by Claire Adams
I shook my head, cackling a bit. “I don’t think I loved anyone before,” I murmured, bringing my head back to my affair with the president.” I took another bite of the ice cream. “This stuff is going to make me sick.”
Rachel laughed, setting the ice cream on the coffee table before her. A small dripping from the spoon landed on the coffee table. She blinked at me. “How long do you think you’ll stay?” she asked me. Her voice quaked.
I pursed my lips. I couldn’t go back to the apartment. I’d been there a few times, of course—only to grab clothes, to dash in and dash out. But the place felt like a wasteland. A wasteland in which a single eyeball—like a great sun—burned into me. “I’m not sure, Rachel,” I whispered, feeling terrible. I couldn’t put her out like this. “But I’ll—I’ll definitely be out soon.”
She brought her hand over my hand. “You can stay as long as you like. I’m just worried about you, is all. That something bigger is going on.” Her eyes searched my face, but I wouldn’t give it away.
I nodded. “You’ll be the first to know when there’s danger afoot,” I stated, shrugging a bit.
She brought herself up on her feet and raised her hands to the sky, stretching her back. She cracked her neck a bit. “All right, Amanda. Good night.” She clattered to her room. I heard her flop onto her bed; I heard her light snores emanating from the back bedroom. I shivered and brought a blanket over my body on the couch.
The next morning, I awoke with a pit in my stomach. God, the stress was eating me alive. I brought my hand over it, kneading at the skin, at the internal organs that seemed to scream up at me. I tapped into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I closed my eyes as I drank it, feeling the cool rain pass over me.
It was still very early—before six—and I got dressed quickly thinking I could head into work early to get things done. All the while, as I tugged a new skirt over my hips, as I applied my makeup, my mind replayed the events of the previous few weeks. Not only were there photos of Xavier and I out there in the world, controlled only by the scariest, most dangerous man alive, but Xavier—that stunning man—had told me that he wanted to leave his wife for me. I pictured Camille’s face as I brushed my teeth, only for a moment taking delight in the fact that Xavier wanted to dump this woman for me. This incredibly powerful, beautiful woman. He wanted me, instead.
Or did he?
It was never easy to note what the passing fancy of a gentleman was when comparing it to a real, tactile, true love.
Of course, I was flattered. I could still feel his penetrating gaze, the way he wrapped his hand around my hips as I fucked him, feeling him so deep inside me. He was the most attractive, most assertive, most powerful man I’d ever met in my life. And our attraction to each other seemed to rival anything else.
I grabbed my bag and swept into the morning. Washington D.C. was glorious in the September sunshine. I knew it would grow cold soon, that the winter would drape over the city and leave us in sadness and big, oversized coats.
I hailed a taxi and popped into the back, telling him to take the long way to the White House. I knew that I would be the first to arrive; I knew that when I crowded into that front door, even the president himself would still be sleeping in his bed—beside his wife. I shivered but kept my head up, my nose toward the sun.
The monuments were gleaming as we passed them. The Washington monument snuck up into the coming blue like a surprise. I lurched forward in my seat to catch every image of the monuments, like I’d never seen them before. It seemed that the morning—so early—was untainted. I swallowed.
The taxi dropped me off at the White House, and I tapped toward the door. A Secret Service agent stood outside, waiting for me. He wore sunglasses in the coming light. He nodded toward me. I nodded back and snuck into the massive home. I imagined myself, in those moments, entering the White House in several years as the Secretary of State, as the Vice President of the United States. Perhaps even as the President of the United States herself. I shivered as I sauntered down the hallway, knowing that if I had agreed to be with the president, to allow him to leave his wife for me, my career would have halted at the wall. I would have watched it fizzle and die before me. I’d be popping out kids in a few years—kids for the president. And then: we’d retire together.
I wasn’t ready for that life! I wanted to live; I wanted to experience so many things.
