The Goode Governor

by J J Arias

  “I know, right,” she said, breaking George free from her trance. “Not what I was in the mood for either.”

  “And what are you in the mood for?” she asked in her husky tone, half hoping and half terrified that Mila would read the double meaning behind it. In the microseconds of silence, George’s heart galloped up her throat as if trying to make a mad dash out of her mouth. She’d overplayed her hand. Pushed too far. Fuck.

  “Breakfast?” Mila suggested as if never second-guessing her intentions.

  Disappointment left a bitter taste in George’s mouth, but she ignored it. She quirked an eyebrow. “You cook?”

  “I do lots of things,” she replied, this time with what George was certain was a wink.

  Is she flirting with me? It had been so many years since it happened, she couldn’t remember how to respond. Creaky, rusted, old muscles struggled to come to life like a waterlogged engine.

  “How do you feel about French toast?”

  George considered the question. “You know, no one has ever asked me that. I don’t think I have any particular feelings.”

  Mila grinned. “You’ll feel something about these,” she stated confidently before turning into a low-grade twister, grabbing a bag of dinner rolls, cereal, fruit, and some other things George wasn’t quite sure of.

  As Mila focused on her task, George slid onto a stool and watched. Every few seconds, the intrusive worry of danger distracted her from the moment. What if someone comes down to the kitchen for something? A staff member. One of the other fellows. With the willpower of a Jedi Knight, George suffocated the thoughts. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Apart from the unprofessional attire, there was nothing untoward about sharing a meal with someone on her team. Hell, she ate nearly every meal with Jo.

  By the time Mila set down a plate in front of her, she’d convinced herself that she had nothing to fear.

  “Voilà,” she said with flair as she gestured to the gourmet looking dish she’d prepared. The small, cereal-encrusted squares were topped with cream and fresh berries.

  “Impressive,” George admitted. She didn’t volunteer that she could hardly boil water. “Thank you.”

  “Hopefully she tastes as good as she looks,” she replied, standing on the other side of the counter as she cut into her food.

  At that moment, George inhaled the powdered sugar she hadn’t noticed before and it sent her into a humiliating coughing fit.

  Mila jumped up and rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her ego forcing her speech despite her near inability to breath. “Fine. Blueberry took a wrong turn,” she added, her sense of humor apparently lost with her dignity.

  With the moment ruined, their conversation turned to the familiar topic of work. Long after the plates had been cleared, they discussed Mila’s research findings and possible torch-carrying congresspersons willing to introduce the bill.

  As Mila shared her opinions, George was impressed with her wealth of knowledge. Damn it, I hate when Jo is so obnoxiously right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The cramped and dusty conference room that had become their second home was feeling stuffier than usual. A cold front had forced just enough of a drop in temperature to force the government building’s heaters to roar to life. The smell of burnt hair had been trapped in Mila’s nostrils for days.

  “I’m going outside,” she declared abruptly as she stood from the table. None of her fellow staffers so much as spared her a glance. With a stack of papers under her arm, she squeezed out of the room, her sights set on the big office clear across the building.

  When she arrived at Governor Fernandez’s door, she was happy to find her assistant not at his usual post. She checked her smart watch. His coffee fix came at a predictable hour every day. According to the public agenda, the governor would be on a phone call with the department of energy in ten minutes. Mila took her chances and knocked.

  “Come in,” the husky voice inside replied. The sound caused her heart to thump.

  “Hey,” she said, poking her head in through the cracked door. “Do you have a second?”

  The governor pulled off her red-framed glasses and gestured for her to have a seat across from the massive desk. Mila’s shoulders relaxed with relief. She’d half expected to be yelled at for the insolence of disturbing her. They hadn’t seen each other much since their midnight breakfast a few nights before. After having been assigned better research tasks, Mila had returned to their unspoken gym schedules. She’d made sure to clear out before Governor Fernandez’s usual time.

  “What have you got there?” she asked, pointing to the stack of papers in Mila’s hands.

  “Some statistics,” she replied, handing her the packet as she took a seat across the particularly hideous desk. Just like the mansion, the governor’s office looked like it had been decorated by Liberace and Blanche Devereaux on some kind of bender. “Every incidence of impaired driving that resulted in property damage, bodily damage, and fatality, going back to 1975, which is as far back as our records go. I also did a breakdown by blood alcohol percentage for all three categories. And,” she paused for the devilish grin, “for those who care about nothing but the bottom line, I added the costs to the state in emergency services, repairs to roads, and well, you’ll see.”

  The governor flipped through her documents before looking back at her with her usual unreadable expression. Instead of guessing what the woman was thinking, she waited for her to speak.

  “You did all this statistical analysis?” Her tone gave away nothing. Maybe she was mad that she’d taken such liberties, or maybe she’d considered it a waste of time.

  Mila’s back straightened. “Yes,” she said with confidence. “Mastering statistics is still a requirement for a PolySci degree,” she explained and with a rush of color to her face added, “or has it been so long you’ve forgotten?”

  Governor Fernandez’s face moved in what could’ve been called a smirk under a high-powered microscope. “I have a meeting with a group of junior members of Congress after this phone call,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Would you like to present your findings to them?”

