Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “I’m fine.” Christiana pulled herself back to sitting and pushed the hair from her face.

  “Well, good, cuz I wouldn’t want you to fall apart like your mom.”

  Christiana snapped her head to look at Avery, who appeared unfazed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your mom had troubles, right? Ended up in a mental institution? I’m really sorry about that too. I mean, my parental units are annoying as shit, but they didn’t abandon me.”

  “I know all about that.” Sort of.

  “Well, my mom said something this morning. I mean, after she yelled at me for putting you in that dress. Hey, I really am sorry—”

  “What did your mom say?”

  “Well, she said your mom would’ve worn that dress in a heartbeat for attention. That she loved turning men’s heads. And, apparently, your dad didn’t give her enough of it. That’s why she killed herself.” Avery’s face remained stony.

  “She died in a car accident.” Her father finally told her years later what had happened during one of his sloshed rants.

  Christiana recoiled when Avery touched her shoulder. “I don’t see how our mothers would have ever met. It’s not like we travel in the same circles.” Christiana rose. “I have to get ready for work.”

  Christiana couldn’t listen to Avery’s lies anymore. She would call Jonathan. He would remind her not to listen to a word that came out of Avery’s twisted mouth. So what if other women filled his past. He said they were exclusive, and she chose to believe that exclusivity went both ways.

  “Look, I really was trying to help. People have lied to you.” Avery began to gather her photos of woman restrained on the bench.

  “No, leave them.”

  “I’ll take them, get them out of your way,” Avery said.

  “You’re afraid I’ll show Jonathan. Tell him you were trying to turn me against him.”

  “It’s Jonathan now, huh? Suit yourself. But you should walk away, Chris. Move on.”

  “That is exactly what I am going to do. Goodbye, Avery. Good luck with your life.”

  Avery raised her chin. “Remember, I taught you everything you know. And then you went and stole him from me.”

  Christiana snorted out a laugh. “That fantasy is over, Avery.”

  “So is yours. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” Avery’s face reddened, and she turned on her heel.

  Christiana called The Oak and let them know she wouldn’t make it in. She didn’t care if Brian fired her butt. She needed to see Jonathan. She’d be damned if she let Avery Churchill’s seeds of distrust grow this time.

  Of course, Jonathan had other women before her. Thirty-six pages of Google findings had told that story. So why did it bother her so much, especially after last night?

  Regardless of his bachelor past, she had to find out the truth behind those sex cradle pictures. No photographs, he had said. He’d promised.

  The heavens opened up, and Jonathan barely made it inside before the torrential downpour soaked through his suit. He had a spare in his office, but he was late to his meeting with the re-election committee and didn’t have time to dally. He’d spent his morning setting Yvette’s attorney straight, leaving little enough time to grab an apple for lunch on the way back to his office.

  Another missed call from Christiana blinked on his phone. Submissives often crashed the night after intense scenes. After last night, Christiana likely had fallen into a black hole. He would have stayed with her if it weren’t for being summoned by his committee head for the second time this week. He should have Mark go pick Christiana up, take her somewhere to be watched. He noticed how her shoulders relaxed in Mark’s presence, subconsciously recognizing a fellow Dominant.

  Jonathan hit her speed dial number and then killed the call before the first ring. Shane had jogged up to him with his usual panicked face.

  “Sir, you’re going to want to take this call.” Shane held up his cell phone. “It’s Clampton. Said he couldn’t get hold of you on your other lines.”

  “Senator?” Jonathan said as he walked toward his own office. Shane trailed behind. His assistant panicked without his iPhone.

  “Congressman, you’re a hard man to find.”

  “Well, re-election and all that.” Jonathan slipped into his office with a nod to Shane to close the door.

  “Yes, yes. Well, I hope you can spare a few minutes for me today.”

  “Of course, Senator. If you’re in your office, I’ll be right over.”

  “Grab an umbrella. I hear it’s quite the storm out there.” If you only knew.

  He tapped a quick text to Christiana. “I see you, and see you soon.” Seeing Christiana was the only thing he wanted to do at that moment. But there was no time. She would have to wait. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Christiana paced, fingering her phone. His text made her feel a little better, but Jonathan didn’t answer her repeated calls. She ran through her conversation with Avery a dozen more times. She examined the eight by ten glossy of the sex cradle a hundred more times.

  The CIA should hire Avery. Christiana shuddered at the thought of Avery unraveling the toughest Al Qaeda spy. Well, Christiana wasn’t going to come unglued. But no matter how many times she told herself that Avery’s lies were to get even for Jonathan, her eyes still pricked with tears. Killed herself. It had to be another one of Avery’s attempts to overthrow Christiana’s confidence.

  Shaky legs carried her to her father’s room. Christiana steeled herself in the doorway to his messy bedroom. If she didn’t do this now, she’d lose her courage. In the back of his closet sat a fireproof safe. Damn, she didn’t know the code. Christiana pushed some random numbers. Her parents’ wedding anniversary, his birthday, and then her birthday. It opened.

