by Alexa Davis
Brad Mason was a middle-aged man who, while still fairly decent looking, was obviously having a mid-life crisis. In the past two months, he'd bought a Porsche 911 and, unbeknownst to his fellow congressmen, his wife had threatened to serve divorce papers, take the kids, and then inform the papers of his penchant for hookers if he didn't clean up his act.
Mason was from Iowa, a conservative state that frowned on the kind of behavior the D.C. crowd regularly engaged in, but that only the ones from more liberal states actually got away with. He'd come to me for help, and I'd cleaned up the mess for him, knowing that it would earn me future favors. He was now treading on thin ice with his wife, so he was erring on the side of caution.
I liked men like Brad Mason, or rather, I liked having them owe me something because when I held the chips, I knew I had power. Mason was the leading republican on the gun control bill and he knew that before the shooting, even without him, I'd had almost enough votes to get the bill passed. Now, I needed to call in my favors and replace the five senators who'd been shot.
Mason was visibly anxious about this, and we'd had a discussion about it before the poker game in which he'd promised me that he'd convince five lesser senators to step up and take the place of the votes I'd lost, but that he himself couldn't be one of those votes. I'd reminded him that if he couldn't round up enough support, I'd hold him responsible for the final tally, and if it wasn't in my favor, I'd make my displeasure known.
"Who’s going to tell?" I asked as I looked around the room. All eyes were averted as I scanned the crowd of men spread out around the various tables. No one said a word. I smiled as I said, "Well then, let's play some poker, gentlemen!"
I'd started hosting these poker get togethers once a month after I'd left Impact and moved to Washington to branch out on my own. I'd bought an apartment in the Watergate Complex that I reserved for my own private use and never invited any political guests to visit, and then purchased a house near the Hill, which I'd quickly renovated and turned into a veritable playhouse for grown-ups. It featured a basement that housed my monthly poker parties, a main floor where I threw all my dinner parties and holiday celebrations, and an upper floor that was used for a variety of activities, which I arranged and then asked nothing about.
Brant shot me a concerned look from across the room where he sat dealing cards to several men who were on the verge of being too drunk to actually hold their hands. I shook my head as I turned back to the table and continued pouring. Brant knew that these card games were more than just a lobbyist's attempts to curry favor with those in power, but not even he knew my motivation for befriending these men and plying them with wine, women, and cards. He continued dealing hands until the men all tossed their cards in and let the dealer take the pot.
I rarely let the house win, and if it did, then I made sure to provide the losers with some kind of compensation designed to soothe their loss. Tonight, it was tickets to the Washington Christmas Ball, the biggest event of the season, and one nearly impossible to obtain tickets for. Mo was a strict gatekeeper and carefully determined who would and wouldn’t get tickets and to get my block, I had offered to bankroll Mo’s charity auctions. As I handed each man an envelope containing four tickets, they looked up at me as if I were Santa Claus himself.
"Why thank you, Redding!" Senator Bangor boomed as he accepted envelope. "You're a good man!"
"It's my pleasure, Larry," I smiled as he shook my hand and clapped me on the back. I hated Larry Bangor. He was everything I thought was wrong with politics – a weak, foul-mouthed blowhard who spouted whatever hateful rhetoric would get him attention in the media that week. He'd succeeded in keeping his Senate seat because he'd curried favor with the rich Gold Coast group of supporters in Chicago, and as a result, outspent every opponent four-to-one every election cycle. He was a horrible man with the bad habit of getting a little too rough with the hookers, so I'd started employing a dominatrix who would often take control and leave him sobbing at the end of the session. He loved it, and as a result, I knew I had him on a short leash.
I held out an envelope to Jeff Graham, but he shook his head and waved me off saying, "Nah, I'm good, Linc. I've already got my tickets, so save those for someone who actually needs them." He smiled at me, waiting to see if I'd be surprised at his refusal, but thanks to Brant's research skills, I had already known Graham had tickets. I offered them simply as a means of allowing him to think he had the upper hand. Graham was a new senator from Virginia, and I had a feeling that he was one of the ones who was firmly in the back pocket of Russo and the AWN. He played his cards close to his chest, though, so I simply invited him to events to test the water. He rarely drank, and he never went to the third floor. Compared to the others, Jefferson Graham was a choirboy.
Around ten o'clock, the girls descended the stairs and talked with the remaining men. These women were not your average call girls, instead, they were highly educated students from surrounding colleges and universities who were looking to make enough money to pay off student loans or bankroll businesses. They understood the need for discretion and had no shame whatsoever. I paid them all extremely well and asked them to sign a non-disclosure agreement while they worked for me. The penalties for revealing their after-school jobs were substantial, so I'd not had any trouble with disloyalty. They were a wide range of ages, shapes, and sizes, and they rotated every few weeks so that the same girls didn't always show up. The girls liked this because it kept the men from falling for them out of habit.
Tonight, as I watched the girls work their magic and spirit the men upstairs to the private rooms on the third floor, I thought of Olivia and wondered what she was doing. I had not been able to get her out of my mind. Her flaming red hair and her bright green eyes had made an indelible mark on me and I ached to unbutton her form-fitting, black coat and find out what exactly lay underneath it. I imagined her wearing nothing but lingerie under the coat and then pictured myself unbuttoning it to reveal black lace and thigh-high stockings. I could feel the blood rushing away from my brain to my lower body while I thought about what she would look like spread out on my bedspread as I stood over her, admiring her curves and gleaming skin. I imagined the creamy globes of her breasts almost spilling out over the top of the lacy bra cups as I pictured myself bending down to run one hand across her flawless skin. I imagined her eyes closing as my hand cupped her breast and my fingers tugged at a lace-covered nipple. I'd lower my head and capture-
"Earth to Linc!" Brant yelled in my ear, startling me back to the poker lounge. "Where the hell were you, man? I've been calling you for a full minute."