I found myself at my desk once more. I began finalizing the press release from the previous day, nodding my head along with the words. I felt the people on the campaign team appear around me, dip into their chairs, and prepare themselves for the day. I was their leader. I had to begin acting like I cared, like this meant something to me. I had to refute my feelings for the president.
In a perfect world, I would have had everything. I would have had leadership; I would have had love. But right then, it wasn’t in the cards. So I stood up on the other side of my desk. I clapped my hands loudly, with authority. “Attention, team,” I called to them. They turned toward me, their eyes bright. “We have a big day ahead of us. I want serious productivity out of each and every one of you. This will be the most difficult job of your career. But it’s one that will ultimately put you ahead in life. And you know it.” I sniffed toward them and watched as they scurried back to work, like mice.
I sat once more, peering down the dark hallway that I knew led down to the Oval Office. Figures at the other end of the hallway—all the way toward the president’s living quarters—appeared. The woman had draped her arm over her husband’s. They didn’t speak. Rather, they held their faces forward and walked like a massive animal—all of their parts lining up so well.
I nodded to myself and leaned back toward my computer. I knew it was Camille and Xavier. I knew that all was right in the world, that this was where I was meant to be—that they were where they were meant to be, as well.
Life would go on the way it was meant to.
Chapter 3
The day swept by quickly. I received several emails from across the country and had a Skype call with a woman from California who would be greeting us on our next campaign trail. I met with Jason in the small office in which he’d initially shown me those horrific photos all those weeks ago. We talked about normal things, but all the while, I sensed a sort of humor about him—like he knew precisely how much power he had over me, like he knew that he’d altered the course of my life with just a few clicks of his spy cameras. Check. Mate.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to California with the president, do you?” Jason asked me, his face a bit shiny with grease, with acne. His eyes were filled with off-beat humor.
I frowned. “I don’t know what you mean, Jason,” I calmly. “I’m the campaign manager. I’m obviously going to California with the president to oversee all the events and keep him on track.” I shrugged. And then, I leaned forward. “And if you think there’s anything still going on with me and the president, you’re sorely mistaken.” My breath was lined with hatred, with anger. I scowled at him.
But Jason just laughed. “All right. But you do know that we’re that I have the ultimate power over you. Right?” He smirked at me. “Otherwise, I can bring out a few of those photographs.”
I stood up quickly from my chair across from him. “Are you ever going to grow up?” I hissed at him, shaking my head. “Fuck you.”
I spun around, feeling haughty. I felt like I couldn’t turn anywhere without being accosted by something, without someone propositioning me. Both Jason and Xavier were like brick walls before me that I continually banged my head against, hurting myself over and over. But I saw no sign of release, I saw no sign of help. I sighed and pushed into the breezy hallway, hearing the laughter from Jason in the room behind me.
Everywhere I looked on the walk back from the small office, I felt like people’s eyes were on me, like they were watching me. I felt my heart constrict in my chest. Suppose—suppose they suspected something? Suppose they knew that
I was sleeping with the president? Suppose they knew that I was essentially under Jason’s thumb, without any control? I cleared my throat, ready to attract some people’s eyes. But no one looked up, like I was invisible or something. I shivered.
I sat at my desk and tapped my fingers against the wood, feeling incredibly foolish. I watched as Jason sauntered back into the room. His shirt sort of poked out around his belt. So unkempt, I thought; what a goddamned mess. And yet so organized that he could actually get the better of me. Incredible.
The terror of my life was escalating around me. I felt like I was losing grip. I couldn’t even go back to my beautiful apartment—the apartment I had worked so hard to get, to organize, to decorate. The apartment that felt so dirty now.
I looked down the hallway and saw that Camille had just exited the Oval Office. She looked arrogant. She was all elbows, with this short, pixie haircut. She nodded to the Secret Service agent and then stomped down the hallway. I wondered what sort of discussion they’d had. I wondered if she knew he was having an affair, if she could smell it on him like some women could. I remembered that the man I’d slept with from Congress had had a wife. She’d suspected, he’d told me. She’d known just from the happiness about him, from the jaunt in his step. “We’re meant to die unhappy,” he’d said, stroking my back in bed. His hair was course on his chest.
