“No, they aren’t,” Stella hissed.
“I heard her dress cost $18,000.”
Stella’s head whipped around toward Millie. “$18,000?! Holy shit!”
“Shhhh.” Millie giggled.
George put his hand on Stella’s thigh and squeezed.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “Are you serious? This dress cost $2,000 and I thought I was going to shit myself when I bought it.”
"Then why did you buy it?” Millie asked.
"Because I wanted George to think about fucking me every second he looked at me.” Stella put on a new fake smile she was trying out, a broad, genuine smile meant to convey amusement.
Millie looked at Stella, then leaned forward and looked at George. “Things okay?” she mouthed.
Stella shrugged. She’d told Millie about the whole “Jessica situation,” but Millie didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Stella felt like they were okay, but she didn’t want to take any chances; she wanted him thinking about her every second.
Millie grabbed her hand and patted it compassionately.
They stood when the bride walked down the aisle, positively glowing on her father’s arm. Stella thought the dress was gorgeous, if frightfully expensive. It was silk and tight on the bodice and then the skirt was gathered in different areas and reminded her of meringue on a coconut crème pie. The bride looked amazing.
The ceremony was short and soon they were standing at high top tables for the cocktail hour. Patrick brought the first round of drinks over to the table.
“Porn martinis?” Millie asked.
“Of course, dear,” Patrick said as he kissed Millie’s cheek and set the girls’ martinis down. Servers were circulating with beer and wine, but if you wanted liquor, you had to go to the bar.
George was drinking beer with his hand possessively on Stella’s lower back. Every once in a while he’d grab her ass and she’d giggle. Patrick was scowling. He hated public displays of affection unless he was involved.
“George, it’s good to see you. How’s the campaign trail?” Millie asked in between sips.
“It’s great. I really like being there and getting all the information first and reporting on it, but I miss El. I certainly didn’t want to come to this shitstorm.”
“What? You didn’t want to cover the wedding of the season?” Stella asked, acting completely scandalized and then bumping his shoulder with hers.
“No, I’d rather be alone with you.” He smiled down at her and leaned into her, whispering, “naked.” His teeth nipped at her ear.
Warmness filled her entire body and she smiled at him. “Well, we don’t have to stay all night.”
An announcement came over from where the stage was set up, letting them know that dinner was ready and for everyone to find their seats. She and George were seated at a table with a bunch of other press. George’s hands never left her; even when they were eating he had his hand on her thigh under the table. God, she had missed this.
George talked shop during the dinner about politics and the campaign he was covering. Stella took it all in and enjoyed the scenery and the music. The band was playing fun songs and she was lost in her own mind when she felt George squeeze her thigh.
Looking up, she smiled. “What?”
He stood and held his hand out. “You want to dance with me?”
“Of course!” She got up and threw her napkin on her chair.
They swayed to the music, loosened up after several drinks. Her hands were draped around his neck and she leaned in, smelling him. George pulled her close so that they were connected everywhere. He centered one of his legs in between hers. He’d left his jacket on the back of his chair and she could feel his lean body under his shirt.
George leaned in and kissed her mouth tenderly. “I miss you.”
“I doubt that,” she retorted as they moved fluidly together, remembering how his eyes lit up while talking shop with all the other press. Several of the reporters had tried to ask her questions, but she politely rebuffed them. She’d used all five of her fake smiles during dinner. She wasn’t doing any more interviews; one was painful enough. Her interview with Diane Sawyer was airing as a special on Wednesday night and Stella planned on being very drunk.
“Every fucking morning I wake up without you in my bed it causes fissures in my heart, Love. I have little cracks and holes in my heart because we’re apart.”
Stella pulled him closer, her hands around his neck and his words warming her heart. “I can’t get close enough to you.”
George kissed her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth slowly. Stella was lost in the moment until she heard Millie’s voice next to her.
“Get a room!” she called with a giggle, bumping her shoulder against Stella’s.
Stella chuckled and separated herself from George, but didn’t take her eyes from those green flecks.
“So, I wanna dansh with the reporter,” Millie said, slurring her words a little.
Stella pulled her eyes from George and looked at Millie, surprised. “How much porn have you had?”
“I love porn so much right now.” Millie giggled.
George reached out and steadied her, laughing as Millie slumped against him in a drunken attempt at slow dancing.
“I guess that means we’re dancing,” Patrick said from behind Millie’s shoulder.
“Well don’t act too fucking excited about it,” Stella responded.
Patrick pulled Stella roughly into his arms and nodded at George. “Watch your hands, man,” he warned with a laugh.
“Got it,” George answered, laughing, and raised his hands to show his innocence.
Stella draped her left hand over Patrick’s shoulder and put her right hand carefully into his, which looked enormous wrapped around hers.
“You got your cast off already?” Patrick asked. “You still have pain?”
Stella shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“What’d the doctor say?”
“Everything was fine,” Stella said, looking to the band. “Things good?”
“Yep,” Patrick whispered.
Stella looked at Millie swaying unevenly in George’s arms. “Are you trying to get her drunk?”
