by Alice Ward
Did she know that? Did she know that he didn’t look at her the way he looked at me? Did she care? Or had her path been laid down for her too? Did she care for Cameron or was he a means to an end?
I wondered if she knew other things about him. Like how much he liked painting. Like how he hated all the structure in his life.
She looked all business. Stuck-up. Tight. Boring. I, for one, loved art. If I were on his arm, I’d stroll the halls in the museum, listening to him comment on the art, the lines, the use of light.
Not like I would ever have that chance.
When I got to the “W” names, it was the end of the day. I heard the others leave and reminded myself I needed to cut out soon so I could make it to dinner with Kiera. I had to get back home and change out of my disguise before making the drive. I was just writing one of the last names in the pile when the door opened and in walked Cameron.
I sucked in my breath and held it, afraid that if I let it out, he’d render me breathless. The clamps around my nipples seemed to pinch slightly, as if they were an extension of his fingers.
Because god, even at the end of the day of a million meetings, he still looked fantastically fuckable.
“Hello, Violet,” he said loudly and pleasantly, using a voice a person would for a grandmother or a child in a sick ward.
Ugh. I hated looking like such a loser in front of him. I wanted to show him my best side, the side that made him hungry for me. And yet, here I was…
“Hello,” I choked out, looking down, having yet another crisis of confidence. It was clear he hadn’t recognized me, but maybe he would now. Now that we’d made love. No, now that we’d fucked.
He strode closer and tapped on my desk.
“Whew,” he said, yawning. “Long day. I might just fall asleep under my desk.”
Okay, I told myself, knowing I couldn’t keep staring away from him since that would be more suspicious than anything else. It’s now or never.
I turned to him and used my quiet, Violet voice. “Was it really busy?”
He nodded and checked his watch. “And it’s not over yet, unfortunately. I need coffee.”
So far, so good. He hadn’t really taken a good look at me, but he didn’t seem to think anything other than that I was Violet. I jumped up. “Can I get you a cup?”
He waved me away. “Fuck that.” He stopped. “Sorry. Forget that,” he said apologetically, pointing to the massive stack of invitations I’d addressed. “You’ve had a long day too. Why don’t you finish up what you’re doing? I’ll get the coffee, and you can join me for a cup in my office?”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just left me there, feeling so stunned that it took me damn near forever to start writing out envelopes again. He wanted me to have coffee with him, in his office? Whatever for?
A thousand possibilities ran through my head, but only one seemed remotely plausible.
He was on to me.
I quickly finished the last few invitations in the pile, feeling more and more nervous. Of course he was on to me. This was Cameron Brice, Ivy League educated, top of his class, not some dumbass. But if he was on to me, why not rip off my wig and shout, “Aha!” Why invite me to his office for coffee?
Deciding it was now or never, I wiped my sweaty palms on the thighs of my hideously large denim prairie skirt and scuffed my way toward his office. I took a deep breath when I saw him in there, bare-chested in front of a small mirror. He’d shaved and was just buttoning up the buttons of a new white dress shirt as I stood in the doorway, completely melting from desire.
He turned as he started to tuck in his shirt, pushing the hem under the belt of his pants, and all I could think of was the massive cock that those finely pressed dress pants concealed. I knew I was blushing, my face as hot as the two cups of coffee steaming on his desk.
“Sorry,” he said with a smile, gazing at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Can’t have that five o’clock shadow at five o’clock. It makes me look — god forbid — human.”
He motioned to the coffee, which was in one of the mismatched mugs from the kitchen, surrounded by little packets of different sweeteners and creamer.
“Didn’t know what you drank, so it’s black. Do with it what you will.”
Do with me what you will, Prophetess.
I felt dizzy.
“It-it’s okay,” I stammered, sitting down on the chair across from him. I poured in one packet of Splenda and a creamer and stirred demurely with the plastic wand, vaguely aware that I would be late to my dinner with Kiera.
But of course, the second he’d walked in, I’d gone beyond caring.
“So,” he began, finishing with his cuff links and shrugging on his vest. “You intrigue me.”
I blinked, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought more about where I’d seen you before, and I realized… you’re Cassandra. “What?”
“When you said that last week. About those I’d hurt.”
I relaxed a little, remembering the conversation. “Oh?”
“Well, I know we don’t ask your political leanings during the hiring process as it’s against the law,” he said, running a red tie under his collar. As I watched his fingers, I began to imagine just what would’ve happened had he recognized me. Would he have run me out of his office? Fucked me silly again? What?
He started to pontificate while I imagined the latter. Him, stripping me bare and taking me right on the desk. I only snapped out of the fantasy when he said, “But it stands to reason that if you’re interested in working for the Republican Party, you’re likely a conservative. Otherwise, I imagine this work would be very difficult to stomach.”
Oh, god. It was the former. He was toying with me and was going to run me out of his office.
“I am a conservative,” I blurted.
“Right. I mean, you’ve been to my rallies.”
I had? What the hell was he talking about? Like I would set foot anywhere near those Tea Party scumbags. I opened my mouth to speak as it came to me. I’d told him that during our first meeting, when he’d wondered why I looked familiar.
