A Man of Privilege

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Not only could she not have a baby, she could not have James’s baby. The future president did not have little bastards running around, especially not little bastards conceived with former hookers. It just wasn’t done.

  She sat on the toilet in a state of shock. All this time, she’d been deluding herself into thinking that she’d changed, that she’d become a responsible, trustworthy adult. But a responsible woman would have demanded safe sex. Hell, a responsible woman wouldn’t have let James get to a point where he could be disbarred. She’d sunk them both, all because he trusted her and she liked him—all because she’d given in to all those new, different feelings.

  She had to get it together. This situation was salvageable. No one else knew about their…contact. It was up to her to keep it that way. She could keep a secret, after all, and James, well—they could say this was privileged and he simply couldn’t tell anyone else. She’d have to go back into town tomorrow and buy a stick to pee on. Or see if the pharmacy had those morning-after pills. Possibly both.

  These thoughts calmed her. This situation was not hopeless. She had a plan. When she opened the bathroom door, she had what felt like a composed, cool look on her face. She’d had to leave her underwear in the bathroom hamper, but the skirt wasn’t too bad. She could do this—pretend nothing had happened.

  At least, she thought she could, until she saw him again. James was now sitting at the table, his head buried in his hands. He had his pants fixed, but he looked odd with his shirt untucked. He seemed even more upset than he had before.

  Again, she was drawn to comfort him, but this time, she held back. No way in heck could she risk doing something stupid twice in a row. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall, if you need it.”

  He sucked in air as though he was drowning, but he didn’t move. “I—I didn’t come here to do that. That wasn’t how I wanted it to go, not at all. Jesus, you must think I’m like…like Maynard.”

  “I don’t.” Which was the truth. What had just happened between them was kind of a mess, but she knew in her heart that he was nothing like Maynard.

  She walked up behind him and put one hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he covered it with his, clinging to her fingers. “If—when—this happened, I wanted to make love to you the right way.”

  Make love. Her mind stuck on those two words like flies on flypaper. “But I’m just your witness.”

  He stilled for a moment, then stood, his hand never letting hers go. He turned around and kissed her. Not like before, oh, no. This time, his lips were soft and giving, saying what the words hadn’t. I promised, they said. And I meant it. “No, you’re not,” he said in a quiet voice. “You’re more to me than that.” And he kissed her again.

  This kiss left her a different kind of breathless. This wasn’t a happening-too-fast feeling, but a happening-as-it-should feeling. Out of the babble of confusion in her head, one thought rose above the others. This was normal. Perfectly, wonderfully normal.

  It didn’t last. His phone rang.

  Maggie jumped so hard she was amazed she hadn’t busted anyone’s lip. James hesitated, as if he didn’t want to let go of her, but then he sighed and stepped away.

  “Carlson,” he said, sounding like a professional in every way and nothing like the man who’d been in her kitchen for the last fifteen minutes. “Yes. What?” The thunderous roar knocked Maggie backward until she bumped into the door frame. “He did what? Jesus Christ, does Lenon know? Yes, I know that’s the only option. Oh, God. Okay. I’m, uh, I’m out of town at the moment. Two hours. Just patch him through.”

  He hung up and dropped his head, his shoulders slumping in utter defeat. “James?”

  “That was Agnes. The judge in my case just handed down his ruling on admissible evidence. He ruled in favor of the defense.” James’s voice was flat and lifeless.

  Maggie had been worried about him when he’d been upset, but this deadness? This scared her. “What does that mean?”

  “He threw out my case—the wiretaps, the witnesses—gone. Just like that.”

  That part she understood. Plan A had failed. Which only left one option. Her. “Except for the insurance policy.”

  He looked at her, and she couldn’t begin to make sense of the emotions churning beneath his worried brows. “Yes.” Before he could say anything else, his phone rang again.

