by Unknown
Suddenly, my adrenaline is pumping. I'd been so wrapped up in the day; I hadn't stopped to think if there was any risk. Clearly there is some, or Justin wouldn't be acting cautious. With him at my side to protect me, I find it more exciting than scary.
He can sense my understanding and excitement, and grabs his wine, motioning for me to do the same. "To having you back in my life, and never letting you go," he says.
That makes me feel warm. My glass pings off the side of his as I smile and agree. I bring the glass to my mouth and take a long sip.
"Wow," I breathe as I put the class down. "That's really nice."
Justin laughs lightly. "It better be."
I don't understand why he said that, if I should be insulted. I make no attempt to hide my confusion.
"It's a message," he says flatly.
"What is—the wine?"
"Yes," he answers. "It's actually a very important part of tonight's meeting. That's why the bottle is being left on the bar top, so there's no question what we're drinking."
That makes some sense, but I'm still curious. "Can I ask why it will matter?"
Justin releases that cocky smile again. "You can ask me whatever you like. The problem would only be if I can answer. In this case, I can."
He takes another sip of the message.
"This is a twenty-three hundred dollar bottle of wine," he tells me.
I immediately take my fingers away from the stem of the glass, afraid that I will spill it. He sees me do it, the way he notices everything I do, and laughs.
"The gentleman coming tonight likes to brag to his closest friends that he enjoys sharing this particular wine with his enemy’s right before defeating them. He says that it's not so expensive to be wasted on them, yet expensive enough to help them except their failure."
"What a douche!" I blurt out.
Oh my fucking God!
Justin just snorted when he laughed. It was very light, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.
Of all the things I could give him, he catches my snort-laugh!
"That was funny," he said, composing himself.
I dare to pick up the glass again and take another sip. It tastes even better now that I know that it's about five hundred dollars a glass.
"So, will he be expecting you to have this wine waiting for him?" I ask with a smirk.
"Warrior, he's not even expecting that it's me that he's meeting," he replied. "I'm the other part of the message."
"Will he know who you are?"
"The second he sees me," Justin said.
"Any chance he'll just turn and run?" I ask.
"No," he answered in a serious voice. "He knows better. He'll be too scared to run, and he'll know there's no point. His life isn't in any danger, just his career—at least for now."
Justin takes another swallow of the wine. His glass is emptying much faster than mine, so I take another gulp myself.
Suddenly Justin motions to the bartender, who swings around the bar quickly and removes the reserved sign from the other stool. Justin had purposefully seated me pinned between himself and the wall. I didn't mind it when we sat, and right now I'm damn grateful for it. The man I see coming is huge, at least two hundred seventy pounds. The only person I see bigger than him is the bodyguard with him.
He was storming toward us, his thin black hair bouncing angrily, when his eyes caught Justin. He stopped dead, startled. His bodyguard looks confused.
The bodyguard isn't high enough up on the food change to know who Justin is, but his boss clearly does.
The air rushes out of him, and he deflates like a Mylar balloon. He puts his left hand up against his guard's chest, stopping him. For a moment he just stares at us, obviously weighing his options, or trying to see if he even has options.
He talks over his shoulder to his huge companion. Then they finish their approach, the guard now staying at a safe distance behind his boss. When they reach us, the guard stays at the end of the bar with the bartender. He doesn't look happy about it, but he does it.
Justin's guest sits on the stool beside him somberly, braiding his fingers together, eyes on the bar top.
"Mr. Collins," he mumbles, his only acknowledgment.
"Hello, Christopher."
Justin motions the bartender, who quickly grabs a wine glass and hands it to Justin before retreating away again. I thought it was odd that he didn't offer to fill it, but Justin seemed prepared for that. Obviously it was in his instructions.
He doesn't even ask his guest if he wants it. Justin pours half a glass and slides it over the bar to him.
I saw his eyes had briefly left the bar to watch Justin pour. He had read the label, which Justin had held facing him. For a moment it looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. There was contained hatred in his expression, but when Justin slid it to him, he eagerly grabbed it and took a sip. He needed a drink more than he needed his pride.
Whatever the message is, he's getting it.
"I thought I had a chance—I didn't know it would be you here. How bad off am I?" he asked.
"You're out," Justin said simply.
"You used to work for the guys that got me in," he said, confused.
"I still do," Justin replied. "You pissed off your own people this time."
He looks angry. "They can't do this to me!"
"They can, and they are. They sent me so you know what will happen if they even suspect you're stepping out of line."
I really expected that threat would piss him off, but he's visibly terrified of Justin. He simply nods and takes another gulp of the wine.
He looks at the glass and swirls it. "This is a clever touch," he quips.
I took a sip from my glass too. You can smell the stress and tension in the air. Of course, Justin looks perfectly comfortable, but his guest is the opposite—and I'm ready to freak out.
I'm also ready to climb onto Justin's lap and ride his intense hotness like the bareback warrior he thinks I am.
"Is there anything I can do to call you off—double whatever they're paying you?"