“Yes,” I said, shifting in my seat. I demurely leaned forward and took a tiny sip of my coffee. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was merely playing devil’s advocate.”
“Assumed,” he said, nodding. He walked around his desk and leaned back, taking his mug of black coffee in his hand. “But the truth is, I do hurt a lot of people. Unintentionally. And I have to justify that to myself.”
“There has to be a middle ground, though, right?” I asked. “A compromise?”
He let out a snort. “Perhaps. But if you take the middle ground, you run the risk of both parties hating your guts for being too ‘soft.’ Thus, the dilemma. Better have one party’s hate than both, right? Even if I end up compromising my own beliefs?”
I just stared at him.
“Often I would get the feeling that if the solution to these things were easy, it would have already presented itself,” he said, studying the mess of papers on his desk. “I’d go around in circles and never get any further.”
That was such a pessimistic view, it instantly peeved me.
“That can’t be true,” I stepped in before he could say more. “I mean, there are math problems that have baffled scientists for hundreds of years until they’re solved. There is a solution to any problem. Some might just take longer to find.”
“Right.” He set his coffee cup down and looked at me. “That is where I was headed. We may take a few steps forward, a few back, but we are always moving toward the solution. For example, the problem of immigration? Do you think we should open our borders?”
I swallowed. My father was an immigration attorney. He’d defended hundreds of families facing deportation for entering the country to create a better life for themselves. But that clearly wasn’t something I could tell him.
I hesitated just long enough for him to urge me on with, “This is off-the-record. I promise not to fire you if
you say the wrong thing.”
It didn’t help me loosen up. If he knew what was truly in my head, he’d probably run me out of the building with a pitchfork. Knowing the answer he was searching for, I said, “Of course not. The country’s already too crowded as it is.”
He pressed his lips together, not pleased as I’d expected. Oh, he was definitely on to me. “And how did you come to that opinion?”
I stared at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Like, where did you get the information you used to come to that conclusion?”
God, now his sexy eyes were boring into me, and my mind was swirling with memories of his cock inside me, the way he’d kissed me as we moved together as one continuous unit. My nipples, already aroused by the clamps, hardened to pebbles. “I just… the news. And…”
“Googling?”
No, I’d been googling him all weekend. He seemed disappointed, but the fact was, I was just spouting off the answers I thought he’d want to hear. Like a good clerk. A good clerk, who at this moment, wanted to fuck the hell out of him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said, holding my coffee rigid on my lap.
He smiled tiredly. “I wanted you to say what you feel. Not what someone on the news told you to feel. If you came into this topic not knowing anything about it, what would you say?”
I thought for a moment. And then I answered, “I’d say that I think people should be allowed to live where they want to live.”
He nodded. “And I’d agree with you.”
I blinked. “You would?”
“Yes. People should be able to do just that. Live where they want to live, marry who they want to marry, do what they want to do,” he said. “Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, right? But then you have the slippery slope.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If we open our borders, how do we prevent overcrowding and reduction of resources? Are we inviting crime inside? With the legalization of same-sex marriage, what is to stop marriage between people and animals, or toasters, or children? For that matter, if a child can identify as transgender in grade school and have her breasts cut off, should we also let her cut off her leg if she identifies as disabled? If we say it’s illegal to abort a baby in the womb, who is to stop us from aborting a child at one minute of age… one week… one year?” He paused, staring at the wall, looking like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’d like to think opposition exists to stop humanity from sliding down it.”
He’s drinking Kool-Aid, I thought to myself. “You really think people would marry toasters?”
“Have you seen the sex robots? There are brothels of them now. I don’t put anything past the American people. We are the most amazing country on the face of this Earth, but also… quite stupid, at times.”
I had to smile at that.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” he said, and my mind flung back to that sofa in The Black Room. Right then, I’d have given anything for his power over me. Absolutely. “Given the freedom to do what they will, people will take advantage of it, and do what is in their best interest, damning everyone else. Everyone needs a healthy dose of humility.”
I nodded, wondering what he’d think if he could see the dirty thoughts creeping into the mind of the clerk with the kitten sweater. What he’d think if he knew the chain I’d worn while fucking him was touching my skin now.
“I’m sorry. My intention in bringing you in here wasn’t to interrogate you. I assumed that you were interested in a career in politics, and well, I thought I’d impart the best advice I could to you.” He stood up, checking his watch. “And that advice is: There is no ‘us versus them,’ as some people would have you believe. No enemies. When it comes to politics, it is very easy to become disillusioned. If you search for the commonalities instead of the differences, you won’t get disheartened. After all, we all want essentially the same thing — a better life for all citizens. Got it?”
I stood up too, feeling warm. “Oh. Yes. Um. Why are you…?”
He smiled. “Because I’ve been there. Right where you are. Maybe not right where you are, because there never was any question what I’d do with my life. Yale, Harvard Law, you get the picture. But I have grappled with crises of faith and confidence in the political arena. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be human.”
