by Emily Snow
“I’m sorry, I’m just here to take your order,” a feminine voice says innocently.
I glance up, finger frozen over the last digit of my passcode—and the muscles in my neck tense when I see who’s staring right down at me. Fuck. This woman is the last person I want to see. I regard the redhead waitress formerly known as Incredi-Ass with a congenial smile.
“Janelle.” She’s wearing more clothes than the last time I saw her, considering she was bent over a box of liquor with her shorts around her knees. “I’ve already told the blonde, I don’t want to order.”
“Why haven’t I seen you in a while?” She slides into the other side of the booth with her order pad in hand, hovering her pen over it.
“Because you make shit awkward, and I meant it when I said I would never fuck you again.”
She pokes her lip out and scribbles some nonsense on her notepad so it looks like she’s working instead of trying to pick up customers. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of me.”
“I have,” I admit. “Every time I think about coming in here against my better judgment, I remember it’s where you work and decide otherwise.”
“You are a total—” She stops herself, takes a deep breath, and blows a fiery lock of hair out of her face. “Just so you’re aware, I undid your handiwork.”
My handiwork? I narrow my eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“With that poor girl you got fired because she probably wouldn’t sleep with you.” She pastes a smile on her face that rivals the glitziest fucking beauty queen. “Chad gave me a promotion, so I offered her job back. We even had a nice little talk when she came in here Christmas night.”
I lean back on my side of the booth. So Janelle was the one who told her what I did. No surprise there. What is shocking is that Elle had gone to 202 on Christmas. I’m curious to know what they talked about, but I’m sure as fuck not going to ask because it must not have been that nice. Not since the night ended with Eleanor’s panties in my possession.
“Did you now?” I drawl.
“Damn right, Graaaaaaaham,” she sings, saying my name in the same drawn out, annoying voice she’d used when I had her bent over and trembling beneath me. It irks me twice as much now.
Cocking my eyebrow, I glance around the restaurant. “Looks like she was smart enough to decide against taking you up on your offer because I don’t see her.” Offended, Janelle grunts, and I add, “But thanks for reminding me, again, why I only fucked you once.”
Angrily, she reaches for the salt shaker. She’s becoming creative with her choice of weaponry. The last time she saw me, she threw a roll of paper towels at my back. I cock my head to the side. “You’re drawing attention to yourself.”
Holding her pen like she’s about to shank me with it, she slips out of the booth. “Someday, someone is going to tear you down, Delaney. I hope whoever that is ruins your shitty career.”
I shrug. “It just won’t be you. You need this job. The money you’d get from claiming you fucked me in a storage room would be minimal, and at the end of the day, I don’t give enough fucks to pay you off because there’s nothing wrong with a single person getting their rocks off.” I gesture behind her. “My accountant is coming this way to sit down, and it looks like your boss is standing in his doorway waiting for you to do ... whatever it is your promotion entails.”
“You’re a dick,” she growls before storming off, casting a dark glare over her shoulder like this is news to me. She’s called me everything from an asshole to a pussy tease—labeling me a dick is tame.
Daniel sits down, rattling off an excuse about shitty traffic. Then, his worried expression turns more agitated than usual when he asks me if everything is okay. I tell him the same thing I’d told Janelle when she approached the booth: Fuck 202.
“It’s the best scenery in town,” he complains, and I spot the redhead throwing rusty daggers at my forehead from the other side of the room. She’s the lapse of judgment that keeps kicking me in the balls. “And you’re my only client who doesn’t seem to mind.”
“It’s the scenery that’s the problem, so believe me, I mind. But if you insist on having your meetings here, I’ll have to go with someone else at your firm who doesn’t insist on scheduling appointments just so he can ogle half-naked waitresses before going home to his pregnant wife,” I say, and Daniel immediately backtracks.
“The office will be fine, or I can come to your office or apartment. Whichever is more convenient for you.”
“Good,” I say. “Now that we’ve settled that matter, go ahead and start the fiscal fuckening so I can get the hell out of here.”
I leave 202 an hour later. Even though I should think about taxes or the fact my mother’s been calling me every couple hours to give me an earful for blowing off her function in New York last night, I’m still distracted by Elle. Images of her wet fingers working over her clit play in my head like a slideshow, taunting me.
I should be inside of her right now.
Two more days.
Forty-eight fucking hours.
It feels like a lifetime.
TWENTY
ELLE
Graham Delaney won’t leave me the hell alone.
Not the man himself, because I haven’t actually spoken to him since Christmas, but thoughts of him.
To my embarrassment, I’ve thought about Senator Sexy-Ass so much that I’ve mentally developed a short list of theories explaining what had happened on Christmas. The one that makes the most sense is the oldest reason for dickhead behavior in the book: At some point in the past, a woman had ripped cool, confident Senator Delaney to shreds.
I do a little digging—if he can research me, I sure as hell can look him up—but there’s limited information about his personal dating life online. In the last seven years, he’s been linked to a handful of socialites and a hotshot district attorney from South Carolina, but none of those relationships look serious. Still, for all I know, one of those women might have trampled on Graham’s heart, shrinking it to the two sizes too small thing it is today.
