by Claire Adams
“No, I think he’s single now. His filming schedule has been pretty crazy for the last few months.”
“He texted me last week and said he was dating a starlet or something, that he’s filming his own stunts,” Chase added.
“What? His own stunts?” I was not happy about that.
The movie industry was notorious for making stars film their own stunts and then having them get hurt in the process. One of Jeremiah’s friends had actually been killed while filming a shooting scene, and somehow there had been an actual real bullet in the gun instead of a blank.
“Yeah, he seemed pretty stoked about it though, so don’t be a downer, Nate.”
“Chase, since when did you become the guy who wanted to stop people from being downers? I thought you were the new uber professional who was in charge of everything and had everything in perfect order now.”
“Yes, Nate, I am that person. But Jeremiah is having fun and you don’t need to ruin that.”
“Shut up.”
Sometimes there wasn’t anything else to say, and I wasn’t ashamed to tell my little brother to shut up every now and then. He was getting entirely full of himself lately. Chase was running the family business and doing a really damn good job of it. Jordan had her baby and he had even taken paternity leave to stay home with Jordan and their new daughter. It was a pretty progressive thing to do as a man running a company, but it set a great example for his other male employees.
As our plane took off for L.A., I used the time to catch up on the gossip about Jeremiah. We actually didn’t get to talk to him all that much and ended up trying to decipher the news stories as they came through the press.
It was a pretty awesome sight to have four of us brothers on the plane together and with our women, even if George wasn’t going to have his woman around anymore. We were all growing up and having our families and moving into the next stage of our lives.
“How much longer?” Ana asked as she cuddled up to me about halfway through the flight.
“Another hour; should we go join the mile high club?” I teased.
She lifted her head up to face me, and for a second I thought she was going to say yes. But she quickly laid her head back on my chest and closed her eyes. We were both exhausted from running the new business. Every waking hour was dedicated to building stronger and getting more clients.
When we finally landed in Los Angeles, I knew something was wrong the second we got off the plane and Jeremiah wasn’t there. He had become a big wig in L.A., but when he said he would meet us at the airport, he never forgot about us. Jeremiah was responsible, despite his willingness to be wild and have fun.
We waited for him for at least thirty minutes and called his cell phone, but Jeremiah never answered us. When we arrived at his house via taxi, Jeremiah wasn’t there. It looked like he had been there in the morning, probably before going to the filming set, so we didn’t worry too much because we figured filming must have run later than normal and he hadn’t had a chance to check his phone.
The movie industry didn’t really care if your entire family was flying in to see you. There were thousands of dollars being spent on filming a scene and the studio was going to make sure the scene was completed before they let people leave for the night.
“Something’s wrong,” Ana said when we crawled into our bed at Jeremiah’s house.
He had an eight-bedroom house, so there was plenty of room for all of us to stay with him. We each had our own guest rooms and there were still a couple to spare.
“I’m feeling it too,” I said as I held Ana close to me. “Should I call the studio and see?”
“You probably won’t be able to get to someone who knows what is going on until the morning though. Maybe we should just try to sleep and call them in the morning?”
“Jackson will be able to find out,” I said as I sat up.
“Then go ask him to find out; I’m worried.”
I didn’t need Ana’s approval to send Jackson looking for Jeremiah; I just wanted to know I wasn’t acting totally crazy because I wanted to know where he was. Jeremiah was a grown up and probably spent many nights with beautiful women and not thinking about his family; it was entirely possible he had simply been confused about which day he had to pick us up. He was likely wrapped up in the sheets with a delicious supermodel who he was dating or something like that.
I knocked on Jackson’s door and he answered it much quicker than I had expected him to. In fact, he didn’t look like he had been resting at all. His hair was in place still and his clothes were in perfect order.
“I know, I’m having some people track him now,” Jackson said.
“Great, let me know what you find out.”
Jackson was a professional at finding people, and if there was any doubt of where Jeremiah was at, Jackson was going to find him.
By the time 3 a.m. rolled around, we were all up and sitting in the living room as Jackson went through his contacts with the local police force to see if any of them knew where the filming had been taking place or if it had run late that evening.
The police officers have to keep the general traffic away from a filming location and they would also be the first ones to know when things had ended for the evening.
“What?” Jackson said urgently into the phone. “Life flighted? We will be right there.”
When Jackson got off the phone, we all stood still looking at him and waiting for him to tell us what was going on. Jackson didn’t tell us anything right away and instead stood with the phone at his side as he ran his fingers through his hair. He looked horrible, and we all feared what the news would be.
Although Jeremiah wasn’t the youngest of us all, he did seem like the youngest since Chase had started being responsible. Jeremiah was certainly the most laid back and fun brother out of all of us. Our hearts hurt at the idea he was injured so badly he had to be life flighted.
“What the hell happened? Tell us what’s going on,” I said.
