Flirting With Scandal

by Chanel Cleeton

  “Come on. Give me something here,” he cajoled.

  I flushed. We needed to keep this professional; the focus needed to be off of me.

  “I’m really boring. Nothing to tell.”

  He laughed. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

  I also kind of liked that he called me out on my BS.

  I sighed. “I’m also a Libra.”

  “Scandalous.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well you’ve already seen me without my top on, so I think we surpassed scandalous a few steps ago.”

  Shit. It was one of those moments when I wished I could stop the tape, rewind, and erase the last thirty seconds or so from my life. That was what was dangerous about him. He was laid-back and it was easy to feel relaxed around him. He was nonthreatening . . . until he wasn’t. And now I was thinking about last night, and me naked, and his body pressed against mine, and heat flooded me, and oh god, he knew, didn’t he?

  I winced. “I’m really bad at this. I’ve never done this before. I’m normally the world’s biggest advocate for separating your personal and professional life, and now they’re blending together—”

  “No need to apologize. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”

  Eyes wide, I stared back at him.

  “I’ve been distracted for the last hour.” His mouth curved. “Actually, before then. Since I saw you in James’s office. Okay, that’s a lie too. I’ve been distracted since I saw you across the bar.”

  My pulse picked up a notch.

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or be inappropriate, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  The words came out in a rush, like it was a secret he was sharing only with me. I didn’t know how to respond.

  “You’re uncomfortable.” Guilt flashed across his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.” I met his gaze. “I’ve been a little distracted, too,” I admitted.

  He sighed. “This is crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Probably. Yeah.”

  He grimaced. “Let’s start over, okay? Let’s pretend I haven’t seen you naked.”

  Jackie

  His words kept running over in my mind, like a song on repeat—

  “Let’s pretend I haven’t seen you naked.”

  Not exactly the most auspicious start to my internship.

  I glanced at my watch. It was eight p.m., and the office was still full. Political consulting didn’t know normal working hours. We ate take-out Chinese at our desks for dinner and worked well past the midnight hour. Besides, I definitely needed to put in the extra time after last night.

  I stared at my computer screen, struggling to concentrate on the words in front of me. Tomorrow I’d head over to the Clayton campaign headquarters to start helping them, and I wanted to have as much information as I could. Our coffee break had helped. My notepad was filled with interesting facts about Will, including his impressive legacy; but more than that, I loved how interviewing a candidate allowed me to get a feel for their personal style. You could tell so much more about a person by how they responded to your questions.

  For all intents and purposes, Will Clayton appeared to be the real deal. He was confident without being arrogant, smart enough to be a good leader without being too academic for voters. He was clearly ambitious, and yet he wasn’t an asshole. He was almost too good to be true.

  If he had skeletons in his closet, I wanted to know about them.

  The Internet search didn’t bring up anything crazy. He attended charity events and was apparently heavily involved in philanthropic work. There were a few pictures with girls on his arm, but they were all perfectly appropriate—hyphenated last names, polite smiles, shiny hair, elegant but conservative clothes. I ran a few more database searches, waiting for the other shoe to drop—the arrest record from his time at Harvard, the DUI . . . something like that. But after another hour of searching, nothing came up.

  He was either so good that he didn’t have secrets, or he was adept at burying them. Either way, it was my job to find out before his opponent did.

  “Working late tonight?”

  I looked up from my desk, my gaze connecting with Charlie Douglas. I grimaced, not missing the inflection in his voice. I wanted to respond with something biting, but instead I did what I always did when Charlie spoke to me—I counted to ten before responding.

  “Yep.”

  “The Clayton campaign, right?”

  I moved my elbow over the notebook, blocking out my writing. Technically we all worked for the same team, but I didn’t trust Charlie as far as I could throw him. He’d made it clear he would do anything for a spot at Price, and I didn’t doubt that meant screwing me over.

  “Yep.”

  “It’s gotta be nice to be off the database.”

  No one had said anything about yesterday’s screw-up, but apparently that was about to change.

  “I noticed you had some issues with it,” Charlie continued.

  Time to start counting.

  “If you ever need someone to show you the ropes, just let me know.” He shot me a grin that was no doubt meant to send my heart aflutter. I struggled not to gag. “I’m sure all those numbers can be confusing.”

  I pasted on a saccharine smile to match his tone.

  “Sure thing.”

  Ass.

  No doubt him “helping” me would lead to me making an even more colossal error—one that would get me kicked out of the internship program. Hell, that kind of a move would probably be lauded here. They started us out young, training us to embrace their “take no prisoners” approach.

  I turned away, my attention back to the computer screen in front of me. A few more searches and then I’d move on to interview prep.

  Will—Mr. Clayton? I had no idea what to call him in public—had an interview tomorrow evening. It wasn’t anything big, but I wanted to do my part to make sure he was ready.

  I scrolled through a few political blogs to see if there were any recent posts about him. Nothing major, a few mentions here and there, but nothing scandalous. I skimmed the most recent posts, searching for any other news I may have missed.