I choose to go with this theory over the other: That he’s simply a douchebag who hasn’t called me because he’s playing a dirty game of seduction—and winning.
Graham is still on my mind when I arrive at the giant office building located in the commercial district that houses The Capitol Buzz—Mitchell Kyler’s newspaper—on Friday morning. As soon as I walk into suite 550, Mr. Kyler meets me in the lobby and immediately leads me on a whirlwind tour of the office, introducing me to the staff and explaining how things work. It’s impossible to focus on Senator Sexy-Ass while I’m trying to keep up with my new boss, and I’m thankful to have my mind taken off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Politically Incorrect—even if I will have to reintroduce myself to my co-workers because Tom talks so fast.
The last stop of our tour is his cluttered office, where he invites me to sit down on the other side of a desk that’s hidden beneath a mountain of newspapers.
A short, balding man who reminds me of George Costanza from Seinfeld, Mitchell Kyler talks a mile a minute as he reminds me of what he expects while I’m employed as his assistant. We’d already discussed everything during our lunch meeting when he’d hired me, but I listen intently, jotting down notes on a miniature legal pad.
“As my office assistant, you’ll be in charge of answering and returning calls and greeting anyone who walks through our doors. I take my relationship with our Buzz readers very seriously—they’re our family and they take good care of us—so I want you to treat everyone who comes in with respect.”
“Got it.”
“I’m sure Ruby’s already warned you, but this can be boring and repetitive work—that’s why she didn’t last long working here.” Honestly, I had no idea my friend had worked for Mr. Kyler, but I bob my head anyway. Then, cupping his hand over his mouth, Mitchell leans in close like he’s sharing a big secret. “Trust me, though, this place will look great on your résumé when you�
�re trying to move up to a network position.”
I frown. “I’m sorry, but what?”
He tilts his shiny head to the side. “Though, I was sure you told me before that you’re pursuing travel journalism instead of broadcast.”
I groan. He must have seen the interview my dad had given on Christmas Eve. “Nothing has changed,” I assure him, wanting to tell him my father is an idiot, but quickly changing my mind. Not only is Mr. Kyler’s paper on the verge of being a full-blown tabloid, he also dislikes my father. As much as my dad irritates me, I would never want his name used as negative media fodder.
I clear my throat. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?”
Kyler gives me a gap-toothed grin and then reaches into his top drawer. “As you can see, we really need an organized touch around this office.” I lift my eyebrows at the typed list he places in my outstretched hand. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Courtney.”
By the end of the day, I’ve rearranged two filing cabinets and answered at least a hundred “Buzz Mails”— tips the newspaper’s readers send in. So far, I’ve learned that Senator Renshaw’s wife may or may not be having an affair with one of his interns and that a certain supreme court judge had a penchant for cross-dressing and late night orgies.
I’d felt dirty reading about these people, and with each new email I opened, I had held my breath, scared to death I’d find something about Zach or myself. Thankfully, though, the Courtney kids must not be tip-worthy.
“Is there anything else you need me to do?” I ask Mr. Kyler, poking my head into his office before I leave the building a few minutes after five. He’s on a call, but he covers the mouthpiece and looks up at me.
“I know your schedule will change once the spring semester starts, but will you be able to make it in every day after New Year’s?”
Adjusting the bun at the nape of my neck, I nod. “See you on the second?” Flashing me a thumbs up, he returns to his call.
“Good work, Courtney,” he calls after me.
Before heading to my apartment, I stop at a bar on Capitol Hill where I order a burger and a blackberry cocktail, promising myself that I’ll start eating salads and drinking more water after New Year’s. I down both entirely too fast in an effort to get home before the Friday night influx begins, but standing on the sidewalk afterward, I realize just how close I am to 202. The conversation I had with Janelle on Christmas creeps into my thoughts, but the sensation of my phone vibrating in the pocket of my black trench coat quickly shoves it aside.
After three days of silence from Graham, I feel light-headed as I read his text asking me if work was everything I hoped it would be. Swallowing hard, I respond, I didn’t realize you knew I started. Less than twenty seconds later, he answers me, sending my heart into a frenzy.
Graham Delaney: You mentioned it to me. I remembered. Are you surprised that I focus on more than just your tits and talking about your pussy when I’m with you?
Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t called, period, I retort, moving to the other side of the sidewalk, which is less congested. My pulse races when my phone vibrates again, and I read his message, holding my breath.
Graham Delaney: I’ve been busy. As much as I’d love to call you to me at all hours of the night, I’m obligated to my New York constituents. Do you want me to neglect my job?
Snorting, I race my fingers over the keyboard, typing, Why do I feel like those words are drenched with sarcasm?
Graham Delaney: Jinx. I was just about to ask you why I feel like your panties are drenched from me finally getting in touch with you.
Stopping at a crosswalk, I consider how I want to answer that question before, finally, I flick my tongue over my lips and send him a safe response. How’s New York?
Graham Delaney: I wouldn’t know. I do know that you’re bright red right now, that you’re licking your lips. It’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all day.
