The demands of his job was wearing on him.
I met his blood-shot brown eyes, "I asked you, Agent? I'm sorry, I did not catch your name."
He swallowed hard, "Uh, Agent Miller, ma'am. Steven Miller."
Miller wanted to look away from me, but knew he didn't dare. I nodded, "Agent Miller, I think I asked you if you had something you would like to say to Ms. Witmer about her employment with me."
Miller's Adam’s apple dipped down slowly again. Glancing at his cohorts who were slowly abandoning him. "No, No Senator Avondale. I, uh." He looked down at the floor, "I was just joking." He half whispered it.
"Look at me when you speak to me." My tone was firm and louder.
His head shot up, pupils dilating as fear slipped slowly in. I looked over at his fellow agents. "I highly suggest you keep your comments to yourself Agent Miller." I smiled genuinely even though none of the wide-eyed agents would ever know it, "From the looks of it Ms. Witmer was a far better agent in her short time then you will be at the end of your twenty years." I glanced at Kit, painfully trying to avoid the situation, "That is why I hired her as my personal assistant, not my secretary." I took one small step out of Miller's space, "I also recommend you stop gnawing at your fingernails like a starving rat. Hands are the first thing most terrorists and criminals look at to detect weakness, and by the looks of it." I raised an eyebrow at Miller.
He blushed a deep purple, hiding his hands behind his back. I turned my attention to the remaining group of agents. "The rest of you, be mindful of what you say about Ms. Witmer. I tend to hear everything and I would hate to hear how some of you have been reassigned to the retirement unit." I gave them all hard stares with my genuine smile. The retirement unit was one of the worst details imaginable, providing protection for former presidents and other retired politicians. It was like working security at a retirement home, but far worse.
When I saw the wide eyes of apology and acknowledgment, I was satisfied. "You all enjoy the rest of the evening from the kitchen." I turned to walk back to Kit.
My hand fell to her elbow, my thumb running over her skin to calm her down as I walked us back to the ballroom.
"Claire, you didn't need to do that."
I looked in her eyes, "Yes I did."
She held my eyes, "You don't need to fight my battles. I don't want you to." Kit was frustrated, trying to keep her temper in check. One that was not directed at me, but the fact I was brought into a situation she had wanted to leave alone.
Right at the entrance to the ballroom, I turned to face her, tapping her wrist to get her full attention, "Kit, your battles are my battles. I will never leave you alone." I peered over my shoulder at the group of embarrassed agents, "I will not allow sub-par agents and humans think they can speak on things that they have no clue about." I returned to the hazel eyes, now looking softer, "I will always stand up for and next to the woman I love." I smiled, desperate to hug her, kiss her, anything, but the hotel was far too busy and I knew I would get carried away with her. "I promise you, Kit. I will always be here for you."
Kit let out a soft sigh, some of the frustration leaving with the air she expelled. I could see she still struggled with the past and the random moments when it would rear its ugly head. "You are better than them, Caitriona. Always have been and always will be." I ran my hand back up her arm, enjoying the short moment I could run a hand over her soft skin, "Now, let's go enjoy one of the best free steak dinners you will ever have."
Kit finally smiled, and as I turned, she spoke. "It's just been a long time since anyone cared enough to stick with me."
I winked at her, "I hate to tell you, but you're going to be stuck with me whether you like it or not." I waved towards the entrance, "Come, ladies first, again." My hand fell to the small of her back as she walked in front of me. If anyone saw the intimate gesture, or questioned it, I didn't care. Gossip was the least of my worries.
The sheer size of the pomp and circumstance was bordering on overwhelming and unnecessary. The ballroom was decorated in a way that gave it the feel of an elegant dinner straight out of the movies. White and crystal being the apparent theme. Waiters and waitresses dressed in white moved throughout the tables as if they were floating, pouring water or delivering wine and cocktails to the throngs of men and women sitting at the endless fields of dinner tables. All of them dressed in gorgeous gowns and tuxedos. I sucked in heavily perfumed air, feeling I did not belong here, that I should be hiding in the kitchen or in the servers break room like I had done for years in the agency.