Patrick seemed irritated. “Nope, she’s doing that all on her own.”
“You guys okay?” Stella asked.
“I guess.” Patrick shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Why’re you so fucking sour? Have some drinks and get that fucking face off your face.”
His eyebrows rose, amused. “Get my face off my face?”
“Yes, your face is a downer and this is a party.” Stella nodded firmly. “You’d tell me if you and Millie were having issues, right?”
He looked everywhere but her face. What was going on?
“Patrick…” She’d been so wrapped up in her shit, she hadn’t realized they were going through something. She was a horrible friend.
“What? We’re fine.” He turned them around so that he was facing the Potomac River. “What’s your status with our little project?”
“Good, I have a date.” The alcohol coursing through her made her feel less; she liked it. Too much.
“Good.” He nodded once and twirled her to the music.
She hung onto his arms so she wouldn’t lose her footing. She could always count on him to keep her feet steady.
“I called a car service,” George announced as he killed the remains of his beer.
The reception had been going on for hours and Millie was fading fast after drinking way too much.
“We know,” laughed Stella. “You told us that before.”
“Coooool,” Millie slurred.
“Let’s go to Camelot,” Stella suggested, giggling hysterically.
Patrick and George looked at each other and smiled. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Seriously?” George asked.
“Sure!” Stella was drunk as shit. She hadn’t had this much to drink in years—
well, maybe in Key West, and Millie would agree to anything at this point. “I wanna buy Millie a lap dance.”
This time Patrick responded. “Seriously?” he echoed George, looking back and forth between the girls.
Stella and Millie’s arms were draped over each other and they were giggling uncontrollably.
Millie gyrated her hips so obnoxiously Patrick almost spit out the last of his beer. “Hell, yeah. Lap dances all around!”
The boys high-fived and Patrick almost ran to get all of their coats so they could leave immediately.
After a forty-five minute ride in a Town Car, they were walking down the block to the strip club. Millie was leading the way, talking animatedly about Billy’s new girlfriend.
“Millie, come walk with me,” Patrick directed calmly.
Millie continued to walk ahead, animatedly turning back and forth to talk to them. All of a sudden, Stella saw Millie fly through the air like a cartoon character. Millie’s dress was black, short and chiffon; it flew up as her face stopped her fall, her black lace panties in stark contrast to her white skin. She’d tripped over uneven pavement in the sidewalk and fell face-first onto the concrete. Millie didn’t even put her hands down to break her own fall. Too much porn. She was splayed out on the sidewalk, her dress flipped up and showing everyone her very firm ass barely covered in lace.
“Oh my shit, Mil!” Stella bent down to make sure she was okay.
Patrick lifted her from the sidewalk to a standing position by the back of her dress. Millie had scraped her chin and face on the concrete; she was bleeding. She was so drunk her reaction time was so slow that she wasn’t able to brace herself against the fall. Her knees and both hands were bleeding as well. Millie unconsciously wiped her bleeding hands on her dress, which only reached to mid-thigh and now had lines of blood down the sides.
“Am I okay?” she inquired, stunned.
Stella stifled a laugh. “No, you’re bleeding.”
“You’re fine,” Patrick assured her.
“My face hurts. Is my face bleeding?” Millie asked.
“Yes,” Stella answered.
“You’re fine, babe,” Patrick said, “just hold onto my hand and walk with me.” He shook his head in amusement at George.
George paid the cover for all of them. The strip club was dark and music pulsed through the room. There were several side stages and one main stage where a woman in a white thong with enormous fake breasts was gyrating slowly. Once they walked in, George took Stella’s hand and pulled her to him.
“I need ice for my knees,” Millie whined.
“We’ll get you some, Grace,” Stella assured her with a grin, “don’t worry.”
Patrick and Millie followed them over to the table in the corner with a good view of the stage. A woman with dark curls cascading down her back emerged from the back. She wore a bright, lime green thong bikini bottom and bustier with mile-high clear heels.
“I’ll go grab some ice and drinks.” Stella kissed George as he sat down. “Don’t get a lap dance without me.”
Stella made her way up to the bar. The female bartender walked over to her and looked her up and down. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, we’re sitting over there at that table.” Stella pointed. “I want to get a bottle of champagne, a bag of ice and the best lap dance available for my female friend at the table.” Stella slid her credit card across the bar.
The bartender nodded. “I’ll send it over.”
“Thanks.”
Stella walked back to the table, enjoying the atmosphere; it was dripping in sex. Just sitting in the room with the stage in front of them made her want to straddle George. When she sat down, Millie was still pouting about her knee. Stella leaned into George. “It’s a good thing she has no idea her face is all scratched up.”
George nodded and smiled as a blonde woman with no top on walked over to the table. She set an ice bucket with a chilled bottle of champagne down on the table with four glasses, then carried over a bag of ice and placed it gently on Millie’s bleeding knee.
Millie looked up and smiled politely. “Thank you.”