  Mila couldn’t play it cool. “Yes!” she exclaimed with a dimpled smile. “I’ll make some notes before we go,” she said as she stood, ready to bolt downstairs for the rest of her things.

  The governor’s phone rang with who Mila guessed was her scheduled call. “There are legal pads and pens over there,” she said, pointing to the sitting area across from her desk with her eyes. “You can work here if you like,” she added before picking up the phone.

  Mila managed to conceal her shock at the invitation. Sitting down to collect her thoughts and summarize her work, she couldn’t stop glancing at the woman in the big chair. She was the picture of elegant power. Sleek and deadly. There was no doubt about it. Mila had a hardcore crush on her infinitely unavailable boss.

  * * *

  “Governor, I’m sorry. Am I running late?” Mila asked as she checked her watch, startled at the woman’s presence in the gym.

  “No. I’m early,” she replied, making her way to where Mila was warming up on the mat. They stretched together in silence, neither one fully awake yet.

  When George clipped into her rower, Mila approached rather than starting on the treadmill where her water and towel were waiting.

  “I know you broke all the rowing records at Goode,” she started, her hands on her hips as she stood in front of the machine.

  “I feel a but coming on,” she said as she reached for the handles.

  “The machine is a little different than out on the water, and your row isn’t as efficient as it could be.”

  “How long have you been thinking about this?” George asked with equal parts amusement and curiosity.

  Mila ignored her, apparently too engrossed in the task at hand. “You don’t go back far enough. You were trained to row outside where you have to keep your balance so you don’t tip everybody
over,” she said, moving to George’s side. “May I?” she asked before putting one hand on the top of George’s chest and the other at the base of her spine. “I’m sure it’s muscle memory, but on a machine, you obviously don’t have to worry about balance. So instead of keeping your body tense, you should unclench and lay all the way back when you pull. You’ll go further and it will be way easier on your body.”

  George tried to ignore the searing heat from warm hands on her body and do what she said. After a few dozen attempts, she understood what Mila meant and did it on her own.

  “Thanks,” she offered for lack of anything better.

  “No problem. I used to row until I dislocated my shoulder. Repetitive strain on my rotator cuff is no good.”

  George nodded. “I thought maybe it had something to do with your—” She stopped herself short.

  “My scars?” she guessed, running her fingers over the thin marks wrapped around her torso.

  “My apologies. That is none of my business,” she replied, rowing harder to displace her embarrassment.

  “That’s okay. It’s not a secret. I’m surprised it didn’t come up on some background check you did,” she joked as she picked up the pace on her jogging. “My mom and I were in an accident when I was in high school. We were both ejected from the car. I survived. She didn’t.”

  George stopped rowing. “My deepest condolences.” She couldn’t imagine the trauma she would have endured and immediately wondered whether the crash had been caused by a drunk driver. It would have explained her above-and-beyond dedication to the bill. She didn’t dare ask. The conversation already felt too personal.

  “Thanks,” she said without slowing down. “If you want to feel really sorry for me, I could tell you that my parents were in their mid-forties when they adopted me as a baby from Ukraine. They used to joke that I’d have to take care of them when they were old. If I had a macabre sense of humor, I’d laugh at the fact that they both died before I was twenty-one. Last birthday I celebrated,” she added as if for good measure.

  The barrage of vulnerability was almost too much to withstand. George had no tools in her kit for this kind of exchange.

  In the face of George’s stunned silence, Mila slowed her machine. “I’m sorry,” she said without being the least bit out of breath. “My humor gets a little dark sometimes. I didn’t mean to put you off.”

  “No, it’s fine. Please, don’t apologize. You’re just so. . .”

  “Brutally honest?” she offered with a lopsided smile. “That’s what decades of good therapy will get you. I’m also great fun at parties.”

  George laughed to rid herself of some discomfort. “I bet.”

  “Do you want to spot me?” Mila asked, situating herself on the bench.

  George obliged, though she didn’t dare glance at her body splayed in a horizontal position.

  “What about you, Madam Governor?” she said between reps, drawing George out of her stunned silence. “Do you have any secrets therapy has helped you share at the drop of a hat?”

  George shook her head. “My parents used to say therapy was for crazy people and communists,” she mimicked in a heavy accent. “Everything they didn’t like or understand was for communists,” she added with a laugh. “They were a very different generation.” For a moment George was shocked at her own disclosure.

  “I can see that,” Mila conceded as she lifted the heavy bar over her head one final time and rested it in the cradle. “On its face it can look like weakness,” she said turning around and straddling the bench to face George. “But it takes a whole lotta guts to unpack all your sh—” She corrected herself. “Unpack your stuff, look at it under a microscope, and remove all the habits, misconceptions, people, and things that don’t serve you. It’s the hardest thing in the world to do that with unflinching objectivity. Especially with no one to really hold you accountable but yourself.”

  Mila’s impassioned words made George feel naked and overexposed. Without knowing it, the woman of former blonde irritant fame had called her out in the most unsparing fashion.

  “Good morning,” Josephine called from the doorway. Her voice was a sliver of ice slicing through the heat in the room.

