Caught in the Storm

by Brownell, Rachael

  “Senators are generally timely in their appearances,” he states, flipping open his menu. He’s going to order the same thing he always does, even though he’ll browse the menu for ten minutes before relenting.

  “My apologies. I had to stop home and pick up a bag. I’m headed to Houston this evening.”

  “No doubt that little hussy kept you longer than need be.”

  My father’s contempt for Amelia is annoying at best. He understands why I brought her here, why I’ve kept her here, and even why I proposed. Image is everything in our family. Still, his disapproval grates on my nerves.

  And the only way to keep him from stating his opinion on the matter again is to ignore him.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, placing my napkin in my lap.

  “You’re campaign manager.”

  “Gina,” I remind him. She’s been with me for long enough that he should remember her name. He chooses not to acknowledge her by name because he wanted to run my campaign this time.

  I even entertained the idea for a brief moment. Until I heard his platform and knew it was best not to mix family and politics.

  “Yes, her. She’s tanking your campaign.”

  “Have you seen the most recent polls? I’m ahead by fifteen percent, and my lead is growing.”

  “That’s because the people love your little slut. She’s easy on the eyes, and your engagement to her only helped improve your image.”

  Facts are facts. I don’t care where my numbers come from as long as I have them. I never once had this big of a lead the first time I ran. I had to scrape and claw my way to the top. I did it, and I’d do it again, but this is much easier.

  “Yes, Amelia has been a great help. What does that have to do with Gina?”

  “You can’t fuck her and expect her to get results, Johnathan. I thought you knew better than to mix business with pleasure.” His voice is low enough that no one around us can hear him, but my eyes still dart left and right to make sure.

  How in the hell did he know I was fucking her?

  “Excuse me?”

  I can play innocent all I want, but it’s not a good look on me. I don’t pull it off as well as my father. He’s the king when it comes to misleading people and getting them to do what he wants.

  He could sell a picture book to a blind man.

  “Don’t play stupid, son. Not with me. You’ve been fucking her for years.”

  “Twice. I’ve fucked her twice,” I contest.

  “Whatever you need to believe. She has to go.” His voice is firm. He’s not asking if this is what I want, he’s telling me this is what’s going to happen.

  Hell, he’s probably already put the pieces in motion.

  “Give me a good reason to fire her and I’ll consider it.”

  “How about a video of her on her knees in your office? Or maybe one where you’re tugging on her hair as she screams your name?”

  That motherfucker.

  “What the hell are you doing in my office?”

  “Keeping tabs on you. And from what I’ve seen recently, it’s a good thing.”

  “You realize that if I fire her, she’s going to go public with that.”

  “That’s why you’re going to let her stew for the next few weeks. Then we’ll tank the polls, giving you a reason to fire her, and release the information to the press ourselves.”

  “You want to tank my campaign on purpose?”

  I can’t even believe the load of crap coming out of his mouth. He’s going to ruin me.

  “Only for a few days. That’s where you’re fiancée comes in.”

  Fiancée.

  Of all the words he’s used to describe Amelia, fiancée is not one of them. That tells me he needs her. She’s an integral part of his plan.

  “What do you think Amelia can do to fix my campaign after another scandal?”

  “It worked once, it’ll work again. You need her to agree to move up the wedding. You need to get married before the election. If they see her standing by your side, supporting you, things will rebound. Just as quick as they sink.”

  “That’s never going to work,” I protest as the waiter walks up.

  My father ignores me as he orders his steak, emphasizing to the waiter how he likes it cooked. I order a bowl of soup, my appetite suddenly gone. As the waiter retreats from our table, his irritation at my father barely masked, my father begins to explain how everything is going to work.

  In three weeks, I have two events back to back downtown. A ribbon cutting at the new library followed by the christening of a new park trail. I’ll conveniently delete the events from my calendar, making me a no-show. The blame will be placed on Gina, whose responsibility it is to make sure I know where I need to be and when.

  The polls will dip slightly at my absence, hopefully not too much.

  The following week, there’s an art gala that I’m speaking at. I’ll change the time in my phone, showing up late for the event, again making Gina look bad.

  After three strikes, I’ll have a good reason to let her go.

  As soon as she’s off the team, my father is going to have someone call in an anonymous tip claiming we were having an affair and she was fired because of it.

  That’s where Amelia comes in.

  My father and I will talk to her about the accusations, then ask her to stand with me and show her support. We’ll emphasize the importance of a united front. I’ll assure her that the accusations are false, that Gina is a disgruntled employee. That she wanted to be with me and I turned her down.

  Seeing as how she and Gina have never gotten along, it shouldn’t be hard for her to believe Gina is only trying to put a wedge between us and tank my campaign.

  It’s not until the final part of my father’s plan is laid on the table that I begin to doubt everything.

  He’s going to step in and be my campaign manager.

  It’s the last thing I want, but I also don’t want those videos to get out. He knew he wasn’t leaving me a choice. It was going to be his way or I could kiss this election goodbye.

