Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

  I’m trembling. I’m so angry, and I don’t know why, but my body shakes with it. “It doesn’t have to be a waste of time. You said that. You said it could be fun. We could enjoy ourselves. And Jesus, Graham, sometimes it seems like we’re on the same team, like it’s just you and me, and everyone else—they’re the fucking fake ones.” I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “And I like it! I’m the sucker who likes it when that happens. I’m the idiot who sits there wishing that I could have both things.”

  He goes quiet and still. “Both?”

  “A career,” I start out, and my throat tightens, “and you. But not the fake version of you. The real version of you. The version of you I might have been able to know if…if…”

  He comes closer to me, blocking out everything else—the shitty furniture in the green room, the lukewarm bottles of water on the side table, everything. “If you hadn’t chased me out of your little store?”

  I can’t breathe. “If I hadn’t done that, I never would have met you. I know you regret it, but—”

  Graham puts a hand on my jaw and my body goes still. “I don’t regret it.”

  “What do you regret then?”

  “Being born to my parents. If I had a different brother, none of this would be an issue.”

  “You might not be a rich playboy.” God. I don’t know why I say half the things I say.

  “I might have had a different fate.” His green eyes glow with a heat that spreads through my entire body. “You might have been mine.”

  “What if I already am?”

  He makes a sound in the back of his throat like a drowning man, and kisses me.

  It’s pure possession, this kiss. Pure ownership, and none of it is false, none of it is a performance. There are no parents to scandalize. There is no brother to impress. It’s him and me. It’s raw and real and hot, and I melt into it, into his hands, into his mouth. God, I want him. I want his pain and his pleasure, and I want it all to be mine.

  I’m submerged in him, lost in the kiss, when it’s broken open by someone clearing their throat.

  I untangle myself from Graham’s hands and turn. There, in the doorway, is a production assistant, with two familiar faces behind her.

  “Um—” She looks young, barely out of college. “Is it okay if we use the room?”

  19

  Graham

  Bellamy stares straight ahead at the elevator buttons, watching each one light up as we go up the floors of the building to the penthouse.

  Her cheeks are still as red as they were in the green room, back at the news studio.

  “For someone who wishes this was real, you look totally mortified.”

  She shoots a look at me and steps closer. “I can’t believe we did that. That poor assistant—”

  “—has probably seen worse.”

  “Utterly inappropriate.”

  “You could look at it that way.” I brush my fingers down the sleeve of Bellamy’s coat. “Or you could look at it as an authentic moment.”

  “Did it have to be in the green room?”

  “You were fighting with me in the green room. Is that any less mortifying?”

  Somehow, Bellamy turns a deeper shade of red. “No. It’s all bad.”

  I stab my finger into the emergency stop button, and the elevator shudders to a halt, half a floor away from the penthouse. Bellamy’s hand flies to her chest. “Graham! Jesus, what are you—”

  I back her up against the wall and put my hands on the side of her face.

  Bellamy’s gray eyes, shot through with violet, are huge and bright. Is she panting? “Did you mean what you said back there? Or were you just having a moment?”

  She bites her lip. “I meant it.”

  “Then it wasn’t all bad.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  I swallow her words with a kiss. She tastes sweet on my tongue, mint and sugar and shame, but more than that, she tastes like pure, unadulterated relief. Her lips against mine are a sigh of contentment. The contentment lasts one heartbeat, then another, and deepens into heat and struggle.

  Bellamy pulls away with a gasp. “We can’t do this here. There are...they probably have cameras, in case—”

  I drag my lips down the side of her neck. “I don’t care. There are always cameras on us. That’s the point of us.” I plant light kisses below her earlobe and she trembles in my arms. “That was the point of us. Until now.”

  She pushes at me, but I’m bigger and stronger, and I want her close. I want her close enough to nip at that soft earlobe, my teeth brushing up against the simple diamond stud she’s wearing. She grips the shoulders of my coat. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “We’re— Graham, we’re in an elevator.” She laughs, and the sound is throaty and lovely, and I want to hear her make that sound a hundred more times, a thousand more. “An elevator. You have a penthouse. Shouldn’t we talk about this there?”

  I punch the button again and the elevator glides upward. Bellamy grabs my hand and squeezes tight, tension radiating off every square inch of her.

  “Relax.”

  “How can I possibly—”

  “I have the penthouse. There’s nobody else up there, other than the staff.”

  “The staff. Right.” She laughs. “How can I date a man who has staff?”

  The door slides open, and I press my lips to the curve of her neck.

  “Okay. Okay. That’s how.”

  She’s all jitters as we head into the foyer, nervously putting her purse in the center of one of the tables there.

  “Bellamy.”

  “Yeah?” Those eyes, wide and innocent. Is she shy?

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  The pink in her cheeks gets darker. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t have to force this because you’re looking for—” I run a hand through my hair. Bellamy glows in the afternoon light coming through the living room window, her hair a fiery blonde. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but don’t make this a marriage of convenience.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “You did not just say that.”