  My phone rang. I stared down at the caller ID, feeling the same combination of guilt and avoidance I always did when her name popped up. I grimaced, my finger hovering over “accept.” It didn’t really matter. She’d keep calling until I answered.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Did you hear?” Her voice was full of the kind of excitement that could only mean one thing—something scandalous had happened in D.C., and somehow my mother was in the thick of it. I hated that half my leads came from her.

  “What happened?”

  “They’ve called off their engagement.”

  “Who?”

  “Blair and Thom.”

  I froze. My mother prattled on in my ear, but I’d stopped paying attention the second she said her name. I typed in the Capital Confessions address and saw the post right at the top—

  Called off! Blair Reynolds and Thomas Wyatt III End Engagement at the Altar

  Beneath the headline was a picture of a stunning brunette. She was two years older than me, her dark brown hair pulled back in a sleek, tight bun. Her skin was like porcelain, her eyes chocolate brown, her lips a soft red that gave the impression she never had to wear lipstick. She looked like one of those expensive, old-fashioned dolls. She was impeccably dressed, her slim body in blue, an enormous teardrop-shaped diamond on her left hand. I recognized the picture from her engagement announcement, even though I’d never actually spoken to my half sister. In fact, I was pretty sure she had no idea I existed.

  “Your father must be freaking out. This kind of publicity can’t be good for his campaign.”

  No, it wouldn’t be. As much as I felt badly for Blair, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that the daughter he did acknowledge—the perfect one—was screwing up his Senate reelection campaign.

 
“He’s not my father.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course, he is.”

  I rolled my eyes. In a biological sense, yes, he was my father. In every other sense of the word, he was nothing to me.

  “Are you still in the Caribbean?”

  “No, we got back to D.C. last night.”

  I tried to fight the building resentment. It was her life, her choices. But I hated how much she dumped on me, the messes she left behind for me to clean up. Hated that I still took care of her, even though I knew she’d never change.

  “Have you been back to your apartment? I paid your rent.”

  “There was no need to do that. Randy would have paid it.”

  Maybe. Sometimes they paid her bills. Other times they took her on expensive trips, bought her jewelry, and dumped her when they got home. I didn’t blame them. I’d be the first to admit—a week alone with my mother was an endeavor.

  “Well, your apartment manager called me. You had my number listed on your application, and they couldn’t get ahold of you.”

  “We were in the Caribbean.” Her voice had that slightly petulant tone I’d grown familiar with. My mother thought being beautiful gave her a free pass on life. Sadly, at times it was true.

  “It wasn’t just this month. You were behind for three months.” To the tune of six thousand dollars, which had severely depleted my bank account. “They were about to evict you.”

  “That’s just silly. Of course I would have paid. It’s not like I didn’t have the money; I’ve just been busy. I’ve been thinking of moving, anyway. The closets in that place are tiny.”

  I didn’t even bother answering. The closets were fine. Just like the bathrooms had been fine in her last place, her neighbors not too noisy in the place before that. This was her fourth move in two years.

  “Well, I have to go. We’re going out for drinks. Bye, darling.”

  I stared down at the phone in my hand, annoyance coursing through me at the sound of the click on the other end of the line. I didn’t know what pissed me off more—that I’d paid the money, that she didn’t even bother to say thank you, or offer to pay me back, or that she didn’t ask where her twenty-one-year-old daughter had gotten an extra six thousand dollars.

  Apparently my secret life wasn’t so secret anymore. That she knew, or even suspected, was beyond dangerous. Thanks to my job as one of the anonymous bloggers at Capital Confessions, I was one of D.C.’s biggest sources for scandal. If anyone found out about my blogging, my internship with Price—and my career—would definitely be over.

  Chapter Six

  Rumor has it the Clayton campaign has taken over an entire building on Adams Street. The young, aspiring state senator seems to be bringing his A game. Hopefully nothing trips him up . . .

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Jackie

  I loved Will’s campaign headquarters as soon as I stepped inside. The building housing his campaign staff was nice, but nowhere near as over-the-top as Price. It was comfortable, modern, and clean, with shiny Macs and furnishings that looked like a slightly fancier version of Ikea.

  The staff seemed young, and everyone had a smile on their face, as if they actually enjoyed what they were doing. But that wasn’t even the best part. The best part was that Will’s campaign manager was Mitch Anders, my own personal hero.

  Mitch was a legend in politics—a throwback to old-school consulting. I figured Will’s grandfather played a role in luring Mitch to the campaign; he’d worked on a few of Vice President Harrington’s senate campaigns years ago.

  We met briefly as one of Will’s assistants showed me around the office, and it was all I could do not to freak when I shook his hand. But then the candidate himself came out of his office and hero worship went straight out the window.

  Today Will wore dark gray trousers and a white dress shirt—no jacket, no tie. His collar was open, the top button unbuttoned, exposing his tanned neck. I shoved my hands into my pants pockets.

  Will grinned at me and nodded toward his assistant. “I can take it from here, Jeff. I’ll show Jackie around.”

  Oh god.