“Oh, sorry. He was doing a stunt where he jumped through a window to a blow-up mat that would catch him below. Apparently, the wind was blowing and he hit the edge of the mat instead of in the middle. He was unconscious when they got him from the filming location and they are pretty sure he’s got several broken bones.”
We were all stunned into silence as we gathered out things and got ready to head to the hospital. As a family, we hadn’t had to deal with the death or serious injury of any of us. I knew I certainly wasn’t prepared to lose Jeremiah, and I was pretty damn sure no one else was either
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POWER BOX SET
The Complete Power Romance Series
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
POWER #1
Chapter One
I stood in the shadow of the great house before me, hearing the taxi whiz behind on its way back toward Pennsylvania. I’d never been in the White House before, but God, had I imagined it. The exterior white shell of it seemed to speak of so much—so much history. Those immaculate rooms, that power, the vibrancy. And, above all, that handsome president—the leader of the free world.
I adjusted my blue suit beneath me, tugging at it, allowing my breasts to bounce a bit. I knew that they didn’t hurt my chances, but I didn’t like to think of it. I knew my smarts could propel me into the role if I played my cards right; if I flung myself through the interview like a pro—like I had countless other times throughout my career—I could land the position of my dreams.
Head of the President’s Re-ele
ction Campaign.
I thought about the way they’d discuss it on the news: Amanda Martin, the woman of the hour. Only 29 years old and already moving her way up the political ladder.
Beneath my fine blue suit, I felt my stomach grumble at me with a sort of rage. I was nervous, certainly. After all, my past accomplishments didn’t stand up against this feat. I’d been president of my sorority back in school, just because I didn’t want my sorority (the one my mother had forced me to join, stating she wouldn’t pay for my college otherwise) to be just like any other sorority. If I was going to be a part of it, we were going to make a goddamned difference. And we did.
And then, after that, in my home city of Philadelphia, I’d become one of the secretaries in the mayor’s office. Nothing big, no. But after a few years into it, with success around every corner and my name blasted in a few important people’s ears, I’d been invited to come to Washington to work on the initial campaign for the now-president. I’d been only 24 at the time, and I wasn’t ready for the flash, the grandeur of D.C. But I acclimated easily, after a few minor bumps and one silly affair with a congressman.
Just one!
And now, I found myself back in D.C. A congressman, George Carlman, had suggested I apply. I’d been an essential part of the previous campaign. I remembered the rallies, the fast-paced nature of it all. I remembered counting votes until my eyes bled. But when our president, Xavier Callaway, had made that speech on that January day, I knew it had all been worth it. My heart seemed to beat only for him. It wasn’t just that he was handsome—after all, he’d paid nearly no attention to me during the entire election process. It was that what I had done, all the work I’d propelled into the campaign, had been worth it. Goddamn it, it’d been worth it. And that, beyond anything else, was beautiful.
Two Secret Service agents met me at the door and pushed it open, allowing me entrance into the immaculate foyer. I thanked them with a polite, if firm, voice. I wanted them to take me seriously, as I was interviewing to run their president’s re-election campaign. I didn’t envision myself as some flighty girl. No, I was so much more—intelligence and strength and vitality.
“Just a minute, Miss,” the Secret Service agent stated, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, positioned in the air. “You know the drill.”
I did.
I held up my hands to mirror his,and allowed him to touch my body with his long, thick fingers. He roughed up around my hips, on my ass, making sure I didn’t have anything on my person. I winked at him as he did it, making him feel uncomfortable. He looked down, uncertain.
“I’m just kidding, Dimitri,” I told him, nearly laughing. I’d known him for nearly four years at that point and I knew he felt awkward.
“Amanda, so sorry about this,” he said. I knew that he had a crush on me; I’d known it since we’d met on the campaign trail.
“Please. It doesn’t bug me at all. I kind of like it,” I laughed, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re in for the interview, yeah?” he asked.
I nodded to him, looking down for a moment. I realized that I was truly nervous; I hadn’t let myself feel it until that moment. “Have there been many interviews today?”
Dimitri shrugged. “He’s seen a few, sure. But you’ll be great. I know you know your stuff.”
I smiled at him, still uncertain. Everything else I’d ever done had worked out perfectly. I’d literally never failed—and the thought of failure terrified me. But casting my eyes far into the future made me so nervous, so uncertain. I couldn’t be sure about my stance in the Oval Office. Who was I kidding? I was only a 29-year-old woman in D.C., surrounded by countless, better-qualified people.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I spun back around, allowing Dimitri to walk alongside me.
“What have you been up to?” he asked.
I flashed him a bright smile. “I’ve been working down the Hill, beneath Congressman Carlman. He actually encouraged me to apply for the position.”
“You’ve made a name for yourself in D.C.,” Dimitri said.
