Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  But that’s if she gets pregnant.

  “Sign the papers, Reagan,” Demi professes. “Or it’ll be one thing after another, after another.”

  My jaw locks as she still stands behind her man, every scenario riding out in my head.

  “I’m not signing those fucking papers.”

  ♫ I Always Wanted to Leave — The Plot In You ♫

  I didn’t think it’d hit me so hard nor did I allow myself to think that three little videos would screw with my whole entire life. My business. My livelihood and to Mama’s TV screen to where I’ve been blowing off her calls because I’m disgusted. Not only with myself but that women like Demi actually exist in this world.

  I finally answered one of Sadie’s phone calls after Demi left my house while I was curled up on my couch trying to think about the best course of action. Clients were pulling out and canceling their upcoming events. I have vans full of camera crews outside my house right now, staked out in my front yard and waiting for me to come out.

  Demi leaked the other two videos probably before her ass even left my neighborhood.

  Mama rang me about thirty minutes later after I tried to calm Sadie down and asked her to give me a fucking minute to think. She was frantic, her voice trembling on the other side of the phone on the verge of a panic attack. And she’s now fucked with messing up my semi-calm demeanor.

  A million questions were thrown my way; did I do it? Am I sleeping around with married men? How could I do something like that at one of my events? Am I okay? That I needed to come home.

  I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.

  My car is blocked in my driveway, and I’m so upset that the first motherfucker to approach me with a question is getting throat punched.

  Then Wade called and texted—and what sucks is that it affected me the most.

  Wade: Call me back.

  Wade: Reagan, I know you’re by your damn phone.

  Wade: I’m going to fix this.

  Wade: You need to answer your phone so we can talk about this.

  Wade: I’m so sorry, please call me back.

  Wade: You’re pissing me off, Shelton. I’m not going to let you fall.

  Wade: I’m coming to your house, fuck this.

  Me: DO NOT COME TO MY HOUSE. THERE ARE CAMERA CREWS HERE.

  Wade: I don’t give a shit.

  Me: Please, don’t. You can’t be seen with me right now.

  Wade: You’re my fucking party planner to them, I can do whatever the hell I want.

  I call him because I know he’s probably in the elevator of his office, making his way down to the lobby. My gut wretches in response to hearing his phone ring.

  I don’t want to hear him tell me that it’s going to be okay. That he can correct this.

  He can’t.

  He can’t be linked with me right now in any way, shape, or form.

  It’ll ruin his reputation, what he’s worked for. He will be assassinated in the press, people will question—

  “Hello?” His tone is stern, agitated. Like he didn’t just ask me to call him.

  “You can’t come here,” I protest, clutching my phone with a death grip. “Do not even step foot in this subdivision.”

  “I’m not going to sit here in this fucking office and watch everyone rip you to shreds when you did nothing wrong. That wasn’t even you in the—” I don’t hear the rest of his words.

  He saw it.

  Embarrassment and anger course through me even though it wasn’t me. My whole reputation, the one I built on my own after Grant, it’s completely shattered.

  You warned yourself to stay away from him and you still did it anyway.

  A choked exhale leaves my lips as I think about Marty coming home to nothing. How Mama’s bills aren’t fully paid off, and if clients keep canceling their events, I won’t be able to have a steady income for my family to fall back on.

  “Reagan,” Wade chants. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah.” It’s a whisper. A crack in my rock-solid demeanor because the more I think about all of this, the further I start to hate myself.

  I knew better than to get involved with another politician. I did this already with Grant, knew the aftermath of what this world could do to you if your name was dragged through the mud.

  Thankfully, Grant and I decided to part peacefully when I left him, but Demi just pledged a full war on me.

  “I’m going to fix this,” he tells me again, softer this time. “I need to see you.”

  “You can’t.” I rub at one of my temples. “You have to keep your persona intact and clean. You need to fire me.”

  “I’m not going to fire you.”

  “You need to, Wade, please. You can’t have someone like me—”

  “Someone like you,” he roars louder. “And what kind of fucking person would that be, Reagan? Someone who makes me—”

  “Where are you?”

  “Wha—I’m in the stairwell of my office.”

  “I need you to go somewhere where you can’t be eavesdropped on.”

  “I fucking dare someone to eavesdrop on me right now,” he challenges.

  I sigh. “Please just do it.” He releases a growl on his side of the phone, and then I hear the echo of footsteps against the cement encasing of the staircase.

  A shove of a heavy door sounds afterward, alluding that he’s out and making his way somewhere else.

  “Go up to your office,” I tell him.

  “I’m not about to get fucking hounded by Em and stared at by my fucking staff right now, Reagan. I’m going to the security office.”

  “Okay.” Another minute and I hear him holler at someone to get out then a door slams.

  “Better?” he leers. “I don’t think these walls are soundproof.”

  “Then I’ll just yell at you a million times to keep it the hell down.”

  He exhales. “Reagan…” A suppressed silence follows afterward, and I know he’s sorry. I’m sure he feels worthless and defenseless, but he’s not entirely to blame. And it’s time that I reap the consequences.