  Will led me around the office, his arm hovering near the small of my back, pointing out the staff offices and conference rooms. He led me down a long hallway, opening a door to my left. His shoulder brushed against my arm and it took everything I had to keep from leaning into the curve of his body. So much for willpower.

  “This is the kitchen and break room.” He closed the door behind us. He walked over to a small stainless steel refrigerator in the corner. “Word of warning, we have a food thief.”

  I laughed. “Duly noted. Thanks.”

  “Hey, it’s not a joking matter. I’ll have you know my yogurt was stolen on five separate occasions, including after I put my name on it. I finally had to start keeping food in my office.”

  My lips twitched. “The horror.”

  He grinned, moving closer to me, his mouth grazing my ear. His voice dropped down to a mock whisper. “I stress-eat when I’m nervous. Oreos—Double Stuf, white fudge, you name it, I have to have it. I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  I wanted to laugh at him. It was cute, and boyish, and there was something about him that made it impossible for me to not want to grin. But then he moved closer and laughter became the furthest thing from my mind.

  His scent filled the air around us. His body just barely brushed against mine, enough to feel his hard muscles. I’d been in his arms before; I knew what his body felt like, how his lips would kiss, his mouth would taste. And fuck, I wanted more—

  I tilted my head up, moving backward. My ass hit the kitchen countertop. Our gazes met.

  Desire filled his gaze. It was the same look I’d seen that night at the Hay-Adams. The same look that began in his eyes and ended with me topless in his hall. Gah.

  “We shouldn’t do this, right?” My voice trembled over the words, asking for permission when I should have been pushing him away. My brain checked out as my body took over.

  His jaw clenched. “Probably not. Not here. Not like this.”

  It should have been relief that filled me. He was right; this was such a risk. I couldn’t afford to screw up my career, didn’t want to have the same reputation as my mother.

  Besides, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. He didn’t realize I was a political grenade. Any woman linked with him would be thoroughly investigated by the media, by his opponents. I was the illegitimate child of one of the most powerful politicians in the country, a man who had never deigned to acknowledge my existence. Will didn’t deserve to get involved with someone like me.

  I struggled to smile, despite the disappointment filling me. “Well, thanks for the tour and for the warning on the food thief. I’ll hoard all dairy products at my desk.”

  He pivoted, walking toward the door. Okay. I pushed off the countertop, ready to follow him, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he turned the lock with a decisive click and turned to face me.

  Will

  Once again, my dick was doing the thinking. I didn’t even care. Maybe I could have resisted her if I hadn’t already had a taste. Maybe I was an idiot to think it even mattered, that I’d ever stood a chance.

  I walked toward her, shoving my hands in my pockets. I’d barely been able to sleep last night thinking about today, wondering how I was going to work around her, and when all was said and done, I hadn’t even lasted an hour.

  Jackie stared at me wide-eyed, her ass leaning against the edge of the countertop, her tits thrust forward in her sweater. I wanted to lift her up and set her on the counter, wrapping those mile-long legs around my waist. I wanted to bend her back and feast on that gorgeous mouth, on those full pink lips.

  I wanted everything, so I shoved my hands in my pockets, and waited to see just how fucked up this really was.

  “I want you.”

  Her lips curved. “I know.”

  I swallowed nervously. “I get that it’s a weird situation. I’m not techni
cally your boss, but you’re here in my office, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you, and if you aren’t interested, this ends now.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m the guy who preys on unsuspecting females at work, or that I’m some sleazy politician using his career to get laid. I mean yes, I absolutely want to have sex with you, but I want it to be because you want it, and not because—”

  “Will?”

  God, I kept losing my fucking mind around her. She had to think I was an idiot. “Yeah?”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  Jackie

  I expected him to pounce, waited a beat for the feel of his mouth on mine—harsh, demanding, passionate. Instead I was surprised.

  Will closed the distance between us, stopping inches away from my body. He leaned down, his palms resting on either side of my hips against the countertop. He surrounded me.

  His face was so close; his lips tantalizingly near. I wanted to make the first move, wanted to grab him and haul him toward me until I got what I wanted. But I didn’t. He didn’t let me. There was something in his gaze that gave me pause. He may have been nervous a minute ago, but he was definitely in control now.

  I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the sensation of him—his scent, the brush of his dress shirt against my hand, his hard body hovering over me.

  His mouth grazed mine, my mouth opening immediately. I wanted this kiss with a desperation I’d never felt before. I’d kissed plenty of guys; hell, I liked kissing. But I’d never craved it. It was always just a prelude to the main event. Now it felt like everything.

  I kept my hands at my sides, our bodies barely touching except for his lips brushing against mine. His tongue licked out, tracing the shape of my mouth. His teeth nipped my bottom lip and his tongue followed with soothing strokes. I moaned, the sound swallowed between us. And then his tongue slipped in, changing the kiss, giving me what I wanted.

  Will groaned, his mouth devouring mine, his body pushing me back against the countertop. My hips hit the edge, my back bending. He broke away from the kiss for a second, his hands moving to my hips, lifting me up onto the countertop so my ass perched against the cool granite. He pushed my thighs apart, moving between my legs and settling there, every inch of his hard cock rubbing against me.