Filthy Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  “Naw, I mean, once you get there. Where you flyin’ off to?”

  “DC.”

  He scoffs as he cuts off the car next to us without even glancing in his mirror. “What’s a pretty thing like you goin’ to that hellhole for?”

  “Work.”

  The edge in my tone silences him. I’m in no mood to be called a pretty thing. No one who knows who I am—or rather, who my husband is—would dare to say such a thing. Jude is charismatic and diplomatic, but he also lets it be known that his wife is hands—and eyes—off.

  I’ve always loved that feeling, that he and I belong to each other. He’s careful not to be alone with young female staffers, not just because it can create trouble, but because he wants me to know no one’s even trying to get with him and being turned down.

  The cab driver glides to a stop, unloads my luggage, pockets his tip, and heads away. I’m walking into the airport, suitcase in tow, when my phone buzzes with a text. When I see my husband’s name on the screen, I glare at it.

  Jude: WTF? You’re not scheduled to go anywhere.

  I want to ignore him, like he’s been ignoring my texts, but I’m no good at that. I always want to respond. I sit down on a bench inside O’Hare and start to text back and forth with Jude.

  Me: My schedule changed. And btw, you need to be home for the grocery delivery tomorrow at 10.

  Jude: I’m leaving day after tomorrow for 2 weeks. This is how you want to leave things? Really fucking nice, Reagan.

  Me: YOU LEFT THINGS THIS WAY, NOT ME. I’m not some doting wife who will just sit at home and wait for you.

  Jude: I’d never mistake you for doting, sweetheart.

  Me: Fuck you.

  Jude: I’m under a lot of pressure right now. I’d think you of all people would understand.

  Me: Shove that guilt trip up your ass, Jude. You shouldn’t have walked out on me.

  Jude: For fuck’s sake…I didn’t walk out on you. Stop being so melodramatic.

  Me: Stop being such an asshole.

  Jude: Come back home.

  Me: I’m going to DC for work.

  Jude: Reschedule it. I need you with me.

  Me: Says the guy who walked out and ignored all my calls and texts.

  Jude: JFC, Reagan, I needed to blow off steam.

  Me: Well, so do I. You don’t seem to get that I’m sacrificing for this campaign. I’m sidelining my work, having fundraising meetings and helping your dumb-ass communications girl every fucking day.

  Jude: Of course I get it, but this is for us. We’re in everything together.

  Me: Bullshit. You hopped in bed with Dominic Marino, knowing it would piss me off.

  Jude: I’m not giving you my balls to keep in your fucking purse, Reagan. You know who you married.

  Me: This is exactly why I’m not ready for a baby. You pawn off a bad decision by saying it’s just who you are, and you run away when things get hard. When I need you most.

  Jude: I didn’t fucking run away, stop saying that. I just needed a break. We talked about trying for kids three years into the marriage, and now it’s five years and you still aren’t ready. You always have an excuse.

  Me: My career is not an excuse, you prick. When we decided that, you weren’t planning to run for fucking governor. I’m so tired of you thinking I can just find a way to balance everything all the time. I don’t have a full staff like you do. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a baby into this chaotic life.

  Jude: Can we not do this over text? Come home.

  Me: I have to go check in for my flight.

  Jude: When are you coming back?

  Me: Does it matter? You’ll be gone anyway.

  I power down my phone and put it in my purse, standing up to head for the check-in counter. I’m so angry with Jude right now, but I’m also hurt.

  Mostly hurt, actually. I miss him so much when he’s gone, and then he pisses away hours of our time together brooding.

  I knew who I was marrying—he’s domineering, cocky, and strong. He’s also the hardest-working, most honorable man I’ve ever known.

  But lately, I find myself wondering if he really knew who he was marrying. He’s a smart man, so he probably did know. But did he think he could change me? Tame the one woman who wasn’t intimidated by him?

  We both communicate with people for a living, so why is it so hard for us to communicate with each other lately? Everything seems to devolve into a fight. The only place we completely mesh is in the bedroom, where Jude’s controlling nature works for both of us.

  Our bedroom is where I planned to spend most of today, making up for all the sex we’ve missed out on in the past three weeks. Instead, I’ll be sitting at O’Hare for the next two hours and staying in a hotel tonight, away from my husband.

  I’m not sorry, though. He needs a dose of his own medicine.

  4

  Jude

  “What the hell are you doing up so early?” my campaign manager Tyson asks as I climb onto the campaign bus and collapse in the booth. “We’re not pulling out for a few more hours.”

  I stare at him across the table, tapping my fingers against the Formica as I grit my teeth. I’m still reeling from the fact that Reagan took off, leaving for Washington without talking to me about it first. I had a few days to spend at home, naked and curled up with my wife in bed, but she went off half-cocked without thinking.

  “So, I take it your time off wasn’t good,” he says when I don’t answer his question.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him as I turn my face toward the window and stare into the parking lot as the sun starts to rise above the distant trees.

  “You better get your house in order.”

  My eyes snap to his and narrow as my jaw ticks. “My house has nothing to do with my campaign.”