  “Carlson. Yes, Mr. Lenon.” His eyes flicked up to her face as the person on the other end shouted loud enough that Maggie could hear it, but not loud enough so that she could understand what he was saying. “Yes, sir. I’m aware of that. It’s disappointing, I agree. But I have an insurance witness.”

  They were talking about her. Lenon? Maggie came up with nothing. The name sounded familiar, but…then it hit her. Todd Lenon. The attorney general of the United States.

  Oh, no. The attorney general was talking—yelling—about her.

  She covered her mouth with her hand, as though that would keep her heart from jumping all the way out of her chest. Margaret Touchette wasn’t dead, after all. The bitch was alive, biding her time until she could wreak havoc on Maggie’s life. Because that’s exactly what would happen. A corruption trial was big news. People would find out who she was, what she’d done.

  She’d have to take James up on his offer to relocate her, give her a new life. Everything she’d been here with Nan, everything she’d done for the last decade would be gone, lost in a courtroom. What would happen to her? What would happen to Nan?

  James looked at her again, the wildness in his eyes seeming sadder this time. What would happen to James—the man who never lost a case? The man who always did the right thing?

  She felt as lost as he looked. For some crazy reason, she still wanted to comfort him. Her life, and all her past mistakes, were about to become public record, but she wanted to tell him it would all be okay. He looked as if he needed to hear it.

  “I’m apprising the witness of the situation now, sir.” More shouting occurred. “Yes. Really?” This last word came out in a shocked tone, but seconds later, James had things back under control. “Of course. Friday at three. We’ll be there.” He hung up and dropped his eyes.

  He couldn’t even look at her. She wanted to ask what was going to happen on Friday at three, but nothing came out. Not even a squeak.

  James flipped his phone over and a minikeyboard appeared. He tapped out a message faster than Maggie would have thought possible, all the while seemingly having forgotten that she was right there, too scared to move.

  He tapped out another message—maybe the same one, she couldn’t tell—and then looked at his phone as though it held all the answers. The seconds seemed impossibly long as he stared at the damn thing.

  “Well?” she demanded, managing to sound stern.

  “The attorney general wants to meet with me about my case. I have to present the remaining admissible evidence and convince him that I can still get a conviction.”

  That was a whole lot of “I” and not a lot of “we.” Then she realized what he’d said—he had to present the remaining evidence. She was the remaining evidence. “I have to go to Washington?”

  “On Friday.” He said this in a no-big-deal tone of voice, but that worried, heartsick look was back in his eyes. He took two steps closer to her. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  Was that supposed to be comforting after everything that had happened tonight? “Is Rosebud going?” Because meeting the attorney general for the whole freaking country sure seemed like a good time to have your lawyer handy.

  “No. This isn’t just your testimony anymore, Maggie. It’s my case. You’re my witness. As far as Lenon knows, you’re a strung-out former hooker. I’ve got to prove to him that you’re a reliable witness—someone the jury will believe. If you’re not, he’ll kill the case.” The way he said it made it clear that the case wasn’t the only thing Mr. Lenon would kill. Maggie could see James’s career flashing before his eyes. And if his career went, where would that leave hi
s grand political plans?

  “But I—we—” Just had sex. Just compromised the witness. Just broke every rule in his book. Hell, in her book. She shouldn’t have, but she looked down at her belly. One of her hands splayed out over the gentle swell of her stomach. She was his witness, but she was more than just that. What if she was pregnant?

  “I know,” he said, putting his hand on top of hers. Then he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “If anything…happens, I’ll take care of you. Whatever you want.”

  God, that sounded so good. She hadn’t realized that was what she needed to hear until she heard it. Part of her wanted to shake it off—words were words, after all—but a bigger part of her wanted to believe him.

  He cleared his throat. She could tell that the next thing he said was going to be all lawyerly just by the way he pursed his lips. “Something isn’t right about this, Maggie, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’ll get Yellow Bird to start digging—if anyone could come up with something else I could use against Maynard, he could. We’ll get this figured out. But until then…”

  “We have to go to Washington together.” She didn’t know what to think, so she was sticking to the facts here.

