Dark hair, so black it was almost blue. His eyes were blue, remarkably similar to Roger’s, and his skin pale and creamy. The kind of skin and hair women killed for, spent hundreds of dollars trying to fake… and he made it look effortless. He had a thick stubble on his jaw, but the shadow was well maintained; more GQ than laziness.
She gulped her drink. The cold vodka shocked her back into the moment. She tipped the glass to him. He smirked and she realized he was about to eat her alive.
“It helps to know what you want,” she murmured, her voice shaky enough to betray her.
He smiled and her heart thumped harder. “True enough. And what do you want, Paige Summers?”
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” She tried to sound indifferent, but his eyes let her know she wasn’t fooling him.
He signaled the bartender who brought them each another one of what she was drinking. “You know who I am.”
She nodded and finished her first drink before picking up the second. These were doubles. She needed to slow down or she’d be in trouble. He moved closer and she swallowed hard. She was already in trouble.
“‘S.’ Or do you prefer Simon?”
“Whichever.”
“Simon, then. ‘S’ is a little too cloak and dagger for me.” This made him laugh, a full and genuine laugh. It rippled through her, put her at ease. She would have loved his natural talent when she had been a reporter.
He stepped closer and her breath caught in her throat. From this distance she could smell him, an intoxicating mix of mint and sandalwood. “Since you don’t like cloak and dagger, let’s cut to the chase; why are you looking for me?”
“Who says I am?”
His hand reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. She felt hot, her silk dress suddenly stifling. “Please. We both know who you work for, we both know you’ve been searching for me… and we both know good ol’ Roger and Dallas don’t know.”
She sucked in a breath. Hearing Roger’s name was a splash of cold water, the reminder she’d needed. She might be mad as hell at him, and Simon was definitely swoon-worthy, but Roger was the one she’d fought so hard to win over. He was the one she loved; secretive, stubborn, and all.
Remember Roger.
So, if Simon knew all of that, she needed to play this carefully. “Why did Ellen kill herself? She implied you had enough dirt to make her life, and Roger’s, a living hell.”
“You know what you want to drink and you’re cutting straight to the point. I can appreciate that. Ellen killed herself because everything she implied is true.”
Paige shook her head. She had looked into Roger Taylor’s history, and deeply, before she’d agreed to work for him. Ellen had made that one comment, but even it wasn’t enough to suggest that there was something that awful she hadn’t known about. “I think you’re bluffing.”
His eyebrows raised and he took a deep sip of his drink. “This is excellent, by the way. I appreciate a woman who doesn’t need frou frou in her drinks.”
“I appreciate a man who doesn’t dodge my questions.”
“Touché. I’m not bluffing, but you’d have to trust me to learn a few of my secrets, and a few of Roger’s, too.” He put a card on the counter. It was black, metal, thick. The Centurion Card, and a personal one, at that. Roger had one. Her father was wealthy, but he hadn’t received an invitation for one of them. It was reserved, she’d assumed, for that level of wealth that the one percent of the one percent held.
So Simon had money. Okay.
The bartender brought back the tab and she watched as Simon left an outrageously high tip. When the bartender saw it, he looked like he was going to pee his pants, or quit his job. Maybe both. It was that kind of tip, and it was clearly a show for her. Simon must not know as much about her as he wanted her to believe, or she’d know money wasn’t something that impressed or interested her. Not money like that, at least.
She leaned back, giving him the once over. Her gut was screaming at her. Danger! DANGER! And she knew she should turn away. Run to Roger, to Dallas, and tell them what she’d learned. If she did that, though, the fun would end. Dangerous or not, this was fun, and Paige was reluctant to be relegated to desk jockey so soon.
“Where to, Simon?”
He smiled, the cat who got all of the cream, and offered her his arm.