I tapped my fingers: one, two, three, four, five, as I watched Camille storm into the other side of the house. I thought of her husband—a man, I realized then, who I’d come to believe was far more mine than anyone else’s. Was I okay with sharing him? I wasn’t sure. I felt the rage billow through me; I felt that I should absolutely dart down the hallway and take advantage of this one thing in my life that gave me joy, that gave me an escape from everything else continually going to shit.
Xavier. Xavier.
Even his name was so sensual. I was always so worried about us, about what was going to happen if people found out. But I knew that Xavier didn’t have these fears. So why was I so eternally befuddled with this problem? Why was I running away from the only thing that made my heart brim, made my lips smile? Why was I falling away from it?
I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, and I tried to listen to my heart for the first time in my all-too-professional life. I felt the beats course through me. This was a bad situation. But I had to take advantage of it. I had to feel his dick inside me once more. I had to be a part of this.
I had to follow this pleasure down the White House rabbit hole, certain that I’d never come back for air.
Chapter 4
I tapped the long rod against the board behind me, explaining the campaign to a few of the team members. “We have to assert to the American people our sure and steady comprehension of education, of readying American children for a better future.” I nodded my head, gazing at each of the team members’ assertive eyes. They were each ready to go into the campaign world and take over, make something of themselves. Truly, I was rooting for them.
Suddenly, I felt a shadow pass over the back of the crowd. My eyes darted up, and I found myself eye-to-eye with Xavier. I hadn’t spoken with him in several days, and just his presence in the room seemed to make my entire body shake. I raised my eyebrows. “Any questions?”
A man in the front row raised his hand. But my eyes were still drawn toward the president. I wanted him to speak.
He brought his hands together, then, after a long, terrifying, full-of-tension pause. He clapped loudly, allowing the echo to course through my spine. “Amanda. That was a beautiful presentation.”
Several of the campaign team members nodded their heads in agreement.
“With a team like you all,” Xavier continued, moving next to me. He brought his hand behind my back, almost too low. I smiled, unsure, knowing what he was risking. “I don’t know how I could possibly lose.” He winked at us all, and a few people laughed. “Now! Back to work.” He barked these words with a grin on his face, bringing an overall sense of calm to the area. The people on the team knew who they were working for; they knew that he was a good, kind-hearted person—a person who’d worked the past three years, fighting tooth and nail with congress to pass some of the most essential bills in our country’s history.
I spun toward him, blinking wildly. I placed my hand on his and removed it from my back. “How are you, Mr. President?” I asked him. I could feel Jason’s eyes on us from across the room, but I didn’t care. “I see you’ve been quite busy lately. You haven’t been answering my emails about the campaign.”
He raised his left eyebrow—the one I liked so much. I felt my stomach flip. “You know how I feel about boring emails. Let’s get it hand-written next time.” He winked at me.
I laughed. “My, my. You’re quite the old man, aren’t you?
He shrugged his shoulders. He leaned toward me and I nearly felt his lips against my ear as he whispered. “Come to my office this afternoon. I want to talk to you about the campaign.” He winked at me as he drew away.
My face had already turned an incredible, beet red. I scratched my head. “Okay,” I whispered.
I sauntered back to my desk and scribbled something—a few spare words—into a notebook. I could still feel Jason’s eyes across the room. Finally, the burning became too much. I lurched my head up, and his eyes were filled with vitality. He was bringing his fingers together like an evil conqueror, considering his next plot. I bit my tongue and tasted blood. This terribly dressed man could ruin my life.
I was simply his pawn, ready to do his bidding.
