by Alix Labelle
With a sharp sigh, Bruce reached across his desk and threw her feet off of it. “Well, how do you suggest we slow Putin down? He’s got Ukraine and the Czech Republic eating out of his ass. Are you trying to start World War III?”
Anita could feel the frustration boiling up from deep in her gut. She couldn’t stand the fact that Bruce was right, nor could she stomach that she had nothing to say to him, no real answers to end this conversation. She slammed her fist on the desk, ignoring the subsequent ache in her fingers. “This resolution is World War III!”
Bruce shifted his MacBook aside and leaned towards her, standing his ground. “Well, don’t yell at me. I didn’t start it!”
Anita sucked in a deep breath and looked away from him. She couldn’t deny the fact that she wanted nothing more than to jump across that table and lay on a passionate kiss on the bastard, nor could she deny the vibes coming from him, or the distinct gut feeling that he felt the same way. Unfortunately, the sexual tension was more than a little distracting, and she was still reeling from the moment he completely rejected her after he’d already gotten her on her back in her living room without her panties off.
She swung around in his chair and stood, crossing the room to stare outside of the window. The protest had traveled south to the Nation’s capital, and a throng of people with signs, painted faces, and specially designed t-shirts gathered just across the street from the White House. As Anita stood there, gazing down at them, her mind turning with worry and her stomach churning in anxiety, she couldn’t help but to feel like they were talking right to her.
“Why haven’t you helped us?” they seemed to say.
“You are letting this nation fall apart…” she mumbled.
“What?”
It wasn’t until Bruce uttered his response that she even realized she had said that out loud. “Nothing,” she turned back to face him.
“Never mind then,” he returned his gaze to his laptop.
Anita took a deep breath, refraining from rolling her eyes just this once.
“We need to find a way to threaten the Palestinians without making the Israelis think we’re trying to put more military in their territory.”
“But a military presence is exactly what we need. Putin needs a check to his power. We need a wall,” she said.
Bruce folded his arms. “Israel is the wall. Look, no one in the Middle East is afraid of us anymore. An intimidation factor is what we need. If you ask me, running this resolution in the first place and getting it to pass will tell Israel and the rest of the Middle East what side to get on.”
“But if we exploit them, we will never hear the end of it.”
“But that doesn’t matter yet.” Bruce shut his laptop. “Look, I have a meeting to get to, do you mind?”
Anita set her jaw. “What meeting?”
When Bruce didn’t respond, she added, “You’re just trying to cut this conversation short, because you know that if we get a chance to finish it, we will move on to other things. And if we move on to other things, I might be so inclined as to ask you why you have a tiger, or whatever that was.”
“Well, I could just as easily ask what you were doing in my backyard.”
Anita flexed her jaw, curling her toes. “I already told you. I was going through the notes and had an idea I wanted to tell you. When I saw your lights on out back, I thought I could just go around there.”
He nodded slowly with an infuriating expression on his face that indicated he didn’t believe a word she said. With his hand on the doorknob, he glanced pointedly at her shoes, then at her. “You should probably get out while you’re still ahead.”
With that, he opened his door and walked out.
Anita had no choice but to follow him.
Chapter Two
Anita yanked open the glass door and stepped over the threshold into the strikingly cold air that filled her favorite gym. After an infuriating walk home, all she could think about was the resolution. Every step she took was toward another self-argument. Every huff of breath only filled her with more frustration. And yet, if she managed to get her mind off of the Russia and Israel situation, equally annoying thoughts of Bruce rushed in to take its place. She had barely worked her way through a hastily prepared dinner of broccoli and chicken when she realized that if she was going to get any sleep that night, she needed to head to the gym and work some of that steam off.
So there she was, heading right for her trainer only thirty minutes after she called in a session. He stood in the center of the mat, waiting for her, his toned body clad in black and his arms crossed in anticipation.
A smile stretched across Anita’s face as she stepped onto the much softer surface of the mat and let her small backpack fall to the ground next to her.
“I’m surprised you called,” he watched her unlace her shoes.
“Yeah, let’s just get started,” she joined him on the center of the mat.
“Tough day at work?” he asked with a raised brow.
She nodded as she threw the first punch.
He dogged it, and in the same motion, came in with a fist to her side.
She grunted, doubling over.
“Too eager,” he patted her on her back.
She nodded, but shifted her feet ever so slightly to the right, grabbed his hand, twisted it backwards and heaved him over her shoulder. His back hit the mat with a thump. With a huff, he chuckled and said, “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He then jumped up, hitting his stance of defense.
Anita mirrored his pose, keeping her eyes trained on him. For the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about Russia or Israel, or freaking Bruce. She was thinking about getting her trainer on his back again. However, as she continued to fight him, throwing punch after punch, squeezing out of holds and dodging his hits, her movements became more and more sluggish. She found herself on her back more often than not, and eventually the fight became nothing but defensive. As she survived mainly on dodging punches, she unwittingly began to ignore whatever it was he was saying, failing over and over again. Her heart pounded against her chest, her pulse thumping noisily in her ears. Her lungs felt like over-inflated balloons pressing against her ribcage, yet threatening to burst all at once.