~ ~ ~ ~
He didn’t have a limo, preferring to drive a sleek, black SUV. That didn’t stop it from having all the bells and whistles. As she leaned back in the dark, kid-soft leather seats, her heart was pounding, Paige berated herself for doing something so stupid. She was more than a little tipsy. She was in a strange man’s car going to an unknown place. The strange man had scared someone she had known to death.
So stupid.
It was silent for a long time, just long enough for her to really start to get scared, before he spoke. “You want some proof I am who I say I am and can do what I say I can do.”
“You haven’t really said who you are or what you can do. You’ve only hinted that you know something devastating about Roger.”
“Paige Summers, age twenty eight. You graduated summa cum laude with a double major in political science and journalism. You worked for the post right out of school, getting promoted quickly due to your ability to hunt down difficult sources. Your former editor, Karen, still considers you a friend. Your father, George Summers, is a lawyer for Wynn, Summers, and Associates. He made partner early in his career and leaving you alone with mommy for most of your formative years. But you don’t have daddy issues, no--you have mommy issues, a need to absolutely not be your mother: A southern trophy wife. Sure, your parents are mostly happy, but you relish disappointing mom. That’s why you picked your majors, why you went to the Post and threw yourself into work, and why you work for a Senator who’s known for being out there with his policies--”
Numb from shock, Paige still felt a need to defend Roger. “He’s far from out there.”
“Oh, he’s out of any common party values and you know it. You went to work for him not only because his policies would offend your mother’s political leanings, but also because you’re in love with him. You’ve worked in almost every major role in his campaign, you’ve eliminated any kind of social life that doesn’t involve him, and you’re sleeping with him now but don’t want anyone to know. You might even love him but if it went public it would mean your mom wins in the end, you become a trophy wife to an eccentric yet gold Senator, and all of your hard work means nothing.”
Paige was beginning to sweat. Sure, most of the facts he knew were common knowledge for anyone who did a little internet research. Maybe he was just guessing with the “in love with Roger” part… but it hit too close to home. Her fingers went into her mouth and she chewed a fingernail, an old habit she’d thought she’d broken long ago. “You’re just trying to intimidate me.”
Simon frowned. “This isn’t intimidation. Intimidation would include the fact that you drink whole milk in your lattes despite wishing you could lose a few pounds. You haven’t slept at your apartment in over a month, but stop in once a week to change wardrobes--which means Roger still hasn’t given you a drawer or some closet space or whatever it is boyfriends do for a girl they’re serious about. You rarely have a moment to yourself because you bust your ass for him, but every day you take ten minutes to sit on the front steps of the office, put in your headphones, and sing out loud to eighties pop rock. And you shouldn’t have had so much vodka, because you were already tipsy from the wine you shared with Roger tonight, before he fucked you on the table.”
Stop. STOP! She wanted to scream, but Paige was too frightened to move. Fight or flight? Frozen should be the third option, because that’s what she was. Paralyzed by fear. He didn’t just know facts about her. Simon had been spying on her and Roger, to such an intimate degree she was nauseous.
He had been watching her for weeks. Weeks. He had been there, at the restaurant, watching them.
“Who are you? You cert
ainly aren’t a lobbyist.” A tiny whisper. Cold sweat began to trickle between her breasts, an entirely unpleasant sensation.
He laughed, cold and low. “Lobbyist by day, freelancer by night. My work is a bit disreputable, I suppose. That Governor caught sending dick pics to girls? That was me. The Madame’s list of Congressmen who’d purchased escort services from her brothel? I arranged that. I’m the man behind the scandals. Some of them I make up, some of them I unearth, but when I’m done my target is always ruined and my clients pays me well for it.”
“And Roger… you are making something up to ruin him?” There was a yearning there, deep in her chest. She needed him to say yes, yes he was creating something to ruin Roger, like the failed attempt to frame him for embezzling money.