But I stood, knowing I needed to meet the president. I paused at Jason’s desk. Jason still peered up at me, his lips curling into a smile. “I have to go to the Oval Office,” I stated to him with authority. I looked down my nose at him in his chair. “Is there any sort of message you’d like me to pass on to the president?”
Jason tipped his head to the right. “Just don’t be too loud in there,” he stated, his eyes wicked.
I wanted to stomp my feet, to tug at my hair. I wanted him to leave me the hell alone. But I knew I held no real power over him. So I nodded my head. “I’ll recommend that you take on some new responsibilities or something?”
“Whatever you feel is right,” Jason stated, shrugging. His eyes looked so bright, so happy. What evil coursed through that man?
But I brushed it from me as I walked. I remembered that just the previous day I’d been so sure that my mind and my heart could find happiness, that I could go with the flow—at least for now—and take advantage of this truly mind-altering situation. I remembered his body over mine, almost like it was fiction I’d spun in my head.
I greeted the Secret Service agent and he opened the door for me, his face stoic. I wondered if they talked about me—the other woman.
I shivered.
Xavier sat in his chair on the other side of his desk. He smiled at me as I entered, and I bowed my head toward him. “Xavier. It’s been a moment since we spoke,” I stated. I felt the strained cordiality coursing through my throat.
He gestured toward the chair before him. I reminded myself to enjoy my life, to make my life all it could be. I swallowed and sat, crossing my legs. I tipped my head to the right, coyly. “What matter brings me here?” I asked him. I didn’t ordinarily ask him these questions. We ordinarily didn’t speak like this didn’t work hours.
Xavier brought his hands out before him and gazed at his long fingers. They held nothing. His wedding ring glinted on his left hand. “I try to meditate,” he said then. “I try to make my mind come clean, to not think about anything.”
“How is that working for you?” I asked him, swallowing. I tried not to laugh, not to smile.
But then, a smile stretched across his face. “It’s not working at all, Amanda. I can’t get you off my mind. Not for a single second.” His word were low and quiet. He shook his head and leaned toward me, over the desk. He reached out and grasped my hand. I held his, running my thumb over his skin. He sighed. “What ar
e you thinking about?”
In that moment, I realized that we’d been thinking about the same things. We’d been thinking about each other, about us—as a couple. I swallowed and shrugged my shoulders. “Everything. Nothing.” I swallowed. “And mostly you, I suppose. Just you.” My voice was raspy.
Our eyes met across the table. I leaned toward him. Our faces were inches apart, and our whispered were easy, direct. It was almost like we were talking to each other in bed. I told him the events of the campaign team that day, what we’d accomplished. He told me about his business meeting with the governor of Washington State. Our words were easy, laced with a serious comprehension of the political world. But always, beneath us, we were linked. We sat, hand-in-hand.
Finally, after many minutes of political talk, he stopped. He bit his lip, and his eyes peered into mine with such a question about them. “You know. I had a wonderful time the other night.” His voice rose at the end, as if he were trying to get a feel for what I thought about the evening, if I’d had a good time as well.
There was no question; it had been one of the best nights of my life.
I nodded slightly, feeling my hair drape around my face. I swallowed. “It was magical, Xavier,” I whispered. Even as my heart panged in my throat, I knew that it was right; this was what I wanted. I wanted to ride out this wave of feeling and reach the other side—even if the other side was death and destruction, a complete loss of my career.
Xavier nodded. He leaned closer and brought his free hand to my face, bringing his fingers through my brown, luxurious hair. “And I want you to know that I hear you—I hear your problems with what I said. I understand why you panicked. I can’t just leave my wife. Not yet. I don’t want to scare you off, certainly. This is all I want. This. What we have. Right here.” He leaned closer to me, and he kissed me, catching my lips with his. I felt the sunlight emanating in from the great window on his other side. I sighed, feeling my pussy pulsing beneath me. I wanted him so bad. But this moment in the sunshine, this moment in which he told me that he wanted me, that he was willing to wait for me—was beautiful enough.