He led me up the steps that curled so perfectly into the ethers. I thought of Abraham Lincoln, of Kennedy—of all of them climbing these same steps. I shivered, knowing I was entering a sacred home.
He led me down the wide hallway, and I gazed at the many paintings and at the textured blue wallpaper. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. I felt like I was entering a dream world—probably because it was a world I had dreamed of so much.
Finally, we reached it: the Oval Office. I took a deep breath and turned toward Dimitri. His dark hair and eyes were so stark in the strange hallway, this Secret Service agent who’d actually joked with me throughout. Back then, Xavier Callaway had been a congressman with only a bodyguard named Dimitri. When Xavier had become the president, he’d brought his man with him.
“It’s great that you work here now,” I said to him, still uncertain about entering this terrifying place.
Dimitri nodded. “The president is a good man. And I know I’ll see you around,” he whispered, bringing his hand toward the door and spinning the knob. I was going in; my stomach dropped.
I swallowed slowly and brought my heels forward. I held my chin high, knowing that I could rule a room—perhaps even that room. I knew that in all my past interviews, in all my past triumphs, I’d won over everyone I’d encountered. That was all I needed: full control of the room.
But how was I supposed to do that when I was meant to have full control over the goddamned President of the United States?
Chapter Two
Behind me, I heard Dimitri close the door. I knew he would remain on post outside the door. I wondered if he could hear anything—if he knew any of the intimate secrets of the presidency. Surely, being around President Callaway so often suited you with a world of gossip—gossip, I knew, that Dimitri would never release.
Never in a million years.
The light swept in from those familiar, three grand windows behind the desk. I oriented myself toward the sunshine, smiling with as much confidence as I could manage. “Hello, Mr. President,” I called to him.
Xavier Callaway stood up from his desk, a pen still in his hand. He was alone, which was unexpected. So often, I’d seen him in the midst of swarms of government employees, of voters. But never by himself. Alone, he looked different, more striking somehow. I breathed an easy sigh, unsure of what to say next. I tried to rev my brain, to propel myself into the interview. I needed to be succinct and professional. I needed to allow him to understand that I knew what I was doing.
I tapped forward and reached my hand across the desk, shaking hands firmly—like a man. Something about his grip made me jump in my skin, but I didn’t allow him to see it. “Thank you for seeing me today,” I stated, nodding.
The president brought his hands out. “Well, I certainly want to hear your ideas about the re-election,” he said. His voice was so powerful, nearly echoing from the grand room.
I tried to keep myself from peering around me, eyeing everything in the place—the desk before me, the history draped in every corner. I sat in the chair, bringing my portfolio up to my knees. The president sat across from me and folded his hands beneath his chin, gazing at me with dark, penetrating eyes. I felt something stirring in me.
“Well. What are your ideas for the re-election campaign?” the president finally asked, cutting through the tension between us. Straight to the point.
I cleared my throat, realizing I had forgotten to speak. “I’ve prepared an essential list of the various places throughout Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois we must visit for the upcoming re-election. Thinking we’ll prepare speeches about your basis in education during the upcoming four years, and we’ll need to quell everyone’s belief that you’re raising taxes.”
“But I plan to raise taxes,” the president said, a smile creeping over his face.
I tapped my pencil against my chin, catching myself matching his smile. “It’s not good for a re-el
ection speech,” I said.
The president brought his fingers together in front of his face. “You’re the expert,” he laughed.
I continued on, listing out all my preparations for the following few months. “I know that your last campaign manager had you hit these states heavy, but they’ve been some of your greatest supporters throughout your presidency. I say we hit the big cities, but we don’t mess around with any of the smaller ones.”
“Here in California, Washington, and Oregon?” he asked me, tracing the states on the map I showed him with a long, firm finger. I quivered, leaning towards him.
“Yes, those states. What do you think?”
He blinked up at me. “Where is it you’re from, Miss—“
“Amanda. Amanda Martin,” I finally said, sort of annoyed with him for not knowing my name, even as we conducted the interview together.
“Amanda. Miss Martin. My apologies. Where is it you’re from?”
“I’m from Pennsylvania,” I answered him, bringing my fingers through my brunette hair. I felt a bit self-conscious in those moments. I knew I needed to rule the room. But this man—the President of the United States—wasn’t giving me much room to breathe. “Philadelphia.”
He tipped his head to the right. “I’m from L.A., as you probably know. Would it be possible that we arrange a few speeches in the greater L.A. area? I need to make sure I polish my relations with them. Make sure they don’t feel abandoned.”
“Of course,” I said, bringing my pencil back to the paper and writing this down. “We’ll have you make appearances throughout the Midwest, and then—if you’re up for it—I was thinking you could make a sort of YouTube special with a famous comedian. Something to highlight the important issues with your education campaign. What are your thoughts?”
Xavier raised his eyebrow. “Sort of for the younger crowd, huh?”