  Stale air hit her nose, but then passed quickly. Two folded stacks of paper bound by brittle rubber bands lay on top of several manila folders. One long oblong box and a smaller square one sat on top of them. She found life insurance papers, a will and several more legal-looking documents. She unbound the second stack and nearly dropped the first piece of paper she unfolded. Large block letters on the top read Death Certificate. Alexandra Vidar Snow.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and a tear escaped down her cheek. Hadn’t she cried enough this summer? Christiana slapped the offending drip away.

  Cause of death: Suicide.

  Christiana leaned her body back into the hanging clothes at her back. Metal hangers clanged above as clouds of Old Spice and pipe smoke took her over. She released the paper holding the truth of her mother’s death. Her mother had killed herself. And she had to hear the truth of her mother’s death first from Avery Churchill.

  30

  The majority leader swiveled back and forth in his overstuffed leather chair, laughing into the phone. He gestured for Jonathan to sit. Jonathan took the seat angled away from the door. Clampton rarely shut it in some sense of feigned transparency.

  “Well, Congressman,” the burly man said as he laid the phone back in its cradle. “It seems we’re looking at a good election year. Poll numbers show we’ll pick up a few seats in the House this go around.”

  “Good news.”

  “Yes, yes, it is.” Clampton leaned back and appraised Jonathan. “We’re both busy, and it’s a holiday weekend. So I’ll get straight to the point about why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “You’ve been a little absent lately.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Yes, I guess what I’m trying to say is, your priorities regarding some extracurricular activities have put some stress and strain—”

  “Excuse me, Senator. But to what are you referring, specifically?”

  “I’m talking about a certain young lady.”

  “Oh? I’m a single man, Senator. It’s no secret I date.”

  “She pulled me aside at the club event last night. You know her. Avery Churchill.”

  “Yes, through her family. B
oth of our families have supported that event for years.”

  “She told me of another young woman who caused quite a splash on the runway. I missed it, as I had to leave before the show. Promised to take the grandkids out on my boat to see the fireworks. She then pointed to you and said—her exact words—one of your most promising young congressmen could use some mentoring in that department instead of going out with that teenager over there. She pointed to another lovely young woman, a blond, and no teenager in my book. But my eyes are failing me.”

  “I’m surprised. Listening to the gossip of a girl with puppy love, the woman she refers to might be the daughter of a reporter who’s frequently out of town. I gave her a ride home one evening and that was that.”

  “Oh, I didn’t pay it any mind at the time, until I thought I saw you with her in the middle of the Potomac. But . . . my eyes.” He shrugged.

  “Yes, I was out with some friends. Lots of blonds in this town.”

  “This morning, Judge Churchill confirmed your love of the, shall we say, younger ladies.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “More like a side comment on the golf course about your ‘tastes’.”

  “Well, I’ll have to think long and hard before killing the Honorable Judge on the racquetball court. As I said, nothing more than idle gossip, people reading something which wasn’t there into an encounter.”

  “Good, just wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth. The party can’t afford to lose any more seats.” He rose and extended his hand, which Jonathan took readily. “Let’s never forget that we’re magnets for gossip, and sex scandals lose elections. It’s good to get it all out in the open, squash it amongst ourselves, don’t you think?”

  Christiana wanted to drift aimlessly into nothing for a few minutes. Instead, pictures drifted up, like old photographs left in the sunlight too long until the images faded into sheer ghosts floating on small, curled up squares. Her father—hell, everyone—thought she was too fragile to hear the full truth about her life. A charity case.

  No, she wouldn’t let them.

  She lay on her side and pressed the phone closer to her ear. She silently begged Jonathan to pick up. He didn’t, and the line went dead, just like her heart.

  She smashed her phone against the metal frame of the safe. The crackling sound oddly comforting. She threw the phone down to hear the crash once more. When shards of glass loosened from the phone screen, a sliver of victory sliced through her haze. She was done being afraid. She wanted to smash something else. Windows, dishes, anything she could get her hands on. Her hands curled around the paper holding the truth of her mother, fists waiting for a target.

  Jonathan wished he could give Avery Churchill that spanking she deserved if he could be sure it would do the trick. She’d probably have him locked up for assault for ignoring her advances.

  He looked down at his phone as he entered his office. Four more calls, but no messages. There was a God.

  “Sir,” Shane sidled up to him. Jesus, the man emerged from the walls.

  “We’ve been getting calls.”

  “It’s a holiday weekend.” Jonathan threw himself into his chair.

  “The Dardens thought you’d make their annual Fourth of July picnic. Mrs. Darden in particular was rather upset.”

  “How upset?”

  “Um, ‘pulling support’ upset.”

  Jesus, he couldn’t be in Rhode Island and Washington at the same time.

  “Get her on the phone. I’ll calm her down,” Jonathan said.

  “Well, she had some pretty insulting things to say. Something about women.” Shane held up his hand in a mock shield. “Her words, not mine.”

  He itched to call Christiana, but at this point he wondered if his phone’s security had failed and was bugged. Did he even care? She was the one person who couldn’t give a shit about his title and re-election.

  The taxicab driver asked Christiana three times if she was alright. She nodded. He dropped her off at the Capitol Visitor Center. They would know which building housed Jonathan’s office—a place she hadn’t thought to look up before. Such a fail.

