by Claire Adams
Xavier sat beside me. He turned toward his Secret Service agents. “Could you please give us several moments alone?” he asked them.
The agents nodded curtly and escalated from the room, leaving us in a pocket of quiet. I swallowed, feeling that I could hear every mechanism in my body, my rushing heart included. I looked toward my fingers.
After allowing the silence to stretch far too long, Xavier finally began. “Amanda. I know you called this meeting for a reason. You aren’t one for wasting time.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t find the air for it.
“Please,” Xavier murmured. He brought his hand over mine. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay,” I breathed. I twirled my chair toward him and forced myself through the words. “Yesterday, I went for a walk through the Rose Garden. A strange time of year to do it, sure. But such a solace and understanding passed over me. I understood that—that so many things about this relationship aren’t good for me.” I allowed the words to glimmer in the tense air.
Xavier frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He would trust in my words, no matter what they were.
I continued. “Not that it hasn’t been wonderful. God, it’s been wonderful. There’s something electric between us. But this relationship doesn’t align well with my goals. I have a million things I want to do in my lifetime. Political goals I’ve had since I was a little girl. Even—even silly ones. Like being president someday.” I bit my lip, gazing up toward him. He didn’t scoff or laugh, like I’d assumed he would. “I just. I’m trying to imagine the next five years. Us together, sneaking around, even while your wife knows everything. It feels wrong, Xavier. It feels—distasteful. Off.”
Xavier considered this for a moment, bringing his fingers to his chin. “And does the relationship feel off to you right now?”
I considered his words for a moment. I shook my head slowly. “No. It feels incredible. It feels like—the sort of relationship I’ve been waiting for since I was a girl.”
Xavier nodded. He brought his fingers toward mine and laced them through, linking us. I felt the rest of the world humming around us, but everything was so solid, so stark, there between us. We were the last, flickering flame.
“Amanda, Amanda. This is one of the reasons I love you,” he murmured.
I blinked, unsure of what he meant.
He continued. “I love that you think, think, think all the time. About your dreams, about your goals. I love that you’re not willing to give them up, just because you’re falling in love. But please. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t expect you to give up on anything, because of this. I expect you to continue doing your job, to continue working up at the White House. You have a bright future. I saw it when I first met you—when we first had your interview, in the Oval Office.”
My eyes were so bright toward him, feeling like his words were too good to be true.
He continued. “I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did, but I don’t. I can assure you that I won’t try to get in your way on your path toward your dreams. And I can assure you that I want to be with you. These are the only two things I can readily understand. If experience has taught me anything at all, it’s simply that no one knows what the future will bring. An example of this? I thought I’d become a baseball player when I grew up. I thought I’d want to be married to Camille for the rest of my life—and not just the five years our happiness lasted.” He adjusted himself in his leather chair. “But I know that I want to be with you, that I want to fight forward on this journey with you. This doesn’t mean I’ll help you. I know that you don’t need any help, anyway. But it does mean that I’ll stand by you. I’ll take hits with you. I’ll be with you, and I’ll see what life has in store for us.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still revealing such intensity.
My heart was beating so fast in my chest. I bit my lip, my heart bursting with the knowledge of his words. He understood my qualms, and he had rectified them completely. “Xavier. For so long, I’ve regimented every element of my life. I’ve known what my next steps are going to be, every step along the way. And now—“
“Now I’m asking you to go with the flow a bit more. To have fun with your life. I think you need that,” Xavier whispered. He brought his fingers up toward my cheek, feeling the softness of my skin. I closed my hand, loving his touch on me.
And then, with my five-year plan ripped from my brain, with all caution tossing to the wind, I wielded my head forward with my eyes closed. I kissed Xavier, the only man I’d ever truly loved, with a sort of abandon that I, myself, could have never imagined. I brought my arms around his chest and rubbed at his thick, pulsing muscles. His lips met mine with such love, such passion, as well.
There, in the meeting room in the West Wing, it seemed that we sealed the deal: to trust in each other completely, to have fun with each other, despite everything, and to take hits, side by side.
As Xavier and I exited the meeting room together, grinning wildly at the press outside, I felt my head brimming with such happiness. Perhaps I’d been meant to meet Xavier my entire life, if only to bring a looseness, an acceptance to my life. Everything seemed like it was gleaming. “No comments today,” I told the press sweetly, as I parted ways with the man I loved and returned to my desk. Our eyes caught each other as we swept our different ways, and my cheeks tinted pink, with love and secrets.
Chapter Eight
That evening, I arrived home to find Rachel tucked into her favorite chair by the television, a book sprawled in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. She shook her head at me as I entered, eyeing me like a hawk.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“You’re glowing,” she whispered back.
She joined me at the counter then, watching as I poured a glass of wine for myself. My hands were still shaking from the events of the day. I couldn’t believe that Xavier had aligned us so perfectly in some strange, offbeat future—a future in which we could be together, side by side, no matter what was going on around us. A future in which I could still reach toward my dreams.
