A Man of Privilege

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “Laura,” James said with a polite nod.

  Laura shot him a scolding look. “You’re late, James.”

  “How late?” Maggie might be hearing things, but she thought she heard him smile through his words.

  “So late you’re almost on time.” No, Maggie hadn’t been imagining things. Both James and the receptionist were telling the same joke. What had Rosebud said? Lenon was always an hour behind schedule? “He’s on a conference call right now, but—” she glanced at her computer “—he should be off in a few minutes. Have a seat and I’ll have Jeannette get you some coffee.”

  Maggie watched in amazement as the receptionist made a call. Apparently, this place had a pecking order so detailed that even the receptionists had receptionists.

  While they sat, James got out his phone and, giving her one of the looks he used to tell her to play along, began sending text messages. Right. She had a phone—time to whip that bad boy out.

  Head bent, she watched what James did out of the corner of her eyes. She wished she hadn’t been in such a twit before, because then he could have shown her how to use it. But he seemed to understand her dilemma, taking it one step at a time while she copied his movements. Before she knew it, she was reading her email. Wild.

  You know, she thought to herself, this isn’t so bad. Email from anywhere, receptionists’ receptionists bringing her coffee, a big hotel room, a family driver. A girl could get used to this.

  Which was ridiculous—she should not be getting used to anything. This was not her world; James was not her man. Hell, these clothes weren’t even hers. It was all just one giant lie.

  Not too much time had passed before Laura informed James that the attorney general would see him. “Don’t forget to breathe,” James whispered to her as he headed back through the huge double doors.

  “You, too,” she whispered back, trying to keep her attention on her phone and not the man walking away from her. The doors shut behind him, leaving her the only person in the waiting room.

  She busied herself by pecking out an email to Nan about the crazy plane trip and the new phone and the car ride. She left out the parts where she flipped out or almost passed out—no need to worry Nan. She kept hitting the wrong buttons and weird words popped up where she least expected them. Finally, she gave up and sent the message, hoping Nan would understand that Maggie didn’t “louver” her.

  She was trying to figure out how to play a game where the birds were angry, when the shouting interrupted her concentration. The volume of words that suddenly poured out from behind those closed doors was unnerving at best, terrifying at worst. She couldn’t understand what, exactly, was being said, but she could guess. The attorney general wasn’t happy about something, and sooner or later, that something would come back around to her.

  That old feeling of having done something wrong took root in her belly. It was all well and good to say she wasn’t going to shy away from standing up to Tommy, or even James. Deep down, she knew both men cared about her—in their own fond ways. Todd Lenon, however, didn’t give a rat’s ass for her, and that scared her. A lot.

  “Ms. Eagle Heart?” Maggie snapped her head up to see Laura the receptionist waiting on her. “Mr. Lenon will see you now.”

  Was she nervous right now? Oh, yes. Only a fool would be a-okay with this lousy setup. But was she going to hide and whimper and beg for mercy? Hell, no.

  She slid her phone back into her bag and took her time getting to her feet. The ivory heels Rosebud had picked out for her were starting to seriously pinch her toes, but now was not the time to stumble around. Laura waited patiently when Maggie stopped to take a couple of deep breaths before going through the open door. James had faith in her. For his sake, she had to prove that his faith wasn’t misplaced. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

  James was sitting at a marble-topped table, pouting in the most professional way possible. Not a good sign.

  Mr. Lenon had his back to her. He was standing at a bar, pouring a rich color into a glass that caught the light from the windows and threw a rainbow prism around the room. His pants were close-cut, and he had on a vest. When the door shut behind her, Maggie stopped and waited.

  “Carlson tells me you’re our star witness now,” Mr. Lenon began with no other introductions.

  How the heck was she supposed to respond to that? She glanced at James, who shrugged. I could use a little more help here, she thought. “It seems that’s the case.”

  Mr. Lenon turned around, leaning back against the bar, swirling his drink in his hand. “Indeed.” He took his time looking her up and down, and Maggie suddenly realized she had to sell herself to this man—not her body, but the whole concept of her existence. She had to sell him on the fact that she was an upstanding citizen worthy enough to build a case on.

  Faking it, she thought. That’s what he wants. So she plastered on a coy smile and did a slow pirouette.

  Mr. Lenon cocked an eyebrow at her. “Give me one reason why I should put a hooker on the stand.”

  The flash of anger felt good. It felt powerful. She wasn’t here to be kicked around. “I can give you several. First off, it’s former hooker. I’m a successful businesswoman in good standing in the Aberdeen community, as well as the larger internet community of American Indian dancers. Second, my record has been clean for nearly ten years. In that time, I completed my GED as well as twenty-four hours of college courses. Third, it’s the right thing to do. You’re taking a stand for the forgotten people you’ve sworn to protect. Even if we’re poor, even if we’ve done things we’re not proud of, we still deserve the same legal protection as the rich and powerful.” Lenon snorted into his drink. Not good enough. So she kept going. “But those aren’t the real reasons.”

  The corner of Lenon’s mouth curled up. It might have been a smile, but it looked more like a sneer. “No?”

