by J J Arias
George’s thought turned verbal without her consent. “Too late.”
Mila’s reply was a lopsided smile, flashing just the edge of her straight, white teeth. It reminded George of something seductive and dangerous, like how a black widow spider might lure in her prey. It was a devilish look she could never try on for size.
“I’ll do my best to be done before you come in,” she added as she hopped off the machine. “I don’t sleep in as long as you do,” she finished as she grabbed the towel she’d left slung over the side of the treadmill and dried her face and chest. “See you in the office, boss.”
And with that, Mila was gone just as the burgeoning sun turned the sky a deliriously happy pink. George was dumbstruck for another moment until she turned to her machine and rowed the fastest ten thousand meters of her life.
* * *
George moved gracefully despite the burning soreness in her thighs and upper body. Her high-waisted black trousers with their wide legs concealed the quiver in her muscles. She left her suit jacket hanging on the back of her office chair as she followed Josephine out to the conference room for the weekly staff meeting. The material was too constricting, and she opted for the bare arms of her pale pink, silk shell.
“Why are you in a mood?” Josephine asked as she handed her one of the two coffee cups in her hands. They both took their morning lattes the same way: sweet and strong.
“Who says I’m in a mood?” she shot back with the sunny disposition of a wolverine before taking a swig of coffee. It was too hot and instantly singed every taste bud in her mouth, but she endured the scalding without flinching. Judging by Jo’s poorly suppressed smirk, she’d known the drink was too hot to chug.
“Oh right, you’re happy as a clam,” she muttered with a chuckle and unnecessarily raised eyebrows. “Are you this thrilled to spend fifteen days on the campaign trail? Because please, if so, temper your excitement. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”
George glared at her before opening the door. Her face was neutral and clear by the time she stepped into the room where her team waited. Well, her team plus the five fellows who now attended all weekly staff meetings thanks to the blonde irritant.
Her dark eyes drifted to the woman sitting at the end of the last row. There she was, her strong jaw set and bright blue eyes trained on the front of the room. Even the notepad sitting on her crossed legs bothered her. What the hell does she need to take notes for? They shouldn’t even be here, she lamented as her painted lips spread in a smile.
George began with her usual opening remarks and did her best not to look at the blonde irritant. Occasionally, her eyes drifted to her of their accord. Her gaze was always fixed and intent as if completely engaged in the act of listening. She was maddeningly present.
She’s probably not the least bit sore, she thought bitterly when they took a short break. Mila had risen from her chair like she was lighter than air. Her body moved like liquid encased in stained glass. In her bottle green Etsuko dress, with its thin leather belt highlighting her figure, she was an obnoxious distraction.
“Before we break,” Josephine started when George’s distracted glowering kept her from taking the podium when the deputy attorney general finished her presentation. Jo never missed a beat. “I want to remind you all that at the end of the month we will be having our annual Halloween costume gala and silent auction for the children’s hospital.”
The crowd responded in near unanimous eruption of chatter and cheers with a smattering of groans mixed in for good measure.
“This year’s theme,” Josephine paused and offered her best impression of a drumroll, which earned a lot of laughs, “White!”
George furrowed her brow. She’d liked the masquerade theme of previous years. Her eyes caught the icy blue ones reflecting her confusion. She forced her attention back to Jo.
“Basically, your costume has to be white or light gray, but other than that anything tasteful goes.” She looked like a scolding librarian as she announced the condition. “And extra points for ghosts,” she joked as soon as her stern expression disappeared. “Once again, the winner will be taking home a very nice trophy and a gift certificate to LongHorn Steakhouse.”
* * *
“That was such a great day,” Tim said dreamily as they piled into a dark minivan with Jetsam trailing just behind. “And it’s kind of great not to have to spend money on parking or gas anymore,” he added as the uniformed police officer slid the van door closed and the chauffeur started toward their temporary home.
“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Jetsam commented wearily, as if unsure whether Tim was being sarcastic.
Mila was positive the skinniest giant didn’t have a single sardonic bone in his tall body. She half-listened while her co-fellows chatted about the costume party with gusto. Tim was leaning forward on his cramped legs while the brunette ran down a list of possible all-white costumes. When not in the company of Flotsam, Jetsam wasn’t entirely terrible, she decided.
Resting her head against the cool glass of the back passenger window, Mila’s mind drifted. In the near month since she’d been a fellow, the governor had hardly spared her a second glance. Today, however, she’d been practically staring. Mila recalled the dark eyes scanning her legs, resting on her thighs and continuously finding her face. More than once, she’d almost sworn she sensed heat on her skin from her warm, brown eyes. If the governor’s expression hadn’t been equal parts stoic and dour, she’d almost wonder if she were checking her out.
Maybe she’s still mad about the gym, she considered after weighing the possibilities. I was too much, she decided, thinking about how aggressive she’d been. It was like she’d tried to explain to Amanda; she started every interaction with her with good intentions, but it went off the rails almost before she’d had a chance to say anything. Any more clashes and the woman would start to hate her personally. It would defeat the purpose of the fellowship and make her financial sacrifice meaningless. Even joining her at the gym had been done in an effort to get closer to her. Why does everything backfire?