  A sex tape will ruin any chance I have of being reelected. In this campaign or any in the future.

  People don’t forget things like that. It will be the only thing voters will remember about me on Election Day. Standing in their little cubicles, ready to fill in the circle on the ballot.

  Johnathan Lang… didn’t he sleep with his campaign manager while he was engaged? They made a sex tape, right? I can’t vote for him. Those aren’t the type of values I want representing me.

  Politics come with enough issues that people can’t agree on. The last thing I want to do is give them another reason not to vote for me. There are still people who ask about the last scandal. People who still consider me guilty, even though there’s no proof.

  “I don’t like it,” I state, pushing my empty bowl to the edge of the table. “You already know that, though. You knew I wouldn’t agree to any of this unless I had no choice. So I guess you win.”

  “I’m not the only one winning, Johnathan. You’re going to win this election with my help.”

  So proud of himself. Ready to take the credit for my victory because it’s the closest he’ll ever come to being a senator. Pathetic.

  “If this doesn’t work, if you tank my campaign and I don’t win, you have to be willing to accept the blame.”

  Smirking at me, my father nods.

  He’s not prepared to lose. He’ll do whatever it takes to win. Eliminating Gina is step one. Manipulating Amelia, step two.

  It makes me wonder whose head is next on the chopping block.

  All I know is it better not be me.

  Twenty-One

  Four Months Later

  Amelia

  When Johnathan proposed, I wasn't certain it was what I wanted. It felt like we barely knew each other, or at least, we hadn't known each other long enough. Then he changed in the best way possible.

  It was like he was already pla
ying the part of a doting husband. From the night be proposed on, everything he did was for me. All the little things in life that don’t seem important suddenly became his focus.

  Sending me flowers for no reason.

  Playing hooky from work to spend more time with me.

  He even came home early from his last trip to Houston to surprise me.

  It was as if life became about us, our future together.

  I'm not sure when exactly I knew I wanted to marry him, but here I stand, in my wedding dress, ready to walk down the aisle tomorrow afternoon. The seamstress is making last-minute adjustments, her head under the skirt of my dress, while the female reporter we gave the wedding exclusive to fires questions at me left and right.

  "What are you most excited about right now?"

  "Probably seeing his reaction when he sees me in my dress."

  "And your father. Is he excited to walk you down the aisle? Is he ready to give his only daughter away?"

  Ah! I knew this was going to come up. Everyone expects my father to walk me down the aisle tomorrow. What they don't realize is my father hates my fiancé. Both my parents do. They’ve basically disowned me. We haven’t spoken since the day I tried to introduce them to Johnathan.

  Every time I’ve tried to call, tried to speak to them, I’ve been hung up on. The day I called to tell them about my engagement I didn’t even say hello. I just started talking in hopes that my mother would at least listen.

  She didn’t.

  I found myself talking to the dial tone.

  It breaks my heart, almost made me reconsider, but Johnathan was there to hold me up when I was falling apart.

  He promised we'd mend my relationship with them after the wedding. He'd do whatever it takes to make them see him as the man that loves their daughter and not the politician they don't respect. I hope he's right because them not being here tomorrow is weighing heavily on me.

  "I think so," I lie.

  We have a stand-in walking me down the aisle tomorrow. Unless my father goes pubic, no one will know it's not him. The man looks eerily like him. It caught me off guard when I first saw him.

  "I'm sure he is." Her voice trails off as she scrolls through the notes on her tablet. I'm ready for her to fire more questions at me, having practiced them for the last two weeks in front of a mirror.

  The only questions she can ask are from an approved list. She's deviated a few times, but they were nothing that I couldn’t answer honestly. One question led to another, and that question led off topic. It happens during conversations, and it's happened on more than one occasion today. She's not doing it on purpose, and that's why I've answered them.

  The unapproved questions, the ones I'm forbidden to comment on, are all related to the Johnathan's campaign. With the election only a month away now, we need to make sure we don't influence the results in a negative way.

  When the scandal broke about him sleeping with his campaign manager, Gina, I almost lost my shit. She was fired immediately, and the rumors were put to an end. Johnathan called a press conference to set the record straight. It was a minor setback, with accusations flying in every direction. Even being the private person Johnathan is, he allowed an investigator to search his office after she claimed he kept sex toys in his desk.

  Of course they found nothing. The only sex toy we own is a vibrator, and I brought it with me when I moved in. It hasn't been used since I've been here. I bet the batteries are still dead.

  It took three weeks and his father stepping in as his campaign manager to get things back on track. I wanted to help in any way I could, so I agreed to move up the wedding. We needed the positive press before all his hard work went down the drain, and showing the public I was on his side, that I believed him, and we were a united front was the easiest and most efficient way to do that.

  So instead of an eighteen-month engagement, we're getting married two months after a scandal.

  "I know this is off topic," Kirsten, the reporter from the local news station begins, bringing me back to the moment. "But I'd be a fool not to ask."

  "If it has anything to do with his former campaign manager, I hope you realize I'm not going to answer the question. I don't want to give her another moment's thought."