  He leans back, sliding his arm across the back of the booth. “It has everything to do with this campaign. Your entire platform is family values, and if your marriage collapses, so does your chance to win the governor’s mansion.”

  “We’re fine, Tyson.” At least, I think we are. Married people fight all the time. Reagan and I are not different from anybody else, but somehow, we’re held to a higher standard, which is completely ridiculous.

  I go back to looking out the window as Tyson shuffles the stack of papers in front of him. I’m grumpy, on edge, and in no mood to hit the road to shake hands and rub elbows with some of the most corrupt people in the state. Tyson keeps staring at me, waiting for me to look at him, but I pretend I don’t notice although I can see him out of the corner of my eye. I curl my hand under my chin and close my eyes, wishing I could do the last few days over again.

  “We’re heading downstate for an NRA rally, followed by a dinner with a Veterans organization.”

  “Hmm,” I mumble, keeping my eyes closed and letting him talk. I’m taking everything in but not really paying attention. I already read over the itinerary for the week and know exactly where I’m going and when, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating everything to me.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He sighs but continues on, knowing I’m in no mood to actually form words until it’s absolutely necessary. “Tomorrow’s not as easy. We’re meeting with some voters who are on the fence. You need to be on point and win them over. Luckily for us, you’re polling really strong with the female constituents, so I think you have them in the bag. Just make sure you show up with a little more smile and a lot less anger, ’kay?”

  I open my eyes and stare at him. Tyson’s been a top aide of mine since right after I got elected to the Senate. He’s kind of a nerdy, awkward sort, but he’s hardworking and loyal. I had no doubt I was choosing the right man when I asked him to manage my campaign. This is the first time he’s had such a high-profile role, and we’re both learning as we go.

  “We’ll get a few drinks in you, and you’ll calm down.” He smiles and pushes his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.r />
  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I reach down, thankful for the distraction from Tyson. Reagan’s name flashes across the screen before going black. This is the first time she’s messaged me since she boarded her flight to DC. For a moment, I’m hopeful. Maybe she’s going to call a cease-fire, and we can put the entire shitty episode behind us. But as I slide my finger across the screen and take in her words, I know she’s digging her heels in deep.

  Reagan: Spoke to a DNC friend last night. Stay far away from Marino.

  I drop my phone onto the seat next to me, and Tyson makes a noise in the back of his throat. “What?” I ask, my voice dripping with anger.

  “I just sometimes worry about how that girl affects you.”

  “That girl is my wife,” I remind him. “The love of my life, actually. You should really watch how you talk about her.”

  “You should really watch how you treat her, then,” he replies and sets his lips in a firm line, staring at me over the rim of his glasses, judging me.

  His words don’t sit right with me. I played right into his hand on that one, but Tyson seems to know how to get under my skin and my opponents’. I let out a deep growl as I grab my phone and type a quick message to Reagan.

  Me: I’ll take your words under advisement.

  Not the most romantic message, but at least I didn’t tell her to go fuck herself like she did to me before she got on the flight. I couldn’t give her more than that. Her ability to walk away, even if I technically left the house first, wasn’t something I could just let go so easily. She knew what the few days’ break meant to me, having been on the campaign trail herself, but she didn’t care. Everything seemed to be about one-upping the other, no matter the cost.

  “I’m going to get some rest in the back.” I stand, taking my phone with me in case Reagan has more to say or I feel the need to tell her anything more. I want to call her so badly. Hearing her voice always helps put shit in perspective, but I can’t let what happened slide so easy.

  “I’ll wake you when we hit Springfield. Get some rest. You look like shit, and I need the golden boy in front of the crowd and working the room tonight.”

  I grumble under my breath as I head to the back of the campaign bus, closing myself away before collapsing on the bed. I never dreaded being on the road as much as I do this time. Being away from Reagan, especially when we’re fighting, is hell on earth. I close my eyes and sling my arm over my face, blocking out the faint glow of the sun and pray for enough hours to feel like myself again.

  * * *

  “Mr. Titan, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Mr. Carter, a major donor for the Illinois Republican political party, says as he tightens his grip around his wife’s waist. “She’s been excited to meet the new face of the party.”

  My smile’s soft as I take her hand in mine and brush my lips against her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

  She blushes right on cue, staring at me with dreamy eyes as she stands next to her husband who looks well over twenty years her senior. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she replies and licks her lips, looking like she wants more than a simple hello.

  Mr. Carter pulls her backward, staking his claim on the younger woman as her hand falls away from mine. “I was impressed with your speech earlier at the NRA rally. I think you’re just what we need to breathe new life and secure the future of the party for many years to come.”

  The man’s all business, but then, everyone is at these events. The evening is supposed to be about veterans and the issues they face, especially how I can help make their lives better. But politics always gets in the way. He’s dressed to the nines in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back, stinking of wealth.

  “Thank you, sir.” I dip my chin, keeping the fake smile that already has my cheeks aching securely plastered on my face. “We look forward to doing everything possible to help the veterans and the Republican Party in the great state of Illinois.”

  “Our contribution will be large,” Mrs. Carter says, not waiting for her husband to respond to my statement. “Almost obscene.” She grins as she rakes her eyes up my body, not trying to hide her desire in front of her husband.