You have to keep your head in the game. Your eye on the prize. She fed herself the cliched mantras that usually helped her focus. There was no doubt about it, she’d have to do a better job at building a rapport.
As they drove past the guarded gate and up the cobblestone, Mila thought of the most likely reason for the woman’s animosity. She can’t really believe I had anything going on with her husband. She would have just tried to pay me off if she did, and he hasn’t even stepped foot in the house, as far as I can tell.
The more she mulled it over, the less possible jealousy was the source of animosity. Working as the sort of entertainer she was, Mila was very good at reading people. At first for signs of possible danger. A group of guys egging each other on and looking to push boundaries, or a client who appeared too intoxicated or irate. Anyone who watched her with undivided interest and only came in while she was working and staying for her entire shift. She’d trained herself to read stiff bodies, unrelenting stares, complete avoidance of eye contact, and scores of other body language cues. But the governor’s behavior gave her so little.
By the time she’d showered, changed, and set to work transcribing her daily notes into the master document on her laptop, Mila was sick of thinking about her enigmatic boss. She decided on dinner with Amanda, who had very excitedly taken her up on her request to informally rent her place without bringing anything but her clothes. At least she was clean and happy to have a place without three other roommates. Even if it was temporary.
Good food, good friends, and good laughs would do the trick of getting her out of her strange mood. When she was finished with her notes, she put on a pair of black leggings and a long, slouchy, blue shirt. A little mascara and pink lip-gloss completed her look as she ran a brush through her straight blonde bob. She closed the door behind her and on any more thoughts of Governor Fernandez.
Chapter Eight
Mila
ended the second week in a row with an early morning workout in the mansion’s gym. The equipment wasn’t as varied as in a full-service place, but the convenience and privacy were unmatched. She didn’t need too many machines anyway; in recent years she’d taken to doing exercises that used gravity and her own body weight. The resistance bands and anything having to do with cardio were plenty.
She yawned as she tiptoed upstairs to her room. The governor was due back from campaigning that morning and she hadn’t wanted to run into her, so she’d woken up even earlier than usual. Most would consider it the middle of the night, since sunrise was still two hours off.
The silence of the predawn hours gave Mila time to think and plan. Coming up with the right costume had taken longer than she’d expected, and she’d have to pick it up from the seamstress first thing to make sure no further alterations were needed before the gala that night.
She was still thinking about her costume when she turned on the faucet, filling the clawfoot tub with scalding water. Adding a few essential oils caused an explosion of peppermint and sweet orange, not exactly scents she’d associate with Halloween, but they made her feel festive just the same.
Damp clothes went into the hamper. She hadn’t gotten used to the idea of her intimate things being washed by a stranger, but after much fuss, she’d given in, even though she was sure that the words security measure had only been thrown at her to shut her up.
The hot water produced instant relief in her sore legs and back. In nearly two months of not dancing for work, she’d noticed a change in her body. To maintain her athletic tone, she’d needed to increase the length and difficulty of her routine. Her body was not happy about it. Dancing was definitely a workout, but it was enjoyable enough to be distracting. No one ever accused burpees of fun.
Mila ran her pruning fingertips over her stomach and absentmindedly felt the thin scars she’d carried for so long she rarely noticed them. The warmth and comfort of the bath nearly lulled her to sleep until her alarm rang in the other room.
Up and at ‘em, she thought as she cleared the tiredness from her eyes and pulled the plug with her toe.
Downstairs, the house staff buzzed with energy as fall decorations were finalized in advance of the governor’s return. Massive white pumpkins were arranged as centerpieces on nearly every flat surface. White candles on spooky white candelabras, with bits of white fluff to give a cobweb effect, made a nice addition to the decor. Antique glass bottles had sprung up everywhere, while spray painted white figurines like skulls and spiders were positioned around antique clocks and creepy vintage pictures. The showstoppers were the hundreds of battery-powered candles suspended from the ceiling at varying heights to make them look like they were floating. It was tasteful but unmistakably ghoulish. Mila couldn’t wait to see how they would work the white theme into the food and drink.
Outside, the mansion had been transformed into a haunted colonial house, complete with dozens of ghosts constructed from cheese cloth and chicken wire. The little spotlights situated under each phantom would give a glowing effect at night. Mila slid on her sunglasses. The evening would be special. She could feel it in her bones.
* * *
“Ready?” Josephine asked as she poked her head into George’s bedroom.
“Might as well come in and sit,” she replied, sitting cross-legged in front of her vanity, make up brush in hand.
“Don’t you look like a bearcat,” she said as she sat on the edge of the tub, the hoop skirt on her fairy godmother costume sticking up as she did. “It’s the bees’ knees.”
“Have you been practicing your 1920s slang?” George asked with a smirk as she caught her eye in the mirror.
“I so wanted to be Jay Gatsby,” she replied sadly. “But could you imagine how people would talk?”