  “All I meant is, you can walk away.”

  She does walk, one step after another, until there is only the barest space between us. She breathes in, long and slow, her eyes fluttering closed, like the air carries her favorite scent in the world. When she opens them again, there’s a look of hard determination there. “I think about you at night.”

  It’s not what I expected. “Let’s be...accurate.” She laughs. “You think about me when the sun has gone down, or—”

  “You ass.”

  I take her hands in mine and brush my lips across her knuckles. “Tell me.”

  “It was the strangest thing.” Her eyes fall to our hands. I can practically feel her gaze land there, feather light. “You were such a prick, that first day I met you, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And not the way you refused to take the money. How strong your hands were. The way your voice sounded.”

  “That’s not altogether uncommon.”

  “Yeah...” Bellamy sighs, her eyes lighting up. “But after that meeting—”

  “The meeting where I won you over with my wit and charm?”

  “The meeting where you called me a whore, just like everyone else on the planet?”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.” Her eyes are earnest.

  “I couldn’t possibly have.”

  “‘Everyone’s a whore for something, sweetness. What’s your price?’”

  I laugh. “I did say that.”

  “I’m nobody’s whore, Graham.”

  “No,” I murmur against her neck. “No, you’re a princess, sweetness.”

  She scoffs. “I’m not that, either.”

  “You’re right. You’re a queen. And I’m taking you directly to bed.”

  Bellamy puts one hand on my chest. “No.”

  I straighte
n up. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’m not giving it up on the first date.”

  I groan. “Oh, my God. You’re fucking with me.”

  “A date,” she insists. “A real date. No walls. No bullshit.”

  I take her hand in mine. “Then get your purse. We’re leaving right now.”

  20

  Bellamy

  I am alight with anticipation, mainly because Graham won’t tell me where we’re going.

  In the car, my phone buzzes in my purse and I pick it up, pulse thrumming, just to have something to do.

  How’s New York? I miss the hell out of your cute butt!

  Everest.

  My heart twangs at the sight of her name on my screen. We spent a lot of our time together studying; first, for the never-ending deluge of law school homework and then the bar. We were always surrounded by a tornado of takeout boxes and leftovers, when we could find the time to cook.

  I miss her.

  It’s very exciting...

  Can you talk? I saw the cutest, most perfect, floral arrangements that would look amazing with my skin tone.

  I laugh at the phone.

  “What is it?” Graham asks, without looking.

  “It’s a who. Everest. She wants to talk wedding planning.”

  He brushes a hand down my shoulder to my wrist. Goose bumps rise in the wake of his fingers. “She’ll have to wait.”

  “Are you worried I’ll text her all night, instead of talking to you?”

  “You’d never do that.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the flash of Graham’s smile.

  “I wouldn’t. But I am going to tell her I’m busy.”

  “Don’t make her too jealous.”

  I lift my chin. “I have no control over whether she gets jealous of you.”

  “Jealous of me?” Graham’s grip settles on my leg, just above my knee, and I almost double over—that’s how much I want him to slip that hand upward, between my legs. No. No. We need to have at least one conversation that’s authentic before we go any further. “Why not jealous of you for being with me?”

  “That’s probably more like it.”

  “You little minx.” He does something with his hand, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself.

  Graham is taking me to dinner. Call tomorrow?

  If you don’t have a total SEX HANGOVER!!!

  I blush at the sight of it, even though I’m dying for Graham to touch me, see me, kiss me. All of it. There’s an edge of wariness at my heartbeat—this is a risk if I’ve ever taken one—but it’s so heady, I feel drunk on air.

  “We’re here.” The car pulls up to the curb and Graham waits for his driver to open the door.

  “Where’s here?” He holds out a hand to help me out of the car. The building is graceful but nondescript—a wide staircase, no signage. Is it a restaurant or a house?

  “You wanted to know where I came from. This is where.”

  The Purple Swan is a club so exclusive, I can taste it on my tongue in the lobby.

  There’s a certain hush, a certain reverence—the way the attendant by the front podium looks at Graham and smiles is enough to tell me he belongs here.

  I don’t, though. I’m wearing a brand-new dress, black and couture, put into my closet by Graham’s staff, but I feel like I’m wearing a paper bag.

  “Oh, I—” I grip Graham’s elbow until he stops. “I’m underdressed.”

  “You are not. You’re with me.” He pats my hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Is this yours?”

  “The club?” He wears an impish grin on his face. “No, it’s not mine. I’m only a member. Takes the pressure off, don’t you think?”

  I don’t know what to think. I have nothing to compare this to. Everything about it is elegant. The carpet is dark, shot through with what looks like gold, and there are wide hallways that seem to go on forever. In the distance, I hear the thrum of music and I want to follow it, but halfway down the hall, Graham turns and leads me into a smaller dining room, more intimate, and it reminds me of the Inn at Little Washington.