  I just didn’t think it’d include allegations of fucking three men.

  “We’re going to need to cool it for a while,” I state, breaking through the dead air. “No more event planning and—”

  “No,” he fumes. “I’m not going to let you weather this storm by yourself. And I’ll be more than fucking damned if I don’t get on my knees and beg you for forgiveness because I’m the reason—”

  “Keep your voice down,” I scold. “This isn’t—”

  “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t kept my eyes on you because she’s a goddamn—”

  “You have to let me go,” I assert, the words barely making themselves audible.

  “What?” My mouth opens but nothing leaves. I’m barely holding the hell on right now, trying to keep myself steady and collected, but in the long run, this isn’t going to end well for me.

  “Wade...please, for the love of God, fire me.”

  “Are you out of your ever-fucking mind?” he fumes. “I’m not going to abandon you. I’ll give this all up right now. I don’t give a shit, Reagan, I love you. You’re—”

  “Please,” I beg, my whole body starting to tremble in return. I can’t bear to hear him bare his soul when he’s worked so hard to get to where he is.

  “I don’t deserve to be here anyway,” he continues. “As governor. I bought those votes. I was in a dark place, knew I was never going to fucking win, but I needed something. Anything to make me feel like my whole world wasn’t spiraling after Demi...after the shit that went down. I don’t belong here, I didn’t earn it.”

  “But you’re there,” I quip. “And you’ve done so much good for the community and—”

  “I’m not a good man. But I’m turning into one. Because of you.” I violently shake my head to keep his words from sinking into my brain.

  Before all of this, I would’ve been able to appreciate them. It probably would make me feel war
m and fuzzy inside. However, we’re here, too much happened and now I need to play cleanup.

  “I need you to become president,” I cajole. “ I need you to be what you’re supposed to be.”

  “How do you know what I’m meant to be? Have you ever thought that maybe I’m here because I was supposed to finally meet you. That some greater power decided to cut me a fucking break for once.”

  My heart feels as though a hand is in my chest and slowly ripping it out. I can feel every tug and squeeze, making me feel dizzy as I grip the edge of my couch for stability.

  I need to let him go.

  There is no place for me in his world—there never was. We’re both in denial if we thought this would ever come to light.

  He’s meant for big things, huge commitments, and responsibility. I belong here, with normal people and not-so-normal problems. Wanting Wade stemmed everything and, as much as I want to belong to him, he could never be mine.

  No matter if Demi existed or not.

  He would belong to the country. He would always be a servant of the people, always in the spotlight, a topic of conversation at people’s dinner tables and social media.

  “Shelton,” Wade coos gently from the other side of the phone. “I promise that I will make things right. My forever is you, I won’t let anyone mess that up. I told you that I’d never let you go, and I meant it. Down to every vowel and consonant.”

  “There is nothing you can do to—” A mirthless chuckle resounds on the other side.

  “Oh, baby, you don’t know what I’m fully capable of when I put my mind to something.”

  “Wade.” I force my tone to add some steel to it. “This isn’t a game. I’m being labeled as a slut who sleeps with other people’s husban—”

  Well, shit.

  I am a slut that sleeps with other people’s husbands.

  “You’re not a fucking slut,” Wade storms. I bow my head into my chest, not realizing I said it outloud. “I’m not fucking married. That woman is not my fucking wife.” I roll my eyes at his naivety and the contradiction of his words.

  But I’m not going to argue for an hour about it on the phone because I know what I have to do—what I need to do.

  “I’m coming by tonight,” Wade announces. “After the charity event, I’m going to be there.”

  “You need to stay away fro—”

  “Don’t tell me to abide by the bullshit and not be there for you. I’d fucking kill someone first before I’d let you handle this on your own. I don’t think you fully understand or heard what I said, Reagan. I’m in love with you. I’d do anything for you, give you anything you fucking wanted. Please don’t shut me out, I can’t deal with that.”

  My head starts to throb harder, and I can’t deal with this. His vulnerability that I’m about to shut down. The hurt in his tone because he’s just as upset as me.

  His love—I want to bottle it up and keep it forever. Because it’s the only place I can have it.

  “I’m only going to say this one more time,” I state slowly, my heart rate accelerating. “I don’t want to be with you.” My gut sprains. “I don’t love you.” A sharp pain hits my chest. “I don’t want to be in your world” My final words come off with barely any oxygen leaving my lungs. “And I sure as fuck don’t want your help. You’ve done enough.”

  Silence fills the other side of the line, so I take my opportunity to keep going.

  “I need you to have Emmy fire me in a public statement so that it shows that you’re still strong. That you won’t deal with people that are allegedly like me.”

  “If I fire you, it means I believe it. And I don’t.”

  “I know you don’t,” I mutter. “But it honestly doesn’t matter if—”

  “If you kneel down now, it’ll show weakness. We’re cut from the same cloth when it comes to fighting for a way to win. A way to be free. Just...give me a minute to think about all this. I won’t respond to the press, I have time.”