"No. I wouldn't take it even if you could afford it. My clients trust me with their lives because they can," Justin answered.
The bartender and the bodyguard are still hanging together at the end of the small, wooden bar. Not a word is passing between them. The guard is clearly trying to listen, and the bartender is clearly trying not to. The fact that Justin's guest, Christopher, has a bodyguard intrigues me. Their conversation is not helping me with that. All I know is that whatever Christopher does, he's done doing it.
Justin sips his wine and starts talking again. "Tonight, the press is going to begin running a scandal about you and that DUI we got you out of last year."
"That was you?" he asked, surprised.
Justin nods. "You were already going downhill. There was hope you would get out of your own way, but we pocketed this for a rainy day like today."
"I wondered how they made it go away so quick."
"We didn't. We just put it on ice," Justin said. "Tomorrow morning, you will make a public announcement that you are submitting yourself for treatment for drug and alcohol abuse, and you are stepping down due to your abuse of power in trying to cover up the incident."
"Let me guess, if I don't do it—my wife and children find out about the girl that was with me during the arrest?" Christopher asks.
"Not yet," Justin replies honestly. "If you don't do it, you will commit suicide under the fear and pressure of the scandal. After your funeral, it will leak out about the girl, and your family will hate you."
"Christ!" he breathed slowly through his teeth. There is no sign of doubt in his eyes about Justin's threat.
"You knew who you were in bed with." Justin said flatly. "You should never have embezzled their money. You need to give it back—fast—before you commit suicide anyway."
"That's not going to be easy. You're taking away my main source of income; don't you think that's a little illogical?" Christopher sai
d, his voice dangerously close to sarcasm.
Justin turned his face away from me, toward Christopher, but I can tell from Christopher's face that the look Justin is giving him is utterly terrifying. His eyes are wide, pleading, his cheeks turn pure white.
"Okay. I'm sorry," Christopher says with a quivering lip.
He cowers away from Justin's stare and fists his glass. The rest of his wine went down in two swallows.
"Can I have one more glass, Mr. Collins?"
Justin takes the glass from his shaking hand and fills it to the normal level before passing it back. "Here you go, Senator."
Wait—what?
"Thank you." He fills his mouth, swishing it back and forth before swallowing and repeating the process.
He's a fucking senator! Justin is sitting beside me threatening a US senator—successfully!
Christopher takes his last gulp and puts the empty glass down. I'm pretty sure I see tears in his eyes.
"Tell them it will be done," he said. "And thank you, Mr. Collins, for your discretion, and for letting this go down this way instead of the other."
Justin raises his glass toward him and then drinks.
The senator turns the barstool away and stands out of it, straightening his suit. His bodyguard was ready to go when he got to the end of the bar, and they left without another word.
I drain the last drop from my glass. Justin noticed and finishes the bottle filing me back up. He motions to the bartender, who comes back over and brings out a second bottle.
"This one is just for us," Justin says as the bartender tops him off. "Excuse me for just a second."
I watch him take out his cell and send a text.
"So was that it?" I ask. "That text?"
Justin nods. "Yes. The story will hit the news in about five minutes."
He studies me for a moment. I feel his eyes everywhere, burning into me, and I'm wondering if he already knows just how turned on I am by his power.
"Are you ready to move to our table, or did you want to finish our wine here first?" he asks.
"We can go to the table now," I say in a cracked voice.
"Very good," he responds.
He tells the bartender we are ready to sit. He makes a quick call from behind the bar, and the host magically returns for us. I see Justin slip a couple of hundreds onto the bar, and a pleased look on the bartender's face.
"Please make sure our wine makes it to our table as well."
"Of course, Mr. Collins," the host promises.
As he leads us to our table, I see a few guys bringing back the rest of the barstools.
Our table was directly under an elegantly simple oval chandelier that was set into an oval niche in the ceiling. As promised, our wine quickly follows behind us.
My nerves are a bit more under control now. "So that was a senator?" I ask quietly.
"It was, but not one of our better ones. He's been given chances. In two years he's produced nothing but insults, abuse of power and now theft."
"No need to try to convince me," I said, "you had me on board right after mentioning his wife and his girlfriend."
Justin laughs easily.
CHAPTER X
Last night I had dinner with Trisha. It was the first time I’ve seen her since before the accident, and I wasn’t aware until I saw her, how much I had missed her. I hated lying to her, hated it with a passion, but there was just no way to clue her in. Over the phone, I had already blamed my absence on travel for the new job, so there was no awkwardness over dinner about it.
She looked incredible, as usual, floating around a few inches off the ground still enjoying the bliss her relationship with Sam was providing. Honestly, I can’t wait to meet him, their dates have been wonderful, and I just have to know where his ideas are coming from. I made her promise we would all go out soon, now that I wasn’t traveling for work anymore.