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed. “Will we have separate rooms?”

  He hesitated, and then said, “Yes. It would probably be for the best if we limited our personal involvement and kept…tonight…to ourselves.”

  Yes, she thought. It would probably be for the best if I didn’t get knocked up with an illegitimate child. He kissed her forehead. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go, Maggie. I’ll work on a solution, I promise. But that doesn’t change things. I’m fond of you.”

  Fond. Such an odd word. Despite it all, she smiled at him. “I’m fond of you, too.” It didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t have to. Not right now.

  His phone rang again. With a final squeeze, James let go of her.

  He’d answered the phone when the front door slammed open and Nan’s breathless voice called out, “Maggie? Are you okay?” seconds before she huffed her way around the corner.

  She pulled up short when she saw James on the phone, then gave Maggie a terrified look. But before Maggie could even begin to explain what was going on, James hung up.

  “Rosebud’s going to call you in ten minutes. She’ll walk you through what’s going to happen in D.C. to help you prepare.” He sounded so formal. James turned to Nan. “I need to get back to the office, Ms. Brown. If you or Maggie have any questions, please call me.” Nan’s open mouth snapped shut and she managed a polite nod. James turned back to Maggie. The look he gave her was almost as good as hugging her had been. “We’ll be leaving South Dakota early Friday morning. My assistant will call you with the details. I’ll see you then.” Without another word, he turned and let himself out.

  “What the hell happened?” Nan shouted.

  Maggie listened as the SUV pulled away. Only after the crunch of tires on rock had faded did she turn to her fairy godmother. “Well?” Nan demanded, tapping her foot.

  She knew her dearest friend in the world was waiting, but Maggie needed to get her thoughts in order. So she finished making tea. As she poured the water, things began to crystallize. She couldn’t tell Nan about the sex. If she wasn’t pregnant, then it would be as if it never happened. James couldn’t afford to have anyone else know about the compromising position he’d had her in. She’d have to bury that memory—a sweet memory of freedom and fondness—deep. But not too deep. She’d need that to keep her warm on cold winter nights.

  He’d needed her, but when it got down to brass tacks, he’d needed his case—his victory—more. He wasn’t like Maynard. But she shouldn’t have trusted him.

  It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

  Finally, she sat, and Nan sat with her. They only had a few minutes before Rosebud called her. She’d have to talk fast. “Everything,” she said simply.

  Eight

  Maggie pulled into a spot in front of Rosebud’s office. The place looked deserted. She checked her watch—9:58 a.m. She was two minutes early. And she was flying to Washington, D.C., in twenty-one hours. With James Carlson. To meet the attorney general.

  She sat in the car and rubbed her temples. Her head hurt, but that was probably the lack of sleep and the stress. Oh, this was a mess, as evidenced by the bag from Walgreens in the passenger seat. The paranoia had been thick at the store, so she’d gone ahead and bought the three-pack of pregnancy tests. She had that awful feeling that no matter what the first test said, she wouldn’t believe it until she got at least two out of three similar answers. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask for the morning-after pill. She didn’t know why.

  She checked her watch again: 9:59. Time seemed to slow down when a girl hadn’t slept. As the seconds did everything but tick by, she found herself looking at the Walgreens bag again and wondering. She’d never wanted kids. Kids scared her. She didn’t have the first idea how to take care of a kid. Her own childhood had been hellacious, after all. The odds were better than good that she’d screw up a kid. She didn’t want that on her conscience.

  So why the hell was she sitting here hoping she was pregnant?

  Stress and sleep deprivation. That had to be it. She must be borderline delusional.

  She checked her watch a third time. Ten o’clock. And no sign of life in the office yet.

  Maggie leaned her head back and let her eyelids close. Immediately, images of James popped up behind her lids. James, looking heartsick. James, kissing her with a vengeance. James, taking her in the kitchen. James, being fond of her. James, leaving.