The woman put a shot in between her voluptuous breasts and straddled Millie’s lap. Stella began laughing immediately at the shock and alarm that played across Millie’s features. The stripper put her breasts in Millie’s face, pushing her mouth toward the shot glass in between her breasts, and told her to drink. George’s entire body was shaking with laughter and Patrick was looking everywhere but at Millie.
Shocking everyone sitting at the table, Millie put her mouth around the shot glass in between the stripper’s boobs and leaned her head back, taking the shot like a pro and then sitting back to watch the blonde gyrate on her lap with a smirk on her face. Stella’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard.
When the blonde finally kissed Millie’s cheek and told her thank you, Millie narrowed her eyes at Stella. “I hate you!” she yelled over the music.
Stella bent over with laughter. “You should’ve seen your fucking face.”
“Fuck you!” Millie’s melodic laughter rang through the air. “Hey, my face hurts. Is it okay?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Check Fucking Mate
Patrick ran down Union; Stella saw him from the stairs where she and Cooper were waiting for him. Cooper started jumping up and down seeing him jog in front of the house. They joined in with Patrick’s cadence down Union toward King Street, waving at Agent Gunter as they passed. At least she still had the detail on her house; it was like a security blanket when she did decide to stay at home.
She let Cooper run ahead and then as he peed, she and Patrick would catch up. “So. What’s the plan?”
“I’m trying to get close with someone he trusts at the agency. I’m hoping to drop a few hints here and there and maybe we can find a way to get something going.” Patrick’s voice was clipped, but it wasn’t from exertion.
“Okay. In the meantime, I’m getting him to meet me for dinner Wednesday.”
Patrick’s gait skipped. “What? Where?”
“I sent you that text on Saturday.”
“I was a little preoccupied with my girlfriend getting shit-faced and you getting her lap dances,” Patrick retorted. “Thanks for that by the way.”
“You’re welcome.” Now Stella had to pull Cooper’s leash, letting him know to catch up. “How’s her face?”
“Scabbed over. She had Neosporin on all day Sunday.”
“Damn.” Stella grinned remembering Millie’s dress hem flying up and showing everyone her ass. “Is she going to work today?”
“To be determined; she threw up all day Sunday too. I’m pretty sure that was her first and last time at a strip club.” Patrick checked his watch. “What’s the setup for Wednesday? Has Harris given you all the details? Are you recording as well?” Patrick fired off question after question, not letting her answer.
“It’s fine, Dad! We’re meeting at Chadwick’s.” Stella pulled at Cooper to catch up with them. She took a second to realize he lagged behind a good bit today. He took several gallops and got even with her again. “You okay, Coop?”
He looked up at her, his tongue hanging out but enjoying himself.
“Does George know you’re doing this?” Patrick slowed his pace for her to keep up. “I don’t like you meeting him alone and George didn’t seem like he knew anything about it this weekend.”
“No, George doesn’t know. I don’t want this touching him. He left last night none the wiser.” She slowed her breathing. “I’m not going to be alone; the FBI will have me covered. It should be fine.” Her unease was difficult to mask from Patrick. The only reason she could hide things from George was that he wasn’t around to look at her face.
“I’m just saying,” Patrick shrugged, “he’s going to be pissed.”
“I’ll be fine. Really.” She checked their time on her phone. “Agent Harris will make sure of that.”
Rebuffed, Patrick looked straight ahead. “I can’
t tell you how much I worry about you. It’s kinda weird.”
“Well, you’re weird, so I guess that works.”
“Oh, you love me.” He nudged her with his elbow.
“I do.” She focused on breathing for a while until they found their rhythm together, Cooper matching them foot for foot.
The next night, she rushed home from work to change and get ready for the dinner. She was wearing a light blue, low-cut top that showed off her cleavage, jeans, and her brown knee-high boots. She pulled her wool peacoat on to walk Cooper in the park and contemplated what she was doing. Stella knew this was the only way she could handle getting rid of Jamie. She’d tried to kill him herself and she was surprised when she realized she couldn’t do it.
Cooper pulled her back toward the house and she crossed the street casually, like she didn’t have a care in the world. One of the agents sat in the dark sedan on the road, watching her place. She smiled and made her way back into the house.
Stella hung Cooper’s leash on the hook and left him at the door to the garage, his tail wagging. She could do this. She would do this.
Delilah roared to life and she couldn’t help but smile. She made her way to Georgetown listening to Miranda Lambert. A little Gunpowder and Lead would do wonders for her nerves. She stopped in Rossyln on the street that Agent Harris had told her and pulled up behind a black van. Stella laughed when Harris opened the back door, revealing computers and such in the back—it was just like the movies. He grabbed her hand and she climbed up into the back of the van.
Agent Harris made her pull her shirt off and had the other agent there put a wire on her bra. The man flinched when he saw her scars. He looked away quickly, going over the basics of the microphone. He had her move certain ways so that she would know that would interfere with the recorder, whether it would be muffled or static-sounding, and reminded her that they needed to hear everything clearly. She nodded and made sure she knew all the ways she shouldn’t sit or stand or lean. Agent Harris warned her about tipping him off, about saying too much, too little. After a while, she blocked him out—too much information was going to put her off her game.
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