  We’re seated not more than five seconds when a waiter appears at the edge of the table. “Mr. Blackpool. Forgive me if this is too forward, but I’m glad to see you back in town, sir.” He’s a lanky guy with hair the color of Everest’s, and he’s beaming at Graham.

  “Not at all, Mack. It’s good to be back.”

  They shake hands and Mack straightens up, putting his decorum on like a coat. “The usual?”

  Graham’s eyes sparkle. “It hasn’t changed.”

  “Right away.”

  Mack leaves, and I stare at Graham.

  He’s a different animal here. I expected him to be relaxed, since he’s in control of this venture, but an electric energy rises from his skin. “How long has it been?”

  “Since I’ve visited the Swan? Two years.” Graham nods a little, like he’s confirming it for himself. “It seems like a lot longer.”

  “I’ve never been to a place like this.”

  Mack comes back with two glasses of red wine. I normally don’t like red, but the first taste is so sumptuous, it’s all I can do to keep from drinking the glass in one gulp. Graham’s mouth curls in a smile. “Then I get to be the one to teach you all the rules.”

  My face goes ice cold, then blazing hot. Holy shit. A sex club? A BDSM club? That’s what this is? Is he going to expect me to go to a…a private room? Something like that? My mouth falls open, but no words come out.

  Graham laughs, reaching across the table for my hand. “Bellamy, I’m kidding. It was a joke.”

  I suck in a breath. “You bastard.”

  “There is one rule, however.”

  My heart pounds. “What’s that?”

  “You have to stay with me.”

  21

  Graham

  It takes Bellamy a glass and a half of wine to calm down from my joke, and I feel a little bad. But it’s so lovely to see her face this shade of pink that, in the end, it’s worth it.

  “Okay.” She swirls her fork into delicate angel hair noodles swimming in butter. “Here’s one rule. You have to be honest with me.”

  “I’ve always been honest with you.”

  “No, I mean—” She takes another bite. “God, this food is good.”

  “It makes the cost of membership more than worth it.”

  “I mean, I want to know you.” Her gray eyes sparkle in the candlelight. “I want to know you. I don’t want to pretend to know you. I want to actually...know.”

  I laugh, and her face reddens at the sound. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  Bellamy looks around the dining room—at the sexy red shade of the walls, at the spotless tablecloths, at all the tuxedoed gentlemen sitting at tables all around us, money in living and breathing form—and shakes her head. “Why would you ever leave the city if you had a place like this?” When she looks back at me, her eyes are filled with confusion and envy. “Did you have friends here?”

  “I do have friends here.” The loud, raucous dinner they treated me to when I came back was, in the end, much the same as it always had been—only they’ve all grown up and found their great loves. My heart beats faster. Maybe I’ve found mine. “But my brother was taking over the city, bit by bit. He was a senator when I first moved here, and I found it...omnipresent.”

  “Did you pick a place at random?” She spears a carrot with her fork and places it on her tongue.

  “No. I had an idea for a business venture. I was going to start it in D.C. because that’s the best place to meet with potential candidates.”

  “You’ve never said anything about this.”

  Spikes of my old irritation shoot through my chest. “Because it’s been an exercise in frustration. Not exactly the kind of thing you want to impress a date with.”

  Bellamy’s eyes light up. “Frustration? I can’t picture you—you know, struggling with a business. It always seems so easy when you talk about it.”<
br />
  I want to laugh. I want to smile at her and say that, of course, it’s easy. Business to me is like breathing. But that’s not what Bellamy wants, so I look her in the eye. “Lots of my businesses are very, very successful.” I tear off a piece of roll, fresh and hot, and eat it. “It’s the ones I’m more personally invested in that always run into trouble.”

  “Like this...candidate business?”

  “It’s a political incubator. We find promising candidates and help them get elected.”

  Bellamy frowns. “What kind of candidates?’

  I take a deep breath. “People who want to change things. People with ideas, not just backers. I’m tired of the same people with the same PACs running everything. This country could stand to be better. That’s what I’m trying to do with the incubator.”

  Her lips curve upward. “I never took you for an idealist.”

  “Fuck ideals.” She laughs out loud. “I want real people. Passionate people. I’ve put a structure in place that can fine-tune the process, accelerate it—”

  “Wait. Did you work on your brother’s campaign?”

  “God, no.”

  “He didn’t want you to?” Bellamy’s eyebrows might as well be on the ceiling. “If I had a brother—”

  “He didn’t know I was into politics.” The old bile rises in my throat, the old disgust I’ve worked so hard to keep pressed down in a place nobody will ever see. “And once I told him, he didn’t care.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “I’m sure he cared.”

  I take a look around the Swan to make sure there’s nobody close to Andrew nearby. He wasn’t a member at the club, but he had a web of people all over the city—and most of them were well-known enough to be recognizable. I don’t see any of those faces here. “All he cared about was winning the election. Since he’s been in the White House, he’s been dismantling my company, one person at a time.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “We said we were going to be honest.”