Rachel placed her hand on her hip, twirling her wine glass on the table beside her. “Do you want to go out?” she asked suddenly. “You can meet Michael, if you like. He’s going to be at this bar called—The Mousetrap, I think. He said there’s dancing.” Her eyebrows bobbed up and down on her face, making me laugh.
I nodded, knowing that this evening hadn’t been a part of my plans—that everything I’d really done in the past few months hadn’t been a part of my plans. “Sure. That sounds—great.” I landed on the final word with emphasis, wanting to assure her. This was what I really wanted. I wanted to go out into the world and explore it with my best friend.
We dressed quickly in dancing clothes and swept into the world, toward The Mousetrap. Rachel talked on and on in the cab about Michael—about how he had acted at work that day. “A bit nervous, when he entered. He told me he had a great time with me, that he’d love to do it again. And then. He told me about dancing. Isn’t it strange? I don’t know many men who actually suggest going dancing.” Rachel’s words were rapid, escalating from her mouth all too quickly. I laughed, sensing her excitement.
We arrived at the bar then. We entered and peered around us. The place was dark, a bit crusty, with graffiti on the walls. Twenty and young 30-somethings were dancing with great movements, tossing their arms into the air, holding their drinks high. The music bumped into my heart, and I smiled toward Rachel, mouthing the words: “Do you want to get a drink?”
We each got a gin and tonic from the bar, and we sat near the wall of the club, peering around for Michael.
“Just got a text!” Rachel jolted, holding her phone up like a beacon. “He said he’ll be here in five minutes!”
I paused, taking a drink from my gin. “It’s so good to see you happy,” I murmured. I knew she could hardly hear me over the music.
Rachel understood. “Thanks, Amanda. I want to see you happy, as well. And you
do—you seem like things are working out? What is going on, anyway—with everything at the White House?”
I bit my lip, knowing I needed to tell her. She was my best friend; she was the only person I could trust in this world, besides, of course, Xavier. “I can’t tell you too much, of course,” I began. The music pounded into our faces. What a strange, oddly private place to discuss an affair with a president, I thought abstractly. “You’ve been such a help the past few months, always listening to me as I complain. But I have to tell you. I think it’s almost over, that it’s finally working itself out.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “How is that?”
“Well. I suppose it isn’t working itself out so much as I’m simply meant to—to loosen up a bit. About my five-year plan. About everything. He’s understanding about my goals. And we’re just going to take it easy, have fun.” I nodded, affirmed in the words. My heart lightened with each moment.
A smile stretched across Rachel’s face. She placed her hand over my arm—a comfort. “I think that’s wonderful, Amanda,” she breathed. “Have fun with it. Live and learn.” She swallowed. I sensed that she didn’t have much to say—that her mind was lurking with thoughts of Michael. But finally, she said something else: “Please remember. I will always be your friend. You can count on me to tell me things. I can keep secrets.” She winked toward me, stretching a grin across my face.
Suddenly, before us stood a large man with broad shoulders, a goofy grin. He held two drinks in his hand, and he gestured one out for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes were bright toward him. She stood up beside him and greeted him with words I couldn’t hear over the driving beat. The man named Michael shook my hand, and the two young lovers swept out onto the dance floor, to understand each other better in this rushing world.
As I watched them, I stood up, knowing it was time for me to take my exit, that I had to find a different route. That Rachel didn’t need me just then. I spun around, allowing my pretty brunette hair to gloss down my back. I was gone from the club in an instant. As I rushed down the street, my hand held high in the air to hail a taxi, I could still hear the bumping beat of that club. It seemed that everything felt alive, in these moments. Everything was vital.
Chapter Nine
The following day, I sat at my office desk, speaking with a client in California—a bigwig guy who was willing to donate a good deal of money to the campaign. I couldn’t trust any of the campaign workers to handle him. He was all mine.
“I understand that, sir,” I said, smiling into the phone. “We would just really appreciate your support in this next election. Please remember. You have three children, and the president aims to completely recalibrate the education in this country. Please consider that you could be changing the lives of both your children and of millions of children, all over the world.”
The man thought on the other line for a moment. I knew that my words were strong, that they’d already convinced him. He sighed. “Yes. Okay. Put me down for one million,” he said gruffly. It was still early, there. I knew to catch him then—at 7 or 8 to our 10 or 11 in the morning. I was bright-eyed, even as he mumbled through his words.
“Thank you, sir. The president appreciates your service to the country,” I said—my normal phrase. I pumped my hand into the air, alerting the rest of the campaign team that I’d snagged one million dollars—no small sum in terms of campaign work.
I slammed the phone down, and everyone in the room cheered for me. I stood up and bowed to them—a bit silly, sure. They laughed, knowing that I was the only person they could trust to lead them to victory. On the other side of the room, Jason sat at his desk once more. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t even look up. I had no clear idea of what he was working on, truly. I wasn’t sure if the president had trusted him with anything after their previous meeting. Maybe he had a crossword puzzle?
Suddenly, the phone started ringing once more. I recognized the number immediately. “Hello, sir,” I answered, my voice lined with a hint of sensuality—something I knew the people around me couldn’t detect.