  “My wife and I appreciate your support.” I throw that in, reminding her I’m a married man, but she’s a married woman and that fact hasn’t stopped her from undressing me with her eyes.

  “Where is Mrs. Titan?” Mr. Carter asks, glancing around the room.

  “She’s on business in DC,” I tell him as I wish Tyson would find his way to me and pull me away from the Carters. Knowing Tyson, he’s leaving me be, praying like hell that the amount of the Carters donation will be in the high six figures.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Titan. Marriage isn’t easy, and marrying a liberal has to cause major problems.”

  “It’s not that difficult. We don’t discuss politics.”

  It’s a lie, but the words sound good rolling off my tongue. The very foundation of our relationship is built on politics and our down and dirty race so many years ago.

  “Smart man,” Mr. Carter says as Tyson finally weaves his way through the crowd to come and stand at my side.

  “Ah,” Tyson says, placing his hand on Mr. Carter’s shoulder, deflecting some of the attention away from me. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Fred.”

  “We were just talking with your man here.” Carter eyes me like I’m property.

  I tuck my hand into my pocket, rubbing a stone Reagan had given me to keep my anger in check. She said it helped her in tight situations and thought it would be a useful tool for me on the campaign trail this season. Standing in a crowd of veterans, but having to schmooze with the wealthy instead, didn’t sit right with me. There was no greater cause, not even a contribution, that meant more to me than my fellow Marines.

  “Why don’t we get a drink?” Tyson tells him, ticking his head toward the bar.

  “That would be grand.” Carter smiles, giving me a quick nod before strolling away with Tyson.

  For a moment, I think I’m in the clear, but Mrs. Carter doesn’t follow. She moves forward, closing the space between us, and touches my arm. “It’s a shame your wife couldn’t be here.”

  “It is, ma’am,” I say, sliding my arm out from under her hand and dipping my head. “I’m sorry to run off, but I need to prepare for my speech.”

  “Of course. Of course.” She laughs and pushes her long blond hair behind her shoulder. “We’ll talk later I’m sure.”

  Not if I can help it, but I nod in agreement before heading to the other side of the ballroom and away from Mrs. Carter. She’s nothing but trouble. I’ve known too many of her kind not to know that she isn’t interested in my political platform. She wants a piece of the man, the power I could potentially wield. She doesn’t give a damn about veterans or my agenda; she wants to get in my pants, and I’m having none of that.

  Even on our worst day, when I’m so angry with Reagan I want to throw her against the wall and fuck her into compliance, there’s no other woman for me. No one else could ever fill her shoes. She may be a pain in my ass at times, but I know I’m not easy either. We work. We’re too much alike and yet completely different that we’re a perfect match.

  I’m sick of being angry with her. I’m tired of fighting. All I want is my wife by my side, my best friend in this fight, having my back like she always has. I type her a quick message before jamming the phone back into my pocket, praying it’ll be enough to at least call a truce.

  5

  Reagan

  I sip my water, pretending to pay attention to Andre Walker as he bitches about the House Majority Leader. It’s not that I don’t get it—the majority leader is a tenacious woman. But her party has the upper hand right now, and she’s just wielding the power any good leader would in her position.

  And also, nonstop bitching is my pet peeve. It accomplishes nothing.

  “Does she not realize she has to build bridges?” Andre’s eyes bulge with his question. “I mean, we can
make her life difficult.”

  This dinner was supposed to be a chance to discuss the Lancet Foundation’s goals for this quarter, but Andre spent the entire two hours talking about old times and mining for information about my father.

  I don’t talk to my father much these days, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell Andre about it. He’s never been a close friend of mine.

  “I need to hit the loo.” Andre grins at his feigned British accent, picking up his glass to drain the last of the beer in it as he stands. “Be right back.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I exhale deeply, letting my shoulders sag. It’s been a very long two hours of trying to get Andre to focus on the reason I wanted to talk to him. I’ve also got Jude on my mind. I miss him terribly, and I’m starting to wonder why I gave up all my time with him on this rare campaign break just to prove a point.

  Showing your partner you’re stubborn doesn’t strengthen your marriage, our marriage counselor, Melissa, has told us both time and again. It’s not about winning a fight. It’s about giving and taking to keep the harmony.

  Our harmony lately has sounded a lot like 80’s hair bands. I don’t want to be a woman who resents my husband’s career. I’m exceedingly proud of Jude and everything he’s done and will do as governor.

  He’s fighting a tough battle for governor against a woman who founded a highly successful tech company. She has unlimited resources to put into her campaign. Jude has to earn a victory by hitting the ground running in every last one of Illinois’ 102 counties. Many counties, like Cook, have to be visited regularly.

  And he’s also still serving as senator. Jude is under a lot of stress, and I know in my heart that I made it worse instead of better by leaving.

  I take out my wallet, pulling out my company Amex to pay the dinner bill. When I check my phone as I wait, my heart thuds happily at the message I see from Jude.

  Let’s work this out, Ray. I’m catching a late fight to DC tonight, and I’ll meet you in your room later. Getting the hotel details from Julia.