaware? When Senator Delaney put a bug in Chad’s ear, he...”
And this is where the entire conversation goes fuzzy, and the only sound I hear is the blood pounding violently in my ears. What does she mean Graham told Chad I was taking an internship with a representative from Delaware? I don’t even know the names of any representatives from Delaware.
Fisting my hand, I inhale and exhale until I can hear. And think. And breathe.
After several seconds, Janelle’s voice comes back in. “Anyway, I know it’s a long shot, but if you have any nights free, I’d love to have you back around. You caught on quick, and like I told you before, the tips really are amazing,” she rambles on. “Did my number show up on your ID?”
Numbly, I check it. “Yeah, it’s here.”
“Awesome, just let me know.” Her voice still chipper because she isn’t the one who just found out she’s been screwed over. “Have a merry Christmas, Eleanor!”
Fingers trembling, I return my phone to my bag just as AJ pulls onto the curb of a Fifth Avenue building that puts Graham’s D.C. digs to shame. I barely even notice my surroundings as the doorman takes me and my luggage to the fifteenth floor.
Once I’m alone, I walk slowly through the spacious apartment, which is dark except for the city lights blazing through the windows, toward the hallway. Standing in the middle of the archway, I almost want to turn and leave, but then I shake my head, strands of my black hair flying around my face.
I will not run away from this, so I walk to the door.
Twisting the knob, I step into the room, expecting to be alone, but I gasp when strong hands close around my wrists. I’m in his arms before I can say a word, and Graham crushes his mouth against mine. This is our first real kiss—and if I have it my way, it’ll be our last—but I moan as his hot tongue parts my lips, hungrily tasting me. His hands bury in my hair, tugging the black strands back to give him better access to my mouth, and I feel his hands between my legs, on my ass, on my breasts.
There’s so much intensity—anger and desire and pain—that my head reels violently.
Senator Sexy-Ass had betrayed me.
This son of a bitch had intentionally cost me my job.
Pulling away from him, I press my back against the wall. Heat pricks my eyelids, but I squeeze my eyes to hold back any tears. When I finally open them, I see his dark brown eyes staring down at me, narrowed like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.
“You’re fully dressed, Ms. Courtney. Why the fuck are you still dressed?”
He is too. He’s beautiful in business pants and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt that exposes the bronze, muscular lines of his chest, but that’s the last thing on my mind. Because he might have screwed me over. And that makes Graham something else.
Depraved.
“Did you tell my boss at 202 I was taking another job?” I ask in a low voice, and I watch the surprise register in those dark irises, the muscles in his face tighten and his broad shoulders go rigid. He says nothing, and during his silence—his awful, damning silence—I finally start to register details about the room. Cold shades of black and white. An assortment of items I’m afraid to see up close sit on the grey upholstered bench at the edge of the bed. Knowing Graham’s filthy mouth, it’s probably an impressive offering to the kinky arts: whips, chains, and lube. To my surprise, the centerpiece of the room is not the giant bed, but the massive mirror against the wall directly across from it.
So I can watch him fuck me over.
When he remains stoic, my voice is louder when I say, “Did you tell him that I was taking a job with someone else just to get me fired?”
He finally lifts his shoulder in a careless shrug, and I suck in a shattered breath. What had I agreed to do? No, who had I agreed to do it with? Who the fuck is Graham Delaney?
“Why would you do that to me?” I demand brokenly.
“I’ve already told you, Elle, I want to possess you.” A smile—shaky at first and then so bold it blinds me—splinters his bronze face. I press my hand against my chest because I swear my heart can’t take the explosion taking place within me. “And as of this morning, I do.”
“You don’t own me.”
“The word own was never tossed around, Elle. Now, are you going to—” He cuts himself off when I stumble away from him and down th
e hall. My legs are like rubber, flimsy and close to giving out on me, but I keep moving until I reach the foyer. He’s right behind me, hands on my shoulders as I jerk my carry on and purse in either hand. “Don’t go.”
“I can’t stay.” My lungs burn as I keep my stare straight ahead on the front door. “I’m not going to stay. Play your tricks and games with someone else, Graham. I’m done.”