She was failing.
She was losing.
And with that, her trainer flipped her over his shoulder. She yelped as she flew through the air, her stomach lurching with the surprise. Her back slammed against the mat, all of her bones ringing with the impact. She gasped for breath. “I think I’m done here.”
The trainer wasn't one to complain about her cutting things short, so he let her walk out.
Anita doubled over as soon as she had left the gym, her stomach still turning from that last fall. Her mouth flooded with saliva. She was almost certain her dinner was trying to fight its way out of her body, but after not so much as a burp, she gave up and kept walking.
She had barely been moving for five minutes when she felt a vibration in her backpack. She swung it around to answer her phone. A smile played on the edges of her lips when she realized it was her best friend Jori who was calling. “Oh thank God. I think I’m about to explode.”
“Uh yeah?” Jori replied in that overly excited voice of hers. “I’ve been stuck in press conferences all day. The Times picked up your convoy story and now the whole world wants answers.”
Anita blinked twice. “Yeah, well think of how bad it would be if you actually had to be one of the people coming up with the answers.” Her voice sounded much more hostile than she had meant it to.
There was a short pause on the other end of the line, before, “Yeah, well at least you’re not getting blamed for decisions you don’t even have a say in.”
Anita glowered at this. “That happens to me every day.”
“This is not a pissing contest, Rhodes. Everyone is dealing with shit right now.”
Anita bit her lip. She was approaching another throng of protesters. Judging from the fact that the
majority of them looked like they had just walked out of a crack house and were probably concealing all kinds of weapons, she figured they wouldn’t exactly appreciate her blown-out ponytail and Victoria’s Secret active wear, so she switched to the other side of the walkway and kept talking. “Okay, so why did you call me?” she raised her voice so that she could be heard over the throng of people.
Jori sighed. “I was just wondering if you got an update on Bruce and his pet tiger.”
Anita shook her head before adding a curt, “No.”
“So what the hell? What is he even saying?”
She ducked her head in frustration. “Nothing. He won’t even answer my questions!”
“Hmm…” Jori murmured. “Then it’s probably not a pet tiger.”
“What do you mean? That’s the only explanation,” Anita argued as she jabbed her key into the lock on her front door.
“But it’s not the correct one. If it was, he would have just told you that.”
“So if it wasn’t a tiger, what the hell was it?”
“Honey, I don’t know.”
Anita dropped her bag on the ground and climbed onto her couch, pressing the phone against her ear and hugging her knees with her free arm.
“Okay, it’s obvious that you are extremely stressed, hun. Come out with me this weekend. You clearly need to get your head right.”
“If by that, you mean that I need to have sex, then I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass.”
Jori scoffed. “And what are you gonna be doing when you don’t go?” she asked. “Sitting around thinking about what Bruce is doing at the session?”
Anita glowered out of her window into the dark night as she considered her offer. Then, with her final answer in mind, she stood up and made her way to her bathroom, sighing dramatically.
“Ugh, whatever. Fine.”
Chapter Three
“I know it sounds crazy.” Anita tried to sound cautious, yet calming. She stood her ground in front of President Holland even though the face he made suggested her had just eaten a rancid hamster.
“You’re right about that. It’s absolutely mad!” he barely let her finish. “Harrington.” He turned his attention to Bruce.
Anita knew she had lost the floor for the rest of this conversation, and that if she wanted it back, she was going to have to fight for it.
“Did you even read this nonsense?” he jabbed his pointer finger into the stack of papers that made up the proposed resolution.
Bruce gave him a curt nod, but otherwise, no other sign of distress. “Yes. I assisted in writing it.”
The president released a deep, heavy breath and stood up. As he rounded the table, he faced Bruce. “So, this is what you want? This is what you’re willing to stand in front of 112 nations and present? Are you kidding me?”
Anita had to focus almost all of her energy on trying not to roll her eyes. She didn’t appreciate the fact that Holland acted more often than not like a father instead of a president. “With all due respect, Mr. President, did you even read the resolution?”
Holland glowered at him. “What kind of question is that? It is because I read it that I am disputing it.”
“The resolution is foolproof.” Bruce’s assertive voice filled the room.
Anita couldn’t help but be impressed by it.
“Really? Giving Israel weapons is foolproof?”
“We cannot put troops on their soil. They will see that, not only as aggressively disrespectful, but also as the first phase of some sort of second Middle Eastern bloc,” Bruce argued.
“But the UN will never agree to donating weapons.” Holland practically hissed this.
“We are not donating anything!” Anita yelled.