  “You don’t need time,” I reply. “If you don’t fire me within the next hour, I’ll walk out this door and announce it my fucking self.”

  Then I hang up.

  ♫ Straight From the Heart — Bryan Adams ♫

  I can't be away from her for another day, another night. I'm not strong enough to listen to her. Reagan thinks she's protecting me, but she's really just killing me. Each message or call that doesn't go answered chips away at me.

  Everything around us is falling apart, and she's strong, more so than me, apparently, because I’m not doing well with leaving her to deal with all this bullshit alone.

  And, the cherry on top, was that she wasted no fucking time stepping out on her front porch and announcing to the world that she no longer works for me.

  Just like she said she was going to do.

  I didn’t even get a full twenty-four hours to figure something out. It took her approximately six hours and twenty-three minutes before she pulled the plug on the contract.

  So, what do I do?

  Well, currently, like the creepy, out-of-his-fucking-mind man that I’m becoming, I wait for Reagan outside a restaurant that my security stated she was at.

  We needed to talk.

  I’m committed to seeing her.

  And, low and behold, Grant and Jed Hardison walk out on either side of her to my utter and raging disappointment.

  I'm not seeing red, it's black.

  I'm clutching my hands into fists so hard that I can feel my veins straining underneath my skin for me to relax.

  I can’t.

  I'm not sure how many times I have to repeat myself, but I clearly told her to stay the fuck away from them. Not to go running off to my campaign rival who currently isn't in the headlines right now. My name is plastered everywhere on what I plan on doing, why I'm not responding back to calls (Em is super pissed about that), and if I’ve spoken to the infamous Reagan Shelton about her actions.

  Granted, I’m used to the press, just not in this sort of light.

  Instead of the obvious blacked out SUV that people sit in to spy on others—because let's be real, that's what I'm doing—I have one of my security details driving me around in a blue truck with tinted windows.

  Reagan is talking with both assclowns, dressed in tattered jeans, a tee with some graphic on it, and a red hat.

  Boston Red Sox.

  I tense when Grant blocks my view, waiting for him to do something—anything—to cause me to do something dumb and irrational. I have so much built-up aggression and rage from Demi that I'm begging for something to beat on.

  Question is, how did she get out of her house when reporters and news cameras are literally camped out in her front lawn. Reagan hugs Jed then Grant, and when the asshole himself leans in for one, she facepalms him.

  I smile—that’s my fucking girl.

  The brothers take off together while Reagan walks in the opposite direction, down the sidewalk where another parking lot nestles up to the Mexican restaurant, but she passes it.

  She continues walking with her cell phone lit up in her hand.

  What the fuck.

  “Follow her,” I order my driver. He immediately puts the truck in drive, moving out of our spot and into the road.

  “Do you want me to swing up next to her, sir?” he asks me.

  "Yes." He does as I ask, leisurely slowing down, so my window is lined up with her deep into her phone. "Call out to her."

  There are people outside, walking around, and I don't want to take the chance of someone recognizing my voice or face if I roll down the window.

  "Excuse me, Miss." Reagan's head snaps to the truck, and her brows immediately furrow. "We'll offer you a ride."

  “No, thanks,” she deadpans, picking up her pace. The truck gases up a little faster.

  “Miss, I’m not trying to pick you up like that. I have your friend in the car.”

  “Go fuck off,” Reagan chides. “I’m not getting into a stranger’s truck.” I roll my eyes and lower my damn windo
w because there’s no way she’s getting in this vehicle.

  Stranger danger is real, folks.

  "Reagan," I call out. She looks over her shoulder again and sees me before I close my window again. I watch her hesitate then jump the curb to enter into the backseat.

  When the door swings open and she jumps in, she goes in on me before the door even shuts behind her. “What did I tell you? What are you doing here?”

  “Good thing I am,” I retort. “What the fuck are you doing walking alone at night?”

  “I didn’t drive here.”

  I smack the back of the driver’s seat. “Drive to Miss Shelton’s house.”

  "I took an Uber," she states, then her brows immediately descend. "How does he know where I live?" I ignore her. "Do I even want to ask?"

  "I don't know—" Her back hits the seat as she settles in. "—do you?" I fix her with a scowl, which only makes her wait a few seconds longer before she continues.

  “There are still two news vans outside the front of my house.”

  “And how did you make the great escape?”

  She crosses her arms along her chest and shrugs. “I hopped the fence into my neighbor’s yard. Ordered an Uber and voila.” I scoff, shaking my head, but I can't keep the rising smirk that portrays off my face.

  I will never meet another woman like this ever again in my life.

  “And you decided to hang out with the Hardisons of all people.”

  Silence fills the car, and I feel Reagan tense next to me, but I don't steal a glance her way.

  “I’m planning an event for Jed.”

  My nostrils flare on their own. “I told you that I don’t want—”

  “You don’t get to call the shots for me, Governor. I don’t work for you anymore.”

  “Yes—” I tilt my body to face hers. “—let’s talk about that.”