  Her mind began to drift in nonlinear patterns. What had he looked like as a kid? Had he worn suits to school? And what kind of parents decided their kid would be president come hell or high water, anyway? They weren’t the Kennedys, were they? No, she remembered. They were a totally different dynastic family.

  Luckily, a huge four-door truck pulled up next to her, saving her from her thoughts. Rosebud popped out of the passenger-side door and waved.

  Maggie got out and locked her car. She turned back to Rosebud just in time to have a sleeping baby thrust into her arms. Not helping.

  “Hold Lewis,” Rosebud said as she reached back into the car. Maggie heard her say, “No, give me Tanner and you carry the suitcases, please and thank you, honey.”

  Lewis was a warm, heavy weight in Maggie’s arms. She made the mistake of looking down at the boy, and that irritating desire to have a baby of her own—to have James’s baby—got a little stronger. His eyebrows jumped with whatever dreams babies had. He looked so peaceful, so innocent—so not screwed up. Maggie leaned down and sniffed his head, the clean-baby smell hitting her so hard she almost staggered under the weight of it.

  A tall, handsome man was hefting a third suitcase out of the truck bed. He paused long enough to tip his cowboy hat. “Howdy, Ms. Eagle Heart. Dan Armstrong. I’d shake your hand, but—” He broke out in a lopsided grin as he lifted all three pieces of luggage and nodded to the baby in her arms.

  “Hi.” Even in her exhausted state, she knew that if she was going to be meeting the attorney general, she’d need to do better than that. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Armstrong.”

  His grin got bigger as he waited for her to go in front of him. Rosebud had already disappeared into the building, and lights were coming on. “You’ll be fine. James will take good care of you. He’s a good guy.”

  A complete stranger could tell how nervous she was? Man, she was so screwed. “Have you ever met Mr. Lenon?”

  “Yup. He’s a pompous, arrogant ass.” Dan chuckled. “I’m not the sort of fellow to tell a stranger what to do, but if I were, I’d tell you to keep your chin up. D.C. is a snake pit. Most everyone there will step on whoever it takes to get a little closer to the top. Don’t let yourself be a rung in their ladder.”

  Maggie looked at this Dan Armstrong. “W
hat about James?” She had no business asking, but he was from D.C., after all.

  “James?” Dan dropped the suitcases and held out his arms to take the baby from her. “Yeah, James is on a ladder. Maybe not the one he wants…” With that cryptic observation, Dan turned his attention to the baby.

  In short order, Maggie found herself back in Rosebud’s office, suitcases strewn everywhere. Rosebud wasn’t meeting her eyes. Maybe it was just the paranoia, but Maggie got the feeling that either James had told her about the wild sex, or she’d figured it out. Maggie began to fidget. “It’s a good thing you’re about the same size I was before the twins came along,” Rosebud said in an unnaturally light voice. Damn it, she knew about the sex. “If we had more time, I’d take you shopping again, but… Oh, that suitcase is all cocktail dresses.”

  “Really?” Maggie pulled out a little black dress with layers of ruffles going all the way down. Panic left a metallic taste in the back of her throat. “Why do I need a cocktail dress?”

  “You’re meeting Lenon at three on a Friday. He’s notorious for being about an hour behind schedule, and then he’ll have to have a little verbal sparring match with James. By the time you get out of there, it might be close to six, and he throws a cocktail party every Friday night. It’s how he rewards people for pulling hundred-hour weeks.”

  “Seriously?” Was this her hard-earned tax dollars at work?

  Rosebud nodded. “He’s famous for them. It’s a huge networking thing—you’d be surprised at who shows up. James will have to go, and if I know Lenon, he’ll expect you to be there, too. He’ll want to see how you handle yourself.”

  The metallic taste got stronger. Maggie fought back the gag. “I don’t want to network. I don’t want to go to D.C.”

  “Don’t panic!” In a second, Rosebud had her by the arm and was leading her to the couch. “Sit down and put your head between your knees. Breathe, Maggie.”