  “Morning, Ms. Peters. See you at the staff meeting this afternoon,” Mila greeted as she stood and waltzed out of the room as if they’d just decided on coffee over tea.

  * * *

  “You alright?” Josephine asked as they strode down the hallway. “I thought you’d be happier with the news we just got.”

  “Yes, fine,” she snapped, running her fingers through her dark hair and straightening her tucked in blouse.

  “You’ve been pretty distracted since I walked in on you and Ms. Dortch this morning.” She made no attempt to hide the knowing smirk on her face.

  George glared at her as they walked into the meeting room.

  “Great news, everyone,” she announced as she entered, not bothering with usual pleasantries. She waited a moment, letting the stragglers hurriedly take their seats. Her eyes drifted to the woman in a sapphire blue dress, but she snapped herself back to attention.

  “We’ve got a sponsor!” she announced to thunderous applause. “Two, in fact. We’ve managed a sort of miracle of late. Our bill has bipartisan support,” she said, going on to explain the details.

  “How did we you get a conservative to sign on?” someone in the front asked.

  George’s eyes flashed to a Mila. “He was very impressed with the fiscal responsibility of decreasing incidents related to drunk driving,” she said with a furtive glance. Mila tipped her head forward in acknowledgement.

  Another question from across the room drew her attention away, but as the meeting went on, she found herself looking toward her corner and catching sight of radiant blue.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Mila said as the governor entered the gym during Mila’s work out time. She set down the barbells and picked up the weighted medicine ball.

  “Did you miss me?” she joked unexpectedly.

  Mila read the instant regret in her face and felt compelled to cover it for her. “Yeah. I realized I don’t sweat as hard when you’re not here. It’s not nearly as fun to compete against myself.”

  “Oh, is that what we do? Compete?” she asked, stretching her lower back.

  “Has that been bothering you again?” Mila asked, noticing she always returned from her campaigning tours sore and worse for wear.

  “Hazards of the campaign bus,” she replied with a shrug. “Josephine is convinced it makes me more approachable.” The way she rolled her eyes made Mila’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Like FDR and the Whistle Stop tour,” she guessed with a wry smile.

  “Have you two been conspiring?” she joked in such a light manner it made Mila wonder if perhaps she was a little tipsy at five in the morning. The campaigning must have gone exceptionally well.

  Mila watched her for another minute as she stretched one side more than the other. “Do you stretch your hip flexors?” she asked, her eyes trained on her lower back.

  “My what?” She dropped her outstretched arms.

  Mila couldn’t help a lopsided smile. “Here,” she said as she approached her. “Try this. It will open up your hips so it won’t pull so much on your back and hamstrings.”

  Standing behind her, Mila put her hands on Governor Fernandez’s hips. The proximity of her warm body and scent of her skin turned her mouth dry. “Use the machine to rest your right leg across and lean in a little,” she explained, her voice softer than she’d intended.

  Despite an initial hesitation that made Mila’s stomach drop, the governor complied. When the bottom of her right foot was pressed against her left hip, Mila inched in closer, just a hair away from full body contact.

  “Now, lean in,” she instructed, her chest against the governor’s back. “Do you feel that?” Her words were a whisper against the column of her long neck.

  A
fter a few moments, the Governor groaned with relief and it set Mila’s hands trembling.

  “Where’d you learn that?” she asked, her voice even huskier than usual.

  “Dancing is a hazardous job.”

  Governor Fernandez turned around to face her. “You’re so intelligent and hardworking,” she started, and Mila knew exactly where she was going. It was the same place almost all conversations went when people found out she was an entertainer. “Why would you go into a field like that?”

  Mila could tell that she had chosen her words with care. Ones less likely to insult or offend.

  “You mean a field where I can make seven thousand in a few hours on a good day?” she asked with a laugh.

  The governor’s wide eyes were exactly the reaction she’d expected. That figure usually left people gob smacked.

  “In a night?” she echoed in disbelief.

  “An afternoon, actually,” Mila corrected. “That’s where the money is. High-powered executives and politicians,” she added with a daring wink, “who want to pay someone to listen. If they come in on a long lunch hour, their wives never have to know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why some people would rather spend thousands on me than a therapist.” Governor Fernandez’s jaw dropped and Mila shrugged again. “I know, it’s crazy.”

  “But don’t you feel degraded? Being ogled and groped by strangers for money?”

  Mila laughed. “No offense, but I bet as a politician you’ve compromised your values more than I have for a financial contribution. No one touches me or bothers me ever,” she corrected. “There’s a zero-tolerance policy where I worked, and I’m pretty sure no one would be stupid enough to try it,” she added, flexing a well-defined bicep.

  “I didn’t mean to be offensive,” she started, but Mila held out her hand, indicating that it wasn’t necessary.

  “I’ve heard everything and anything you can imagine. You really can’t offend me. And to be honest, what people think of my job says a lot more about them than it does about me. At eighteen I started as a bartender at that club, and then a go-go dancer. A year later, when I started dancing for real, I was making enough money to support my household and pay my dad’s medical bills. After that, I made enough money to pay for college, buy a condo, and invest in a very comfortable retirement.”