“Where will you go?” His voice follows me as I stalk out of the apartment. The luggage is heavy but its weight has nothing on the pressure dragging on my chest. I spin on my heels, flames and fury swishing through me when I catch the look on his face. He thinks he’s won. “Just come back inside, and I’ll send you back to D.C., as promised, in two days.”
I press my lips into a tight, close-lipped smile. “Your promises don’t mean shit. You are, after all, a politician.” And then, I leave him standing there as I stalk away.
“Ugh, Colton’s sent me three texts from the other room asking if you’re spending the night.” Blake rolls her eyes and tucks her short legs under her. “You sure you have to leave?”
“My flight leaves in four hours, and I really, really want to just go home.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and drop my head so far down I almost whack my forehead on Colton’s coffee table. “I feel like an ass.”
“You know, I could probably give you better advice if I knew why you think that. Or, if I knew why the hell you’re even here in the first place.”
After I left Graham’s apartment, I had hailed the first cab that came my way. I was terrified that he’d do something out of character, come after me. If he did, I was long gone by that point. I’d called Blake and was relieved that she was still in the city. She hadn’t asked questions as she gave me the address to her cousin’s apartment, but her eyes said it all when she let me in.
I want to tell her everything, but I’m too embarrassed. Too angry.
“An impromptu trip,” I say huskily.
“That you decided against after you touched down.”
“Blake,” I groan. Her next statement is cut off when Colton comes out of the kitchen, double-fisting cheap beer. When I accept one and thank him, her eyes go wide. I know what she’s thinking—that I never drink beer—but I shake my head. “Trust me, I need one tonight.”
The corners of her mouth twitch, but she simply bobs her head. I’ll deal with her questions later, and I know there will be many. Like the runny mascara I’d washed off my face right after coming in. Or the fact my phone has been ringing nonstop since I got here. Or why my hands shake when I check said phone again, only to find yet another text from him.
Graham Delaney: Answer your phone, Elle.
I haven’t responded yet, but something urges me to do so this time. Fuck you, Delaney, I shoot back before turning off my phone. My eyelids still burn, but I force my gaze up. Pretend to be interested in Colton’s flirting and Blake’s hesitant smiles.
And I fail because no matter how hard I try, Graham is still in my head.
FOURTEEN
GRAHAM
Fucking Eleanor Courtney.
It’s been four days since she stalked out of my bedroom, her black hair flying behind her like a battle flag, every muscle in her curvy body taut with humiliation. Four days since she looked at me like I’d crushed her pure heart. And four days since she told me to go fuck myself right before ignoring my calls and texts repeatedly.
I hadn’t followed her that night because I’m not a fool. Not stupid enough to give her that kind of control. I’d watched her walk away, all the while wearing a smirk and shrugging confidently.
She’ll be back, I told myself the following night, as I got dressed to grab a drink and find a pretty brunette with blue eyes to fuck away the need Elle had left me with. She’s predictable. She’s probably back in D.C. right now, building up the nerve to let me know she’s disappointed in my actions. Elle will pick up that phone because, at the end of the day, I’ve paid for her to call.
But here it is, four nights later—and even after the text I sent when I came home sober and un-fucked the other night because nothing and nobody but Eleanor Courtney would do—and I haven’t heard a peep from her.
That ends now.
By this time next week, I will have driven all my frustration, all my wants, into Eleanor’s willing body, and she won’t even think of disappearing for four fucking days again because all she’ll be able to comprehend is more.
But first, I’ll have to get in touch with her.
“Happy Holidays, Senator Delaney.” My doorman’s voice snaps me back to reality. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m standing in front of a building I did not intend to see until after the holidays. All because of a woman I want to break.
“Merry Christmas,” I say with a tight smile. The doorman—who looks more like a high school sophomore than an adult tasked with keeping non-residents out—reaches out to accept my luggage from the chauffeur. I stop him and take my own bag.
He looks around nervously, then adjusts his cap. “It’s my job, Senator Delaney.”
“And I don’t need you to do it because I can manage.” I hoist the brown leather duffel over my shoulder and narrow my eyes. “Here’s what you can do for me. While I’m not expecting guests, I don’t want to be disturbed for the next few days. I have a lot of work to do, and I won’t be bothered under any circumstances. Make sure you leave a note for whoever else is on duty.”