I involuntarily moved closer to Claire, brushing my arm against hers. Shivering at the warm contact, I issued a quiet apology. Claire smiled, saying nothing. Only pressing her hand against the small of my back again, it was her way of trying to calm me down. "Our table is this way. We will be sitting with the Senator of Michigan and the French Ambassador, the rest will be rich business entrepreneurs." Claire spoke softly as we walked closer to the table. A table where shiny, polished people sat, laughing and carrying on without a care in the world. Wealth allowed you that freedom. Freedom to not care about the little things in life.
Claire slid my chair out, waiting for me to sit before she took her own. The moment she sat down, all eyes turned towards her. The Senator of Michigan, a lovely older woman who had a kind reputation, greeted Claire with a half hug and a kiss on the cheek. Claire turned to introduce me, "Keri, I would like you to meet Kit Witmer. My right hand woman."
The Senator held out her hand to me, giving me a firm handshake, "Lovely to meet you Kit. You have quite the task before you being Claire's right hand." She grinned, "The good Senator here puts the rest of us to shame, the amount of work she is doing on and off duty."
I smiled, "I think I am up to the task of handling her...busy schedule and incessant need to work every day." Claire threw a sly look as Keri returned to idle chit-chat. I knew she would catch my handling comment as being a bit flirty, but I couldn't resist. Claire standing up for me and tearing down the asshole agents had meant more than she could ever know. I was not lying when I told her not many had cared enough to stand with me after the fall out, it was the reason why I gave up and spiraled out of control and into a solitary life.
I never thought I would find anyone who would care or stand up for me regardless of the truth behind the past. It filled my heart and made me love her a little more and want her a little more. I wanted her to know it and I was slowly giving up on caring we were in the epitome of public eyes. It would be a long two hours without touching her or kissing her, so gentle flirting would have to do for now.
I bit my bottom lip to hold in the smirk as Claire returned to talking budgets with Keri. I scanned around the rest of the table and settled on the French Ambassador, chatting lightly with the man sitting to his right. His heavy French accent gave him away and when he glanced at me and then at Claire, I instantly felt he was slimy and shifty. My instincts told me to keep eyes on him, especially the way he was now eyeballing Claire, it made me uncomfortable and horribly jealous. He was a typical sleaze. Dressed nicely in a high-end tuxedo, perfect skin with a touch of makeup to cover whatever he felt he had to hide from the world. The Ambassador was plain-looking with a large nose and hazel eyes. I knew he was in his early forties and had recently been in the news for his extra marital affairs that was now boiling into one of the largest and most expensive divorce battles to date.
He was a pig in a tuxedo and I did not like the way he had Claire in his sights.
"What's it like working for Senator Avondale? Kit, that was your name right? I only caught snippets of your introduction." A woman's soft voice, tinged with a hint of valley girl and baby doll, asked the question, ending the silent analysis of the Frenchman. I turned to my right, coming face to face with a bleach blonde woman in her forties, saran wrapped into a Herve Leger dress, blinking blankly at me. It was obvious her age was on pause with the excessive amount of plastic surgery that was evidently stretched all over her face. Late, late for
ties was a rough estimate based on the tiny liver spots beginning to dot around the woman's thin hands.
I smiled, keeping the Frenchman in my peripheral. "It is Kit, you heard right, and working for Senator Avondale is interesting to say the least." I cocked my head at an angle to hear the Frenchman better as he ordered a drink for himself and Claire. Making my jaw begin to twitch on its own, I gritted my teeth through the smile, "Pardon my manners, I didn't ask your name?"
The blonde smiled, flashing bleached teeth as she poked out her hand in that limp wristed way I despised, "Mrs. Heather Deveraux. My husband, who is mingling over gin and tonics at the bar is Edward Deveraux. He owns Deveraux Medical Supply. That big fancy company that supplies hospitals and medical research facilities with all sorts of equipment and what not."