  Her legs limped forward, filled with lead. After ten steps she couldn’t go any farther. She dropped to a concrete bench to rest. Raindrops splashed the empty walkway. Christiana raised her face to let the cool rain mix with the angry tears that wouldn’t stop. It only maddened her more.

  They’d never let her inside the building looking like the incensed woman she’d likely resembled, now dripping wet. Besides Jonathan could be anywhere. Maybe Avery was right. He could be with Yvette doing the things he did with me, promised were only for me. But only for the summer, Chris.

  Wet and heavy footfalls caused her to open her eyes. She startled at the body looming over her. The man’s hair was plastered to his forehead, revealing a receding hairline. He seemed so different, but not.

  “Mark?”

  “Miss Snow, let me help you up.”

  Christiana’s knees buckled when Mark hoisted her up. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

  Christiana laid her head against his warm shoulder. His build was heavier than Jonathan’s, and a cry welled up from her rib cage. It should be Jonathan holding me.

  Mark laid her on a car seat in the back. Rainwater sluiced off her legs onto the leather. She hoped it left a stain. Mark jogged around to the driver’s side and raised his fist at a honking car. He settled into his seat, and the car lurched forward. He spoke into his phone. Christiana couldn’t focus on his voice well, as he spoke low and the rain pounded the roof of the car. She could only pick out random words.

  “Yes, sir. Not too well, sir . . . of course . . . I’ll be right there.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked once he killed the call.

  “To where you belong,” His voice was kind, but he didn’t look into his rearview mirror when he spoke. Christiana didn’t know where she belonged. She laid her cheek against the backseat, wishing she’d fall asleep, into the abyss, anywhere but awake. Otherwise she might punch someone.

  Jonathan got to the backseat door before Mark could unfasten his own seat belt. Mark was right. Christiana looked like hell. Her soaked T-shirt and jean shorts stuck to her skin, and her bare legs were slick with water. He laid her on the couch in his front room and brushed wet hair off her forehead. “Christiana. What were you doing?”

  “Singing in the rain.” She pushed herself up and raised her eyes to Mark. “Thanks, Mark. Sorry to be such trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, Miss Snow. Sir, you’ll let me know if you need anything else.” Mark gave Christiana a soft squint before turning on his heel.

  Jonathan threw off his jacket and grabbed a fluffy towel from the powder room under the staircase, wrapping her in the plush, dry bath sheet.

  He sat down and cradled her close. “I shouldn’t have left you today. Not after last night.”

  “I got some bad news today, that’s all.” Her words came out tight, focused.

  “Tell me about it. You can tell me anything, remember.”

  She pursed her lips and lifted her shoulders.

  He understood the gesture. Frustration poured from her body.

  “Okay, I’ll name some things, and you nod. Does this have anything to do with last night?”

  She nestled into his chest, a clear signal the night’s memories weren’t the issue.

  “About work?”

  She shook her head.

  “Avery?”

  An angry cry escaped from her lips. Bingo.

  “Would you like me to have her assassinated?”

  “Yes.” Her teeth bit into his pec through his thin shirt.

  That makes two of us.

  She pulled her hand away and fisted his shirt. “I have something worse in mind. We’ll make her wear a pink, taffeta bridesmaid dress for the rest of her life.” She exhaled irately. “She brought me pictures. Of you. At Covil Sereia.”

  “She couldn’t have.”
/>   “I recognized the suspension thing.”

  Jonathan released his grip on Christiana and stood. “Son of a bitch. She broke into my house.” So Avery Churchill stole the missing photographs. His brain clicked into gear. Avery’s stupidity for leaving them with Christiana could finally shake him free of her unwanted advances. A well-timed negotiation might keep her from gaining a criminal record for theft and avoid a scandal from the pictures being shown.

  “Where are the pictures now?” he asked.

  “Under my mattress.”

  He chuckled at her sense of protectiveness. “Good girl. They weren’t of me, lovely.”

  “But—”

  “Christiana. They were of a friend.”

  “I saw your hand—”

  He sat back down. “Carson’s hand. He took the pictures, so I could see how he had built his system in his home. He has less to lose than I, though not by much. I would never photograph anything we did together or anyone else for that matter. Now, what else? You haven’t told me everything, have you?” Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves; Christiana wore her secrets.

  Her eyes softened. “My mother. I found out something.”

  Jonathan pressed a kiss into her forehead. “You found out how she died.”

  “Does everyone know? Am I the only one completely in the dark?” Her shouting was a good sign, a release of energy she needed to unload.

  “No, lovely. I know that she must have suffered greatly, and while trying to get care, she decided it was too much.”

  “But how could she? And my dad didn’t tell me. And you didn’t either!”

  “I didn’t know until recently.”

  Christiana didn’t need to know of Mark’s investigation, and how Jonathan asked him to keep digging, keep going, until he uncovered all details about her troubled past. He knew a reporter would know how to bury facts as well as uncover them. Peter Snow had done an admirable job in keeping his wife’s death under wraps though a second set of initials on Alexandra Snow’s admittance papers to the mental institution piqued his suspicions.