George chuckled as she set down her dark red lipstick and arranged the white headband and feather over the finger waves in her dark hair. The hairdresser had given her the illusion of side bangs and her medium length hair was above her shoulder with the style. “You look amazing as Glenda the Good Witch,” she said, eyeing Jo’s tiara.
“Don’t fuck with me or I’ll drop a house on you,” she retorted with the flick of her sparkly wand.
“You’re not the one who drops the house,” George pointed out as she finished penciling in dramatic eyebrows to match her smoky eyes.
“Details, details,” she replied with a shrug.
When George was happy with her work, she stood and smoothed down her beaded, light silver flapper dress. When the look was completed with white, elbow-length gloves, chandelier earrings, and a cigarette holder, they were off to the party.
The ballroom was a radiant display. Every square inch had been decorated in white, and the guests had all complied with the year’s theme. George glad-handed with bunnies, ghosts, angels, nurses, sailors, ballerinas, and more than a few mummies.
“Governor!” a barrel-chested man in a toga that made him look like a slovenly Dionysus yelled as he stuck a meaty hand out for her to shake.
“Brandon,” she said with the kind of smile that barely reached her cheeks with no hope of making it to her chestnut eyes. “So glad you could attend. Is your wife here as Persephone?” she asked as she took his sweaty palm, half hoping he didn’t pick up on her guess that living with him must be like being trapped in hell.
He bellowed an unnecessary belly laugh. “I can’t get that woman to come to events like this. She says I drink too much and embarrass her,” he continued with his repeating laugh track. “Plus, if she came with me, I couldn’t have a minute alone with you to talk shop,” he added as he snatched an hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray.
How lucky for me, she thought but didn’t say because he was her biggest private donor. She’d be hitting him up soon for a contribution to her re-election campaign and it wouldn’t do to alienate him. God, how she hated this part of her job. In her childhood dreams of being president, she never accounted for all the bullshit she’d have to shovel just to have enough money to stay in the game.
She engaged Brandon in small talk until it was socially acceptable to move on to other guests, as was expected of a host. He must have sensed her impending brush off because the topic changed from his new yacht to her re-election.
With furtive glances, she checked on Josephine’s position in the room. But her tall husband and his Tin Man getup blocked George from her line of sight.
Damn it. Everyone is so fucking polite, she lamented as others waved and smiled but didn’t interrupt. She snagged a passing flute of bubbly and downed it.
On her next scan of the room, she stopped on a pair of piercing blue eyes. The woman was all the way across the room in an incredible Cleopatra outfit. Her dark hair and dark Egyptian makeup served to accentuate the luminescence of her eyes.
George’s mouth went dry and her stomach heaved as she took in the woman’s gorgeous form inch by inch. The white dress was tasteful and covered her body, but somehow it also told George exactly what she looked like naked. The effect was devastating and left her immobilized like hypnotized prey.
The never-ending drone of Brandon’s voice blended into the ambient noise of a hundred conversations, clinking glasses, laughter, and classical music. It all blended until it was gone. Until there was no one left in the room but George and Cleopatra.
Blue eyes never left hers. They bored into her and made a home in her soul. It was like they could see passed her facade. Beyond the feigned smile and forced pleasantries. She’d been found out. Cleopatra had laid her bare with a penetrating gaze and luscious dark lips. For the first time in years, George wondered what it would be like to kiss the column of a long neck. To feel the wet heat of a mouth on hers.
In a rush, the sound returned to the room and George was forced to look at the man who’d been talking at her, his hand on her forearm responsible for dragged her from the trance.
“Yes, of course,” she began after needing a split second to gather her bearings. �
�You will have the front row at the inauguration.”
Despite her doubt, her response had been on target and he launched into something else. George sighed and her shoulders slumped forward. She glanced back at where the stunning woman had been, but she was gone. I probably imagined her, she decided before swiping another passing drink. People do stranger things for less.
“Governor.” Cleopatra’s voice sent George’s head snapping to the side. Now that she was up close, she could tell that the black hair was a wig. The angular face and the low voice were unmistakable. It was just the blonde irritant in disguise. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but there is an emergency that needs your immediate attention,” she announced like an award-winning thespian.
“Surely whatever it is can wait a while,” Brandon said as he wiped his sweaty brow with a cocktail napkin. “It’s Halloween, for Christ’s sake.”’
“It’s from the Supreme Court. The man awaiting execution has filed an emergency stay of his death warrant,” a very tall young man dressed like Colonel Sanders added in the choppy staccato marker of a rehearsed line. “The Court is on the line now and needs your input,” he finished as if reading off a teleprompter.
“I suppose that does sound serious,” the toga replied with a skeptical glance at George, who was stunned silent by the strange but welcomed diversion. “You’ll see me again before the night is over,” he promised, surely sounding more ominous than he intended. “Josephine!” he exclaimed with the cast of Wizard of Oz in his sights. Colonel Sanders walked behind him as if tasked with keeping him on track.
George’s face was stern despite being mildly impressed by the pair’s observational prowess. For her part, Mila played her role much better than Tim. If George hadn’t been positive there was no death warrant pending, she’d have believed her. Her straight back and intense walk left no doubt that they were on a serious mission and shouldn’t be interrupted.