I quickly shook Heathers limp hand, wiping away the moisture from her sweaty hand on the edge of the tablecloth. Her voice was grating and ear piercing when it tried to enunciate certain vowels. I went to answer her initial question in further detail, hoping to get that voice to take a break, but it was hopeless. Heather went on to blather about her dashing Eddie and toss out how much everything she was wearing cost. I kept a fake smile on my face and tuned her out, tuning back into the Frenchman who now had shifted his chair to sit right next to Claire. I leaned back in mine to be closer to Claire while nodding intermittently at Heather.
I drowned Heather completely out when I head Claire say, "Oh no thank you, Jean-Luc. I am not drinking this evening." I could smell the whiskey from where I was, triggering two things. First my irritation at his bold attempt to loosen Claire up, second was my long ignored cravings for booze. Cravings that rushed to the surface like a rocket, making my mouth water at the exact taste I knew was in that small glass tumbler in front of Claire.
I gripped the edge of my wooden chair, trying to funnel out the sudden craving that I knew was based on my rise in emotions. I felt the wood creak under the pressure of my grip as Heather babbled on. I was about to cut her off to politely tell her I did not give two fucks about her winter home next to George Clooney’s in Italy, when she finally said something of interest.
"Eddie came home from his one meeting last week at the justice place down by the white house? Brought me a new Louis Vuitton carry on. He told me it was a just cause gift. Just cause he had a long frustrating day meeting with this group of Beekeepers. Eddie was trying to get a new contract bid with this group for new equipment, but he said they kept asking all sorts of silly questions about his contract with a place over in Geneva." Heather paused, taking a large sip from her champagne glass. "Eddie was really upset he couldn't get them to look at his brand new catalog. One I helped design, by the way."
I gently interrupted the woman, "Did Eddie tell you what those silly questions were?" I knew exactly who she was talking about and I wanted to plug the woman for as much information as she could give me, I watched as Heather looked up at the ceiling, like a dog looking at you for a treat. Blank but hopeful.
Heather looked back at me after far too long of ceiling staring and smiled brightly, "I remember. Eddie said they asked about if he had ever been inside the Geneva place, if he knew the architecture and who had he worked with when working out the supply contracts. Eddie complained they were more interested in the who, what’s and where's of that place than him and his dumb catalogs. He told me he ended up storming out of there and thinking about ending his contract with Geneva." Heather shrugged, "He's been having some hard luck with getting new contracts when people find out who he supplies for lately." Heather then giggled, sipping again from her glass, "Oh well, at least I got a new bag out of his bad day."
I smiled, trying not to grimace. I was astonished that a woman in her forties was this flaky and ditzy. I thanked Heather as she squealed suddenly leaving the table at the sight of who she thought was the first lady.
I turned in my seat, shaking my head slowly and wishing I could have that drink. Heather had rubbed my nerves even rawer than this evening already had. I went to nudge Claire to tell her what Heather just dumped out of her mouth, and turned to see the Frenchman sitting even closer to Claire. Obviously trying his best to get her to drink the whiskey and agree to what I could pick up was a lunch meeting for next week.
"Oh but Claire. You promised me a few weeks ago, that when you returned to the city, you would try to fit me into your schedule." He leaned closer to her, "Here you are, back in the city and I will not take no for an answer."
His thick accent made him sound like a cartoon character from my youth. The accent seemed almost forced at times, especially when he was laying it hard on Claire. Claire sat rigid, "Jean-Luc, my schedule is still very full. I have meetings everyday next week and through the end of the month. After that, I have multiple trips to visit my campaign offices and then to check on a few of the charities I support." She gently pushed the cold glass of whiskey away from her. "Maybe in a couple of weeks I can see what I can do for you."