“Amanda. Could I see you in the Oval Office, please?” Xavier asked. He was nearly laughing. “I just saw one million signed onto the donation account. Good work.”
“Just a little thing we here in the campaign offices call ‘commitment,’ sir,” I laughed, teasing and flirting with him. “I’ll be right there.”
I tapped down the hallway, feeling light as air. It seemed that so much had fallen off my shoulders in the previous day. It was incredible. I knocked on the Oval Office door, and a Secret Service agent opened the door before leaving the office himself. He left Xavier and I alone in the well-lit, luxurious office. I brought my hands over my flat stomach and peered toward him, a bit of laughter on my cheeks.
“Hello, Amanda,” he said. “Please. Sit down.” He gestured with his strong, stoic arm toward the chair before his desk.
I leaned down, smiling at him in such a girlish way. I couldn’t stop myself.
Xavier brought his fingers together, lacing them. “I’d like to talk to you about Jason,” he said finally. His words were deep.
I nodded. “I noticed he disappeared yesterday,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Right. I told him to take the day to compose himself, to come back today fully ready to proceed with the campaign.” Xavier leaned forward in his chair and he tapped at the desk before me with his firm fingers. “Listen, Amanda. He won’t be bothering you anymore. Right now, I have three Secret Service agents—who are specifically trained in security—searching through your apartment to find the hidden cameras. If it’s there, they’ll find it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking about my apartment once more. My lonely, luxurious apartment. I swallowed. “Thank you, Xavier. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened yesterday during your meeting with—with Jason?” I remembered Jason’s face, so splotched with red, so withdrawn.
Xavier turned his head toward his desk. He paused before answering. “I am simply a very persuasive person, Amanda. You have to know that about me by now.”
I bit my lip. “You didn’t persuade me to do anything,” I told him, my voice stern.
“Well. You’re different from everyone else,” Xavier said, laughing. “Essentially, Jason didn’t want you to tell me anything about the photographs because he knew I could shut him down instantly, like that.” He snapped his fingers with such efficiency. “He knows that I’m a powerful force, someone who can ruin him.”
I swallowed, trying to imagine the conversation. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him that if he wanted to continue his political work at the White House—in any fucking capacity—then he had to forget about the photographs. He had to forget entirely about the affair, about blackmailing you, about all of it. If he didn’t want his entire life to be ruined—and to rot in jail for many, many decades—then he had to turn in the USB. He had to sign an affidavit declaring that these were the only copies of the photographs he had.” Xavier cleared his throat. “He seemed—generally upset. If you saw him yesterday, he went a bit crazy when he learned that I knew about his blackmailing. He started smacking his face, tugging at his shirt. He started having a sort of panic attack. He’s not strong, mentally. Not like you.”
I blushed, feeling entirely content in that moment. I couldn’t believe it had all worked out—that Xavier had threatened Jason with such force. I brimmed with rays of happiness. “So. It’s over?” I whispered.
Xavier nodded, bringing his hands out before him. “It appears to be over. It seems that you’re free of this terror. You can return to your home, to your life without fear.”
I felt a single tear stride down my cheek. I stood up, suddenly, and twirled to the other side of the desk. I flung my arms around Xavier, feeling his beating heart just a few layers of cloth beyond my own. I kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you, Xavier.” My salty tears met with his face.
He laughed for a moment, allowing me to pull back from
him. He rubbed at my back, at my thin waist. He shook his head. “It was my pleasure.”
I twirled a bit in his arms, sending him flirty looks. “Does this mean we’re in the clear?” I whispered to him. “I mean. Jason knows to stay away. Even your wife knows about us. We can—we can be with each other, in this sort of soft secret, for as long as we like?”
He nodded, smiling. “Baby. We can do whatever we like, now.”
I laughed and kissed him deeply in that moment. I felt the warmth emanating from his body, from his mind. He allowed me to sit on his lap, rubbing at his tense shoulders. He peered up at me, blinking his big, black eyes. “You don’t want to celebrate tonight, do you?”
I thought for a moment, picking a piece of lint from Xavier’s suit—as I’d seen Camille do, just a few days before. It was my privilege, then. Our intimacy was great. “I’d love to celebrate.”
“Good. Good,” Xavier answered. “Camille’s gone for the day, and we can have the whole place to ourselves. A few more hours of work. And we’ll meet back here.” He gestured around his office.
I kissed him once more before fleeing from his office, a sense of excitement, of zeal coursing through me. Every limb on my body felt so fluid, so light. “In a few hours, Mr. President,” I whispered to him before rushing from the Oval Office and back toward my office.
At my desk for the rest of the day, I peered around the room, unable to believe what was happening—and fully allowing the happiness of the moment to glide over me, unaffected by anything else. I knew that this daydream-y state was a fully-formed version of love. I’d heard about it, read about it. Certainly. But I had never experienced it so strongly. I heard a woman in the corner whisper to her friend. “God, Amanda looks happy. She looks like I did after Jeffrey and I banged the other day.”