Simon pulled into a driveway. They were in a very ritzy suburb of D.C., parked in front of a home that was both lavish and simple. “I tried going the forgery route. My client wanted him blackmailed and manipulated, not out of office. Unfortunately--” he smiled a wolf’s smile at her, “you foiled that. So no, my client is deciding whether or not to use the real dirt we have on Roger to just take him out of the game completely.”
Paige wanted to protest, to argue. There was no real dirt. This was all a lie. But he’d known so much about her, the level of spying and intrusion was too real for her to doubt him. He had dirt on Roger. Apparently dirt so big it would ruin Roger’s career.
Her stomach heaved and Paige just had enough time to throw open her door and lean out before she vomited, the alcohol burning her throat and nose as it came back up.
Chapter Six
Was this what had happened to Ellen?
Sympathy, something Paige had never truly experienced for the former aide, was sprouting in her. It made her uncomfortable. She’d thought it was Ellen’s malicious, predatory ways that made her involved with Simon and his attempts to sabotage Roger.
But now Paige was in his home. She’d come willingly, as if she were the rat and he the Pied Piper, following him in as if he hadn’t just threatened to ruin the man she loved.
The house was beautiful, a bachelor pad. Deep brown leather and green velvet, modern lines and chrome decorated its simple rooms. It hid the nature of its owner well.
“Water?” Simon asked.
She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. His counters were lacquered cement, industrial looking yet elegant. He poured them each a glass from the tap, making sure she saw he wasn’t tampering with her drink, and handed it to her. They drank in silence.
What was she doing here? How on earth did she think this was going to go? Her plan had been simple: Find S., Tell Roger and Dallas, save the day, win his love, get married and have babies and-- okay, so Paige felt irked. She knew she’d been playing along with a fantasy she’d barely admitted to herself. The curiosity that had suited her in her previous vocation had now landed her in deep trouble.
“Why am I here?” She finally asked.
“You were looking for me.” He leaned against the counter, his silhouette long and elegant. She couldn’t help but admire him. The drop dead gorgeous looks, the money, the stylish house were all things that hid the cold, calculating man that Simon was.
She shook her head. “We both know this wasn’t what I was intending.”
Simon shrugged and stood up, moving closer to her. Paige suddenly felt very hot, her skin practically crackling at his nearness, her heart pounding like a trapped rabbit’s. “I know a lot about you, Paige--” his finger reached out and traced her jaw. The touch was feather-light. She shivered, and not entirely from repulsion. “But what you are intending to do is unknown to me. To turn me in to Roger and his bulldog, Dallas?” The fingertip dragged lower, down her throat. She gulped involuntarily and knew he felt it. “To expose me?” Along her clavicle now, still so, so light, a whisper of a touch. Her nipples tightened, pressing against the silk of her dress. “Or maybe… maybe you want to help me. Like Ellen was, before her unfortunate accident.”
Ellen. Her blood, her brains splashed against the wall of Roger’s kitchen. Paige retched a little, the water she drank threatening to come back up. That was the kind of man Simon was. His seduction was seamless, but then she remembered Ellen, she remembered Roger, and she broke from her trance. She jumped back, away from his devilishly sensual touch.
“Never,” she hissed. “With all the watching you’ve done, you should know I would never betray Roger like that!”
“You’d never betray the Roger you think you know. Here’s my proposal, since you’ve been such a good Nancy Drew and figured out my identity: I have a guest bedroom upstairs prepared for you. In it is a folder and inside of the folder is all of the dirt on Roger you’d ever want to know. Or not know. That’s up to you. Read it or don’t read it, and then do what you want with it. I already know what I’ll be doing with it.”
Damn it. “What’ll you do with it?”
“In two days I’ll be sending it to a reputable newspaper. It’ll make its way from the mailroom to the editor’s office, because it is that big. Then one of their favored journalists will write an expose on Senator Roger Taylor and, to my client’s delight, Roger’s career as a politician will crumble. If he’s lucky, he might be able to be on some small city council, but even that might be a stretch.”