It was as the two men turned to look at her that she realized she had made a mistake. She sounded almost shrill. After clearing her throat, she added, “It is an investment into our future. If the UN puts troops on Israel’s soil, they will see this as us disrespecting their sovereignty, but if we simply give them resources, they will feel more like an ally, and we will not have to worry about them seeking help from anyone else to drive us out.”
“And what if they use these weapons against us?” Holland asked.
Bruce smirked. The expression was so inappropriate, given the context, that Anita and Holland both turned to stare at him. “You see the conversation we’re having right now?” he asked.
Anita reveled at his confidence. It profoundly bothered her that he could be so sure of himself when he had been on the job for less than two weeks and was already drafting controversial literature. Where did he get off thinking that he could talk to the president like that? Her president, the one who she had stayed up late with in campaigning offices trying to win him the House; the one she had had jovial beers with after hours; the one whose wife she used to get her nails done with; the one who not only promised her job, but reassured her of her capacity to do it. Where did he get off literally falling from the heavens and thinking that he could then control her president? She didn’t care that they were on the same side. She wanted her goddamn spot back. “Is this funny to you?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, as if surprised that she was turning on him like this. “No, but it is ironic.”
Holland shifted his feet, cocking his head at him, his facial features twisted into a confused expression. “Please, enlighten me.” His voice was soaked in sarcasm.
“If we sent troops to the Middle East, from all countries, the Israelis would be having the same conversation we are. They would be questioning our motives and worried about the future. And based on how many times they have been screwed over in the past, I can tell you that they would not make favorable decisions.” Bruce answered.
The two of them stared at Holland, their eyes examining his every movement, from the shifting of his gaze to the purse of his lips. That vein on the side of his forehead was engorged, as if his heart was working overtime to get enough blood to his brain so that he could make this potentially history-altering decision. He stared down at his $4000 shoes, his fists curled so tightly together that his knuckles had turned white.
Anita could see that he was deathly afraid of what he was about to do, but nevertheless, he looked up to the both of them and said, “Fine, Rhodes and Harrington. But if you don’t sell this at the summit, I’ll have your heads.”
Chapter Four
It was as Anita was packing up her briefcase for the end of the day that she snapped. As she danced around her office, discarding unimportant notes from the resolution, her heart still pounding in her chest from that heated conversation, her head still pounding from that headache that had lodged itself in the back of her mind along with all of her worries for the future, that she decided she wasn’t going to let this go. As she stood with her bare feet on the fluffy Persian rug in the center off her office, she couldn’t think of anything but the sight of that tiger in Bruce’s backyard, those eyes that glared at her with surprise, but, more importantly, with recognition. Those were the same eyes that stared down the president in one of his most vulnerable moments, the eyes that questioned his judgment like they were old friends and not in the beginnings of a high stakes working relationship.
Anita furrowed her brow as she remembered how Holland had shifted his gaze to Bruce more often than not; how he looked for his approval every time she opened her mouth, as if her judgment wasn’t enough, as if she didn’t graduate from Northwestern University at the tender age of 19 and then go on to gain a law degree from Yale; as if her father didn’t have a seat on the Supreme Court; as if he hadn’t hand-picked her himself to be his Secretary of Defense only two years ago. So what changed?
Bruce. That’s what.
Something about the way he could so easily manipulate Holland with his words. He seemed to always take the right risks at the right time. But, her concerns extended beyond that. His influence was almost insidious, and he was impossibly mysterious. His every word felt like it was meant to hide a hun
dred others.
So what the hell was he hiding?
With that thought, Anita got off of her rug, slipped her heels back on, grabbed her suitcase, and charged down the hallway to his office. She was beyond fed up with all of this, so when she finally got to the door they had only just marked with his name, she stormed right in. “What the fuck are you hiding?” she demanded.
Bruce, who was sitting behind his desk, staring intently at his laptop looked up at her with eyes wide with surprise. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” he replied in an infuriatingly calm voice.
Anita slammed the door behind her and pressed farther into his office. “Don’t give me that, Harrington. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Bruce scoffed, gently closing his laptop and standing up to face her. “If this has anything to do with your little drunken visit to my house, then I have already told you, I have nothing to say.”
Anita winced. “How did you know I was drunk?”
Bruce flinched, looking away from her and down at his shoes. She got the distinct feeling that he didn’t even know how he knew that she was drunk. “Because I remember,” he told her in an unsure voice.
Anita’s briefcase slid from her fingers, slamming onto the ground. Her mind was falling into the obvious, yet impossible answer far too fast. “But you weren’t there,”
He glowered at her. “I was.”
Anita knew he said that only because he had to. “Where? The lights in front of your house were off.” She remembered that moment as if it had only just passed. She could practically taste the alcohol in her mouth, could feel the cold November night breeze.
Bruce stepped around his desk. Anita could see that he had begun to relax a little, for his jacket hung on the seat in front of his desk, his tie had been loosened, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone. Anita tried not to get sidetracked about the fact that she could see his chest hairs through his shirt, and it was more than a little bit alluring. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”