My brow furrowed on its own in irritation. She was humoring the idiot, leading him on and he was taking the crumb and running with it. His hand moved to sit on top of hers as it sat on the tablecloth, shifting his body even closer. "Ah Claire. I know you cannot resist me. I knew we were meant to be when I first saw you at the Geounion Conference in Paris last year. You do remember that night? You and I had far too much wine on the roof top at dinner." Jean-Luc leaned closer, whispering in her ear.
My jealousy spiked hard and fast, I leaned across the table, my shoulder meeting Claire's as my hand jutted out into the man’s face. In a loud, firm, but friendly voice, I spoke, "Hi there, I don't think we have been introduced. I am Kit Witmer, Senator Avondale's assistant. Any lunch meetings are to be scheduled through me." I glanced at Claire, giving her a look.
I was irritated with her too, for even leading this asshat on in the slightest. Jean-Luc smirked, raising his eyebrow in the cockiest way at Claire, silently asking who the hell I was and why was I interjecting in his play for her. I held my hand out until he leaned away from Claire, waving me off with a flick of his wrist from the hand he finally removed from hers. "I do not shake hands, too many germs passed that way."
I dropped my hand, letting it land on Claire's knee under the table, squeezing it in a way that told her I was getting pissed off and that she was mine. "Really? Because it seems you love sharing your germs with Senator Avondale." I lowered my voice, but did not hide my firm distaste for this man. I grabbed the glass of whiskey that was tormenting me as much as the pig of a man in front of me. Setting it further away from us, I could still smell it, but it was less pungent, helping to remove some the edge off my craving.
I returned my stare to bore deep into the Frenchman, hoping he would get the point and get it soon. He was staring at Claire with a shitty grin on his face, "Can you tell your little guard poodle to back down and fetch us some fresh cocktails?"
He was about to get punched, I removed my hand from Claire's knee, curling it into a fist to make the journey to his pretentious French nose quick and very painful. Claire's hand quickly covered mine before it reached the edge of the table, shoving it back down to rest on her knee. My hard stare was redirected at her, she was looking at Jean-Luc with a smile. "Kit is far from a poodle." She pressed her hand against mine, getting my hand to relax and open up, her skin warming and calming me down. "Email me Jean-Luc and I will look at my schedule as I promised."
My jaw clenched and I yanked my hand out from under hers, I was pissed off now. She was giving this shit too much. Jean-Luc took it as a small victory and gave me a shit-eating smirk, "That is all I am asking for, Mon Cherie." He stood up, fixing his bow tie, "I must make my rounds, say hello to a few others before dinner is served." He bent and kissed Claire on the cheek, lingering a longer than was polite before whispering something in her ear that made her blush and look at the tabletop. He straightened up, winked at me and walked away.
My temper won out, I stood up from my chair quickly, almost knocking it to the floor, mum
bling, "What the fuck." I then tried my best not to bulldoze out of the room. I needed air, fresh air before I chugged that glass of brown, cold, tempting whiskey, then chased down Frenchy to break his damn nose twice.
I heard Claire call quietly after me, but I didn't stop or look back at her. I kept walking, stopping a waiter mid step to ask where a bathroom or a side exit was so I could smoke a cigarette. I was pointed towards a side door right outside the entrance to the ballroom.
Puffs of smoke hung in the air as tuxes and dresses exited and re-entered the hotel. I strode to the door, pushing it open with an angry shove. The cold air hitting me like a slap across my bare skin, it felt great and I took long deep breaths of it. I was alone in the alley. The last smoker had gone inside the second I came out.
I paced up and down the alley, my heels scraping against the asphalt and road salt thrown haphazardly around the doorway. My jealousy wouldn't let go. I couldn't claim Claire as mine in this public setting, and kicking a foreign dignitary in the balls under a table would be highly frowned upon.
I held my hands on my hips, looking down the end of the alley at the traffic sloshing past. I was trying to let the cold air cool down my temper and it was working slowly.
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