Oh, he was good! She was hooked. Everything in her was screaming to say no. To call a cab or call Roger and have him come pick her up. She knew she shouldn’t accept and definitely shouldn’t read what was in the folder.
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
Paige was terrible at doing what she should.
~ ~ ~ ~
The room was nice, of course, but Paige only had eyes for the folder. It wasn’t thick, which she supposed was a relief. However, Simon was confident in his proclamation; whatever secrets were in there he was certain it was enough to fuck up Roger’s life.
“We both know your tastes can be a little eclectic. There was that whole business a few years ago…”
She wondered if that was in there. The tastes Ellen had alluded to when she’d tried to seduce Roger. Paige had experienced a glimpse of them earlier. Roger had been completely different. He’d been in charge and a little violent. It had been hot as hell, but he’d cringed from it afterwards.
The folder was a magnet tugging at her.
She barely heard the “good night” Simon offered her, or the door clicking shut behind her. Her mind tried to rationalize reading it. If she read it, she could help Dallas fight it. Squash it before it came out. If she read it, she was still doing the right thing. Right?
The truth though, was like an itch she couldn’t scratch until she looked in the folder. It was knowing, just for her, all of Roger’s secrets. She wanted to know, really know, the man she was in love with. Then, maybe, if she knew his secrets, he wouldn’t feel a need to be so guarded around her. Maybe he’d open up and they could truly begin the relationship they deserved.
Paige took off her heels and crawled onto the bed, picking up the folder, testing its weight. It was just paper, but it felt larger. Like it had mass.
Finally she opened it and began reading.
She didn’t stop until there were tears in her eyes and a hole in her heart. Roger wasn’t a honorable man. His whole campaign was supposedly rooted in his deep-seeded honesty. In one night, in one folder, Simon had shredded all of that apart.
Paige felt exhausted from staying up all night and from the sobs that had consumed her. She felt betrayed, knowing there was this hidden side to Roger that no one else knew about.
She went downstairs, knowing this was just what Simon had anticipated. He wanted her on his side and now… now she was ashamed that she was considering it.
~ ~ ~ ~
The smell of bacon came from the kitchen. Paige’s hands tugged and smoothed at the silk of her dress, but it was painfully obvious she’d slept in it. She ducked into a bathroom before finding Simon.
Red, puffy eyes stared back at her from the mirror. Her hair
was a tangled mess and her day-old eye makeup completed the look. She hadn’t even slept with Simon and yet she felt as if she’d leave in shame. Reluctant, she pulled her phone out and checked it.
Forty three texts, almost as many missed calls and messages. Most from Roger, and a handful from Mariel and Dallas. Roger must have enlisted their help when she didn’t return his calls. Typical. She hadn’t been gone more than twelve hours and hell, they’d had a fight! Couldn’t he trust her to have some space?
She thought about the content of the folder and knew that no, trust wasn’t something Roger had, because she’d never known the truth about his past.
Cold water, soap, and the hand towel helped clean off the trashy makeup, and she finger-combed her hair. When it wouldn’t comply she twisted it into a loose knot. With the exception of the dress, the image of her in the mirror was fresher, though her eyes were still puffy from sleeplessness and tears.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, Simon handed her a mug of coffee. It was perfect; he’d already known how she took it. Last night that information had terrified her, but she was currently too numb to be concerned.
He was cooking breakfast, and he was a feast for her eyes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just some low slung jeans that accentuated the trim muscles of his abs and hips. Roger was a little more muscular, but they had similar builds with broad shoulders that tapered to their narrow, waists.
“You cook bacon without a shirt? You must be a masochist.”
He gave her an impish grin and joked back, “We both know I deal out the pain, not take it.”
It fell flat. She just couldn’t handle his charm, because she knew what it hid. The coffee was good, the bacon tasty, and all she wanted was her own bed. She gnawed on her bacon a bit as she considered what that meant; her own bed. Not Roger’s.
The Corrupt Trilogy Page 15