  "So you believe him?" There’s a hint of surprise in her voice.

  "Johnathan is nothing if not an honest man. Yes, I believe him. I wouldn't be marrying him in less than twenty-four hours if I had any doubt about him."

  Shit. I just answered her question after telling her I wasn't going to. So much for keeping my focus.

  I blame Ayers.

  If he hadn't gotten in my head this morning, I'd be focused. I wouldn't be exhausted, and my mind wouldn't be running in twenty different directions, trying to make sense of so many things.

  "What about the woman he was seeing before you?" Kirsten asks.

  Another off-topic question.

  "That's two strikes," I warn.

  Of course this is not an approved question. In fact, I looked over the list of questions, approved and unapproved, and this wasn't even on it. I just know better. After my unexpected visitor this morning, it’s clear Johnathan wouldn't want me talking about this.

  Honestly, I'd like to hear what she has to say about this other woman, Monicanifer. She's a mystery to me. Johnathan's never mentioned her name, and until this morning, I had no idea she even existed. Now I know more than I want to.

  * * *

  Waking up alone, to the sound of someone pounding on my door, is startling. Instinctively I reach for Johnathan, to wake him, but he's not there.

  It was my stupid idea to sleep apart until the wedding. An idea I’m now regretting.

  Sliding out of bed and tiptoeing out of the room, into the living area of the suite, I make my way to the door as silently as I can. When I peek through the hole and spot a familiar face, my body relaxes.

  "Detective Ayers," I say through a yawn as I open the door to let him in. "I wasn't expecting you today."

  He rushes past me, pushes the door closed, and locks it behind him. There's a sense of urgency and panic in his movements. When he puts his hand over my mouth and his finger to his lips, my body instantly tenses.

  What the hell is going on?

  Why is he even here? Garcia is working security for all aspects of the wedding, not him.

  I only see Ayers if we run into Garcia in town. He's always been polite but standoffish. Almost like he's putting up a wall between himself and the rest of the world. His eyes tell another story, one I'm not sure I want to know but tends to pique my curiosity every time I see him.

  At first I thought he was just acting professionally. You know, since they were on the job, but it's not like he wears a uniform. The only way you know he's a cop is because his badge is clipped to the belt of his dress pants, his gun holstered on his hip.

  Garcia certainly doesn't have a problem engaging with my husband. Shaking his hand. Having a conversation with him in public.

  Not Ayers.

  He stands back, watching the two of them as they shoot the shit and laugh. Arms crossed over his chest, causing his shirt to tighten and stretch to accommodate his broad shoulder and biceps. He would appear intimidating to any onlooker, but not to me.

  Any time we've spoken, his voice has been as soft as the look in his eyes.

  As he tows me through the suite by the hand, I almost trip over my own two feet. He's moving quicker than my still half-asleep body can process. I sneak a glance at the clock on the bedside table before he pulls me into the bathroom and shuts the door behind us.

  Six o'clock in the morning.

  Whatever the issue is, it better be worth me waking up two hours early. Knowing what my schedule entails today, I could have used the extra sleep.

  "Don't talk, just listen," he finally says in a hushed voice. "Before you marry Johnathan, there's something you need to know."

  Oh, God. Not him too. After the scandal that broke, everyone was quick to try and tel
l me who my fiancé was and wasn't.

  "He's not the man you think he is," he continues before I can protest. "Before you, he was dating my sister. They were together for close to two years, and then one day, she disappeared. She called me to tell me she was on her way to see me, that she had something she needed to show me. She sounded scared and frantic but wouldn't tell me any more over the phone. I waited six hours for her to show up at my place, but she never did.

  "When I went to the house to look for her, there were signs of a struggle. A broken lamp, knocked over picture frames. The place was a mess. The only thing missing from the house was Monica. She vanished. Johnathan was the primary suspect, but he had an airtight alibi."

  I want to stop him. To tell him that his loss is unbearable but Johnathan had nothing to do with it if he could account for his whereabouts. I don't, though. I'm enthralled with the story. I want to know how it ends. And something in the back of my mind is telling me it doesn't end well.

  "That was almost a year ago now. She's still missing. We have no leads, and there's a reason for that. Garcia was Senator Lang's alibi. They were together that day, but there was no reason for them to be. He didn't have any public appearances or events. No need for personal security."

  He pauses, giving me an opportunity to reply, but I don't. As I look in his eyes, I can see his belief. He honestly thinks Johnathan did something to his sister. He believes he's behind her disappearance. The longer I stare, the more I see and feel it. The more I start to believe it.

  "I need your help," he finally whispers, stepping closer to me. We're inches away from each other now. I can feel the heat from his body as it seeps through my satin nightgown.

  Desire begins to pool somewhere deep down. Ayers is an attractive man. It's hard not to notice. From his toned body to his piercing eyes, Ayers is definitely a prize. One I would try to win if I hadn't already claimed my own.

  Shaking my head to clear the fog that's creeping in, I whisper the one word that will break the hold that's growing on me.