It didn't take long for things at the office to settle. I went back with my head high, expecting it to be awkward and full of rumors and mistrust. There were rumors, of course, but I was actually silently flattered by most of them. Hell, would it really be so bad to be a mystical vixen with hypnotic vaginal powers, mind fucking the powerful JP Collins?
Yeah—I don't think so!
Most everyone knows better than to step too far out of line with JP, so the rumors dissipated at about the same time I no longer needed that cane. I've seen him in full glory at the office now—perfectionist is an understatement. The terrifying part is that his voice never rises. You understand with a look or a gesture how seriously you have just fucked up. The first time I was a recipient of his anger, I didn't know if I wanted to cry, or let him spank me.
I did the later.
With John, I find that things are even better between us. I am truly assisting him now that I understand both sides of Justin's business, and he knows I can be trusted. I know what he knows, maybe not every detail, but I'm more effective than John had ever hoped for. Both of us believe that Justin planned out my role as John's assistant within the first ten minutes of speaking to me, knowing someday I would know the secrets.
According to John, that's one of Justin's abilities, reading people and anticipating what they will do with deadly accuracy. He tells me Justin plays chess about ten moves ahead of everyone else. This explains why the asshole already had the flight and dinner reservations made for the day he came to win me back. He knew I was going to say yes.
It was the same for Senator Christopher Wilkins. The media was finally getting bored with running his story over and over. As a politician, he abused his office and he was done, but as a human, they made him look flawed but likable. The poor man, a family man, had an addiction, and he was finally getting the help he needs.
Justin is brokering the pay back of the embezzled money, but that was minor. That group of clients now has Justin delving into something much more involved—selecting the Senator's permanent replacement. This time, they want someone under their control from the start.
Someone with the potential to go even further.
They gave him the names of three candidates, and Justin has to choose which one will be the next Senator, and how they are going to control him. All three of them are under our surveillance. Phones are tapped, trackers on their cars and somehow Justin has audio and video in every room of their homes and offices.
Right now, John and I are in Justin's office. The two of them are going over the most extensive background checks I've ever heard of while I'm listening and taking notes. So far they haven't found a thing, but they don't seem concerned at all.
"What if there is nothing?" I ask.
They both turn and stare at me.
"Seriously, what if they have nothing to hide? I elaborate.
"They’re politicians," John offered as his answer.
"So all politicians are dirty?" I said, now intimidated.
"Certainly not," Justin replies. "Not every fish you hook is a keeper, but if you catch a few, odds are at least one of them will suit your need."
"In three politicians—at least one of them has a problem," John added.
I can't argue with that.
"I just don't want it to be drugs," Justin said. "I'll take almost any other problem, but an addict is unpredictable. Sooner or later, they blow their own cover."
John grunts out a sarcastic laugh, and Justin and I both look at him.
"Something on your mind, John?" Justin asks.
"I've known you too long, that's all," he answers.
"Meaning?" Justin asks, at least a little insulted.
"Meaning I know that you already know which one of them it's going to be," John snapped through his wide smile.
His voice carries easily through the spacious room. Nearly everything is black and white in here. Walls, floor, ceiling, all white, while all the furniture is black. The walls are speckled with Ansel Adams. I'm sure they are all originals and each one probably costs most of my salary. Not unnoticed, though—devil red accents at
his desk. Then, of course, there is the center piece of his meeting area—another very realistic Panther hologram, similar to the one in reception, that paces back in forth bearing its teeth at the visitor's.
Justin calls him Sylvester.
"That's not likely," I said. "We've only had eyes on them for two days."
No sooner had the words escaped my mouth when I see the smirk on Justin's face.
Son of a bitch!
"You know?" I ask.
"I have an idea," Justin replies.
"Then why haven't you said something?"
"Because he wants confirmation first, and he doesn't want his opinion to influence the research or the result," John answers.
Is it odd that I'm jealous of a frumpy middle-aged man?
"The results will be what they are. I'd like to hear all opinions now." Listen to me, talking like I run the place.
John looks back at Justin and Justin simply smiles. "Have I told you that I call her Warrior?" he says.
Despite my efforts, I cannot stop the upward curling of my lips.
"It's just a gathering of the facts we have so far," Justin begins. "Langelloti, no kids no wife. Everything we've heard so far says that all he's interested in is his career. If he's not in his office, he's with his PR Manager. There is no spare time with this guy; he's always doing the political flesh press."
"So you don't think he has a vice other than his work?" John asks.
"No, he does, and he does it every day. It just doesn't help us at all," Justin answers.
"What's the vice?" I ask, wondering what information he had that we didn't.
"His PR Manager, Peter Sachovitch. Langelloti hasn't had a relationship since high school, and Peter is the only one he keeps around outside of the office. Peter was his first temporary campaign manager, that instantly became his permanent PR Manager," Justin said.
"That's a bit of an assumption," I snapped.
"True," Justin said, not at all upset that I was visibly bothered. "But five seconds on the internet shows me Peter Sachovitch was openly gay in high school and college, and even though for the last few years he's been keeping it quieter, he's still a member of several gay support associations."