I nodded, my face now pinking over. He hadn’t been on to me. He’d just wanted to have a powwow with his employee, to help her with some friendly career advice. He hadn’t made a single sexist remark, and while I knew Violet wasn’t a sex vixen, he hadn’t exerted any masculine power over her whatsoever.
It was so… not the egotistical Republican asshole I’d expected from him.
As a result, I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to leave. “Yes. Thank you.”
He’d picked up his phone, which he looked up from for a moment as he gave me a genuine smile. “Anytime, Violet. Have a good night.”
I tore myself out of his office, and by the time I checked my phone, I was ridiculously late for my date with Kiera. I raced home, tearing off my wig and slipping into the first pair of jeans I could find, then drove to Center City, replaying his words to me over and over again in my head.
God, fuck the slippery slope. Fuck his politics. He could be all for marrying toasters. It wouldn’t affect the overarching fact that I wanted him.
Desperately. Achingly.
I’d hoped the feeling would go away as time went on. But now, it was stronger than ever.
After all, wanting him had been a given since I’d left The Black Room. Now, not only did I want his body, I’d unbelievably started to think he was a pretty nice person.
And I’d started to think that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t deserve to be brought down.
What the hell was wrong with me? Liking a Republican? I could almost hear a million yellow-horned toad souls crying out in anguish over the revelation.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried, breathless, as I slid into the giant half-moon-shaped booth at the Capital Grille. Kiera was sitting at the very center of it, looking like all the masculine leather was about to swallow her up, sipping on a nearly depleted dirty martini.
I gave her a smile and moved in for a hug, but she backed up. “It’s nearly eight,” she muttered. “And take off the stupid glasses, dork.”
I felt my face. Oh, god. I still had them on. I ripped them from my face and pocketed them. “I’m sorry!” I said again. Then I whispered, “He kept me late.”
“The douche?” she asked. When I nodded, she shook her head. “He is such a douche. Ruining our dinner like this.”
Of course, she easily forgave me after that, since it was all in the name of helping her father. That only made me feel more guilty.
I opened my menu. I already knew I was going to have the Kona coffee rubbed filet, my favorite, but I buried my nose in the pages, hoping my face didn’t give away that I far from thought Cameron was a douche now. I’d always thought that being a conservative, he automatically hated liberals. Didn’t that come with the territory? I didn’t think he could actually be thankful for them.
When the waiter came, I ordered a glass of merlot.
“So,” Kiera said, leaning forward. “What is he like?”
I swallowed. I knew exactly who she meant, but the more I spoke of him to her, the worse I began to feel. “Who?”
“The douche, of course.”
“He’s um…” I coughed, then softly said, “Douchey.”
She chuckled. “So, what are you doing there all day?”
She’d seen my hideous disguise before, as three weeks ago we’d gone shopping at Goodwill and bought all the makings. Back then, I’d been so excited. I’d dressed in it, then sent her selfies, which she proclaimed to be Pure Gold. “I could always blackmail you with these later,” she’d said with a wink.
The waiter came to freshen my drink, and I took a big gulp of wine. “Oh, you know, just the normal stuff. To
day I addressed a bunch of gala invitations.”
She screwed up her face. “You should have made up fake names. Like John Q. Fuckface and stuff before sending them out.”
I gave her a look as I took another gulp of my drink. “My job is to find dirt on him, not sabotage him with middle-school pranks.”
She shrugged. “It’s what I’d do.” The waiter dropped off warm bread, and she dove for the first piece. She must have been hungry, so I let her have more. As she buttered it, she said, “Has he been a total jerk to you though? Like, what are some idiot things he’s said?”
I sighed. Actually, nothing he’d said to me had made him seem like an idiot. In fact, his Harvard and Yale education was evident. I couldn’t even think of one instance where he’d been a jerk. I hated to admit it, but the media didn’t have him right at all.
“Everything,” I lied, wishing we could change the subject “It’s just terrible. He’s so…” Deliciously tasty? “Egotistical.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You poor thing! Daddy should give you a raise, having to listen to that shit all day. I’m surprised you haven’t ripped your hair out. Or your wig off. What is your name again?”
“Vi—” I stopped as the door to the restaurant opened, and a group of men in suits strolled in. It wasn’t unusual as this place catered to an upscale business crowd. I did a double take. Any one of those men might have resembled Cameron slightly, because of the suits. But there was no way they could match his style. His build. His handsome face and thick dark hair. His utterly fuckable everything.
Then I did a triple take as the crowd parted and a tall, well-built figure approached the hostess desk.
It was Cameron.
Holy shit.
My mind cycled to his schedule. Yes, he had dinners arranged for every night this week, but his agenda was for another restaurant. It must have gotten changed.
I leaned forward, blinking, as Kiera raised an eyebrow. “Vi?”
“Violet Wilkes,” I said, my voice cracking. I looked around for a menu to hold up over my face, a napkin, something. But I decided all of that would look too suspicious. Finally, I shuffled closer to Kiera in the booth and leaned back, hoping she’d block the view slightly. I whispered, “Speak of the devil and he will appear. Cameron just walked in.”