“Sure thing, Senator Delaney.” Rubbing his smooth chin, he gives me a pitying stare that I don’t care for or need, before hesitantly commenting, “Don’t work too hard—you deserve a break on Christmas. Work can always wait.”
But I picture Elle’s giant blue eyes, looking up at me expectantly while she wets her full pink lips. I imagine her legs wide open, my fingers digging into her creamy thighs and my cock balls-deep inside of her tight body as she buries her moans in my pillows. In that brief moment, everything I’ve thought about doing to my prim Ms. Courtney over the last four days speeds through my mind, and it solidifies the reason why I left New York this morning.
Waiting is no longer an option.
I shake my head at the doorman. “No, not this time. Work is absolutely necessary, so don’t do me any holiday favors by forgetting what I’ve instructed you to do.” When the doorman stares at me like I’m the fucking Scrooge of The Hill, I head into the building, calling behind myself, “Once again, Merry Christmas.”
A couple minutes later, I step into my condo. Turning on the news to drown out the silence overwhelming the place, I walk onto the balcony. I’ve given Elle too much time already, and now I need to remind her of exactly what she agreed to do. But when I see three missed calls and a couple of voicemail alerts, it’s not from the woman who’s teased my thoughts and cock to distraction, but the one whose opinion drives me up the goddamn wall.
Vero.
What the hell does she want?
Knowing she won’t back down until I’ve contacted her, I return the call.
“Please tell me you’re still in New York?” she sighs. Judging from the sound in the background, she’s at a party. I groan at the thought of her slinging my personal shit around while she’s in public. “Tell me that you didn’t leave for D.C. after we spoke.”
We’d seen each other yesterday for about five minutes when she stopped by my place on Fifth Avenue. It hadn’t taken her long to point out—in a smug fucking voice that annihilated the last shreds of my patience—that there was no Eleanor Courtney in sight.
“I’m not going to tell you anything until I know you’re not broadcasting my life to twenty other people,” I snap.
Veronica goes quiet. After several seconds of sweet silence, she speaks. This time, the background noise is gone and her teeth are chattering. “I’m out on the fire escape, happy?” she breathes. “Now, answer my question! Bennett’s called twice asking if I knew where you were and I’ve even heard from Monica—and you know I hate when your mother calls me.”
The
re she goes again. Shouting so that all of New York can be privy to our personal conversation.
“If you’re asking if I’ll be dining on whatever dry ass bullshit my mother plans to serve for Christmas brunch tomorrow, the answer is a firm no.” I walk across the glassed-in balcony to the corner, grabbing a pawn off the chessboard before pacing to the other side. I glare out at the city lights glittering across the Potomac. “Surely you’ll understand that there are more pressing matters here.”
She lets out a strangled noise. “Screwing that poor girl isn’t a pressing matter. It’s cruelty. Plain, simple cruelty. You’re pretending to want her for revenge!”
Fuck, I wish it were as simple as pretending to want her for revenge, but my desire for Elle and her evasive pussy is much more. Leaning against the cold wall, I exhale, fogging up the glass. “Nothing about it will be cruel, I promise.”
“Until you launch whatever plan you have to get back at her father for what happened. Charlotte is gone, and hurting Elle—well, it’s wrong.”
I tighten my grip on the tan marble chess piece, the smooth angles jabbing into my palm. Charlotte. Even nine years later, the sound of her name hits me like a sack of bricks to the face.
The woman I’d loved.
The woman who’d tried to play the game, and lost.
The woman who was ruined by some piece of shit hypocrite who preached promise rings and the sanctity of marriage, all while he was taking advantage of his interns.
Robert Courtney hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t given Charlotte a second thought, and had probably forgotten about her years ago.
I hadn’t. And I won’t.
“Don’t say her name again,” I warn Vero in a measured tone, loosening my death grip on the chess piece. “And forget about Elle, too, because it’s none of your concern. You want to give me feedback? Pick out my ties. Organize my schedule. Do your fucking job and drive me to my meetings. Do not stray into my personal life, do you understand?”