  Oh, he was a pompous, arrogant ass, and his condescending attitude pissed her off. “The real reason you’ll put a former hooker on the stand is that it makes you look good. Standing up for the little guy, cleaning up corruption—especially corruption that may have taken place under your watch? That’s the sort of thing that plays awfully well in a future campaign.” James had said as much over dinner. It was easy for crusaders to get elected, and Todd Lenon didn’t look like the kind of man who was done climbing his ladder. Maggie just hoped she wasn’t too far off the mark. “That’s why you’ll put me on the stand.”

  As her anger faded, she realized she’d accused the attorney general of fostering corruption. Oops. She hadn’t meant to, but when she’d opened her mouth, the words had flowed as if they had a life all their own. Maggie looked at James to see how badly she’d overstepped her boundaries and was surprised to see a smile on his face.

  “I told you,” James said to Lenon without taking his eyes off her. “She’s a credible witness.” Maggie warmed at the compliment. She hadn’t let him down. She hadn’t let herself down.

  All those good feelings were short-lived. Lenon tossed back his drink. Unless he did something jerky again, and soon, Maggie was in serious danger of losing the power of her anger and wilting under the weight of her nerves.

  Finally, he set his empty glass down, crossed his arms and did everything but sit in judgment of her. Faking it, she thought, squaring her shoulders and remembering to breathe.

  “This is your last chance, Carlson. One more setback, and I’m pulling you off the case and dropping all charges. You will take the fall, and that’s the sort of thing that does not play well on the campaign trail. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely,” James said, swinging to his feet. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  Lenon waved him away as he turned back toward the bar. Really? Maggie thought. How much did the man drink?

  James motioned her toward the door, but they didn’t get far. “Oh, James—we’re having a little get-together tonight at the club. You’ll stop by, won’t you?”

  “I have every intenti
on of being there.”

  “Ms. Eagle Heart,” Lenon added as they were almost out the door, “you’ll be joining us, won’t you?”

  She so did not want to spend any more time with this man or with people he considered friends. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “Of course, Mr. Lenon.”

  Thirteen

  James was trying not to pace, but Maggie had been in her bedroom for close to three hours. She’d been exhausted when they got back from the meeting, so James had ordered some dinner from room service. Then he’d told her to take a nap, that he’d wake her up when she needed to get ready. Which he had done. Almost an hour ago.

  What had been hard about that was just knocking on the door—not going in, not stretching out on the bed next to her, not kissing her awake. His restraint gave him a dull, hangover-type headache. Perfect preparation for a cocktail party with his parents in attendance, really.

  It hadn’t taken a legal genius to see that an exhausted woman braving the viper pit of Beltway socializing was a recipe for disaster. He’d taken advantage of the extra time to call Rosebud and Agnes and let them know what had happened with Lenon.

  Plus, he’d needed to get his own thoughts in order. For a lawyer who was always prepared, he felt as if he was dropping every ball when it came to Maggie. He was supposed to be protecting her—but she was the one who’d walked into Lenon’s office as though she owned it. She was the one who had protected his sorry backside—not the other way around. He’d thought she couldn’t do it—then she did it and more.

  Maggie was something real. Her honesty gave her a strength that he wasn’t sure he could match. It seemed a twisted fact of fate that someone as resourceful, resilient and capable as Maggie would be automatically disqualified from serving the public just because she’d survived a horrible childhood. What did it say about his world that people like his parents would toss out someone like Maggie for not being born rich and privileged?

  James was used to people expecting the world—literally—from him. Maggie didn’t expect that from him. She just expected him to be a decent human being, and he found himself wanting to meet her expectations. Why did that feel as if it was inconsistent with his presidential goals? Being around her made James feel vulnerable. He liked her—too much. His feelings for her were a huge liability. He didn’t like having liabilities.

  “Maggie?” he called out through the shut door. He wasn’t going in, not after Lenon’s not-so-idle threat to make sure he’d never do anything but chase ambulances for the rest of his life if he blew this case. Tampering with a witness fell squarely into the middle of “blowing it.” At least he’d talked to Yellow Bird while Maggie had rested. Yellow Bird thought he had something in Omaha. “We need to get going.”

  “Okay.” At least she sounded perkier. A few seconds later, the door opened. “I need a little help. I’m not good at these zippers.”

  And just like that, James found himself staring at Maggie’s back. Her bare back. The dress—a nice little black number—hung open, revealing a wide swath of bare skin and the thin band of a black bra. He could see the edges of her tattoo peeking out from under the dress, which gave her an air of sophisticated danger. Her hair had been freed from the restrictive twist, and now hung in loose waves draped over the front of her dress.

  His blood pounding, James went hard in an instant. Because their first time had been so fierce and uncontrolled, he hadn’t had the chance to stop and appreciate the woman’s body—which was a crying shame, because she had a hell of a body. All he wanted to do was run his hands down that bare skin and peel the dress away.

  Thank God Maggie couldn’t see his sudden discomfort. Instead, she stood, patiently waiting for him to act like a gentleman. She trusted him. He better start acting like a man worthy of it.

  Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he grasped the zipper and began to tug it up. With each click, that much of her skin disappeared from view—and touch. James scrambled to think of something—anything—that would distract him. William Howard Taft never really wanted to be president. He wanted to be chief justice of the Supreme Court. Only guy to be both. Taft was a big man. He’d been an ambassador to the Philippines. Went to Yale.

  This recitation of facts helped—until James got the zipper just above the bra strap. Suddenly, the zipper wouldn’t close—did this dress even fit? “Um…”

  “We got it zipped in Rosebud’s office,” Maggie said. Her voice was small, and maybe a little irritated. Was she as turned on as he was? “One second.”

  Then she leaned forward and moved her hands toward her midsection. He felt her body shift against the dress, and then the zipper continued on its way up.

  It was only after he’d taken a vital step away from her that he realized what she’d been doing—lifting up each breast so the dress could fit around them. A fact confirmed when she turned around and, while still looking down the most luscious chest he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing in person, said, “See? I knew it would zip! We had to go with this one because it was the only one that hid the tattoo. Do these shoes look okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, not looking at her feet. “You look great.”

  Something else. That’s what this was. That’s what she was.

  Head still down—thank God she wasn’t looking at him—she walked back to the table and picked up the necklace. “Please,” she said in a sweet voice as she turned around, lifted her hair away from her neck and handed the necklace back over her shoulder. “And thank you.”

  The conflict of interest was going to kill him, because he was interested—and that was the conflict. He placed the necklace around her throat and, hands shaking, managed to get it latched. He was afraid to move. Hell, even breathing wasn’t that safe—her clean scent, baby powder and hotel lotion—

  The next thing he knew, he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips against the side of her neck. Her warm skin shivered under his touch, but she didn’t pull away.

  He. Should. Not.

  She expected better of him, and he wanted to be better for her.

  But he wasn’t as strong as she was. Maybe he would never be, and fighting it was pointless. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his chest, thereby rendering the point of whether or not she could see his awkward state moot, because she sure as hell was going to feel it.

  Let her. He wanted her to know how much she messed him up—him, of all people. He’d always been the guy who followed the rules. He was a man of the law. He’d taken an oath—an oath he’d spent his life upholding. He knew who he was, and who he was supposed to be.

  She sighed, her body molding itself to his as she reached back and ran her fingers through his hair—pulling his head more into her neck.

  Yes, he knew who he was supposed to be, all right. And that was the problem. Because, whenever he was around her, he couldn’t remember who that man was.

  Before he could feel one of those luscious breasts firsthand, though, she pulled away and took three long steps to the other side of the room. She stood there, head down and arms at her side. That conflicted interest ripped through him again—he knew he shouldn’t do anything, but he wanted to follow her into the room with the nice big bed, and forget all about that stupid cocktail party.

  “James…” Her voice quivered, as if maybe she was…what? Trying not to cry? Desperate for his touch again?

  Want me, James thought. Want me as much as I want you.

  But she didn’t.

  “Don’t do that again.”

  She was right, of course. Completely, totally, a hundred percent correct. It still hit him like a punch to the kidneys.

  Maybe she took his silence as pouting or something, because she spun around and stared at him. For a moment, she looked—hell, he didn’t know. Flattered? Embarrassed? Whatever it was, her cheeks were tinted a warm pink, and she pursed her lips into a completely kissable pout. James realized he was physically shaking from the effort of restraining himself. />
  Which was the correct thing to do, because the moment of kissability passed and Maggie’s shyness turned mean. “You can’t look at me like that.”

  James struggled to clear his throat. “Like what?”

  “Look,” she said, settling her hands on her hips and managing a pretty decent glare. “I don’t know what this thing between us is any more than you do, but I do know that I cannot be wondering about it when I walk into this party. You’re distracting me, and you need to stop so I can focus on not making a fool of myself.”

  Would she ever stop impressing him? “How do you do that?”

  Her glare got meaner. “Do what?”

  Not the best way he could have framed that question, he realized too late. “You sounded like a lawyer—just like you did in Lenon’s office.”

  She tried to give him what had to be her meanest look ever, but he could see the smile lurking underneath. “I don’t know. He made me mad. I guess I forgot to be nervous.”

  Just as she’d done the first time he’d interviewed her. Of course, that also meant that he’d made her angry again. That she was right—again—and he wasn’t.

  “And don’t apologize,” she said, cutting him off before he could get the words out. “I doubt either of us are truly sorry.”

  That admission was enough to make him relax. She wanted him, but she was the bigger person here, the one able to rank her priorities and act on them accordingly. They still had to go to this damn party, but…Yellow Bird was onto something, and the plane didn’t take them back to South Dakota until tomorrow afternoon. That left a lot of time to explore how not sorry either of them was. This was going to work out. Maggie wouldn’t have to be on the stand, and he wouldn’t have to be in violation of his ethics for being with her.

  They just had to survive tonight first. “Good. I’m sure there’s plenty to piss you off at this party.”