All this from a text message? I question, but when I press my hands to my cheeks, the heat radiating from my skin scorches my palms. “Lucky guess,” I mutter under my breath.
My phone rings and Graham’s name flashes on the screen. I count to three and then answer. “Hello.”
“Just so you know, I haven’t left the city since we last saw each other,” he informs me, and my pulse goes from zero to sixty at the sound of his deep voice in my ear.
“Where are you then?” I ask. And why are you just now calling if you haven’t been in New York?
“I was on the way to my office when I looked across the street to see the most aggravating woman in all of D.C. licking herself and playing with her pearls.” Looking down, I realize that I’m unconsciously fingering the single strand of pearls around my neck. I drop it and shove my hand into the pocket of my trench coat.
“By the way, that tall fuck has walked by you three times, and I have a feeling he’s going to ask for your number at any moment,” Graham adds in a smug voice.
Sure enough, I look over my shoulder to see the man he’s talking about—a giant who’s at least a foot taller than my five foot six. He winks at me, and I smile politely before whipping back around to look at the other side of the street. There’s no sight of Graham.
“You’re not following yet, dove?” he asks, his tone low and sexy—a challenge that I can’t resist wanting to accept because Graham is in D.C.
And he can see me.
He’s watching me right now, and I need to stop trembling so he won’t notice exactly what speaking to him does to me.
“Where are you?” An errant strand of black hair escapes its bun, and I tuck it behind my ear. Squinting, I scan the area in search of him. “I don’t see you.”
“You know where I’m going,” he drawls. “Come and find me.”
“No, just tell me where you are, and I’ll meet you there,” I breathe, but he’s already hung up. Dammit. Impatiently, I wait for the crosswalk light to change to green. Once it does, I walk as fast as my four-inch pumps will allow, keeping my head down as I make the quarter-mile trek to the Senate office building where Graham, and my father, works. Approaching the entrance, my heart flutters wildly when I spot him walking up the front steps.
He looks both sexy and reserved in a dark gray business suit and his brown hair neat and orderly, reminding me why he’s been the source of all my fantasies since we met. The man is sensual crack.
Turning on the top stair, he sweeps his dark gaze over me and then winks. “Ms. Courtney,” he mouths with a straight white grin, before disappearing into the building.
I gather my bearings. Give myself a few moments to catch my breath. Then, I follow behind him.
Every intelligent part of my brain is yelling for me to turn around, but I ignore them as I hand my license to a security guard. Holiday hours have been implemented for the public, but he must recognize my name because he lets me through, informing me that my father is likely still in his office.
Aware that my dad is in the building—for whatever reason that may be considering the senate is adjourned—I feel twice as reckless about following Graham to wherever he might be leading me, to do God knows what.
“Thanks,” I tell the guard with a shaky smile, clutching my purse in front of me like a shield that will hide my erratically beating heart. “Have a happy New Year.”
“You do the same, Ms. Courtney.”
With my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I walk through the rotunda, wishing my shoes weren’t so loud. Although the building is practically empty thanks to the holidays, and there’s nobody loitering in the hallways, I continue past the glass double doors of Graham’s suite after he walks through them. A minute later, I loop around and go inside too.
“Senator Delaney?” I say formally.
“We’re alone,” he calls out, amusement tingeing his voice. “So drop the uptight intern act and come back here.”
How often do you hear the uptight intern act, Senator? I wonder.
Tentatively, I head in the direction of h
is voice, walking through a series of doors to the back of the suite. When I see the partially opened door to his private office, I creep inside and close it behind me, pressing my back against the wood. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Lock that,” he orders, and I gladly comply. That’s the last thing I need—for someone to burst into Graham’s office and find me with him after hours.
“Nervous?” he questions, drawing my attention to where he’s seated behind a horseshoe-shaped mahogany desk. Directly behind him is a large display case, showcasing yet another elaborate chess set and numerous leather-bound books.
“Of course I am.” I sink down on the plush, mustard yellow couch opposite his desk. “What the hell was I thinking coming back here?” I ask myself aloud.
“About me.”
I roll my eyes. “Cocky much?”
“Nine inches,” he assures me, causing a flush to immediately stain my cheeks. “But nobody saw you. Even if they did, they won’t make the connection.”
“It still probably wasn’t my brightest moment.”
He drums his long fingers impatiently on his desk, his brown eyes drinking me in as I smooth my red skirt and trench coat over my knees. “Do you think I would have invited you and your damp panties into my office if I thought your privacy might be compromised?”
“God, I love the eloquence of everything you say to me.” But it turns me on. It does things to my body that I know will keep me up tonight long after he’s gone.
“Take off your coat, Elle.” I shrug out of the trench coat without putting up a fuss—telling myself because it’s so hot in here—and drape it over the side of the couch. He rests his elbows on his desk and leans forward. “So … do you want me to be eloquent for you?”
I pick a piece of black lint from my white V-neck sweater and lift my shoulders. “There’s a lot I want from you.”
He rubs his chin. It looks smoother than usual, which tells me it hasn’t been too long since he shaved. “Like?”