"Sorry, I was thinking about something," I said as I shook my head and tried to clear the image of a half-naked Olivia Moore out of my mind. "What's up?"
"You know Bangor is on the committee that is going to try and suppress the bill, don't you?” he asked. "I've been on the phone with my contacts over at the Hill and they all say that he has been spouting off about his connections to Russo for the past couple of days."
"Yeah, he's a jerk, but I've got him working to round up enough votes to pass the bill without him having to compromise himself," I said. "We need one good, self-righteous traitor in the bunch."
"Good thinking, Linc," Brant laughed. "What a complete douche."
"Yeah, welcome to democracy at work, my friend," I said with a wry grin. "All I care about at this point is getting enough votes to make sure that our bill passes. Whatever these idiots do in their spare time is not my problem."
"But what happens if he screws us?" Brant asked. "He could say he worked to get votes and then when the bill fails to pass, he can claim that other people turned tail and it isn't his fault."
"You completely underestimate me, Pace," I said, smiling the kind of smile that Brant always said made him extremely nervous. "I've got so much evidence of his dirty dealings and his sessions with Dominatrix Mica up there, that if he fucks us over, I will have his ass out of his office so fast it'll make his head spin."
/> "Alright, well, if you've got enough to make it happen, then I guess we're good, right?" he said as he turned and surveyed the room. "God, these men are pigs."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you let power go to your dick, my friend," I said, shaking my head and making a mental note to pay the cleaning crew a bonus next week.
#
On the drive home from the poker party, I suddenly had an idea about how I could make amends with the pesky reporter. I instructed Mick to head back to the florist's; once there, I picked out the most expensive arrangement I could find. Then, I rethought the choice and picked out something subtler. Olivia Moore didn't seem like a woman who would be bowled over by flash and cash; she had more of a classic style and would probably appreciate restraint. I certainly didn't want to run the risk of pissing her off again, given her penchant for tongue-lashings.
I watched as the florist put together the display and then wrote out a note before tucking it in the envelope. I pulled out my phone and double checked the address for the Sentinel and then told the girl to add the arrangement to my monthly bill. She smiled and nodded as she tied a large red bow around the box that would be used for delivery, assuring me that it would arrive first thing in the morning.
I smiled as I walked back out to the car and got in. I imagined Olivia opening the box and seeing the arrangement, and then I imagined her opening the envelope. Her response would probably be a string of swear words cursing me to the heavens. The image made me laugh loudly and caused Mick to lower the partition and ask, "Everything okay, sir?"
"I'm fine, Mick, just fine," I replied as I looked out the window and watched the snow falling. I wished I could be a fly on the wall in the morning when Olivia Moore arrived at work.
CHAPTER TEN
Olivia
When I got to work on Wednesday morning, I could see Carl grinning from all the way across the newsroom. I picked up my mail and messages, hung up my coat, and grabbed a cup of coffee before I headed over to my desk.
"What the hell are you grinning at?" I asked as I sat down and turned toward my computer. On the wall dividing my desk from the one in front of me was a huge box with a bright red bow. "What the hell is this?"
"I think you have an admirer," Carl said. "Open it, Liv! I've been waiting all morning for you to get here!"
"What's this all morning, Jackson?" I laughed. "You've been here approximately five minutes longer than I have."
"Yeah, and that's all morning!" he said impatiently. "Open the damn box, Moore!"
"Fine, fine," I grumbled. "But if this is some kind of sick joke you cooked up to make fun of the fact that I'm over thirty and still single, I swear, I'm gonna call your wife and tell her all about your hooker habit."
"Right," he nodded not listening to a word I said as he fixated on the box and waited for me to open it.
"You're a real peace of work, you know that, don't you?" I said as I hauled the box down off the wall and set it on my desk. I tugged on the bow, and as it fell away, the front of the box dropped in front of me, revealing an arrangement of beautiful, winter flowers. There was an envelope sticking out, so I grabbed it and opened it. I read the note, looked back at the envelope, and then swore under my breath.
"Who is it from, Liv?" Carl asked. "Who sent you those flowers?"
"That pushy gun guy, Lincoln Redding!" I fumed. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?"
"I don't get it, Liv," Carl said genuinely perplexed. "What's wrong with some good-looking guy sending you flowers? What'd he say in the note?"
"It's not the flowers that are the problem, Carl," I said. "It's the fact that he also gave me a ticket to the stupid Washington Christmas Gala! You know how I loathe those things. And, he said he was sorry that running into him was so painful and that he hoped this would help take some of the sting out of our collision."
"Whoa, what did you do to him, Liv? And more importantly, what did you do to get him to give you the ticket?" Carl asked suddenly looking very concerned. "Those things are like gold in this town and no one can get their hands on them. Every year, my wife tells me that if figure out how to get tickets to that ball, I'll never have to mow the lawn or take out the trash again."
"I didn't do anything to him! He's a rude man who doesn't look where he's going!" I protested then held out the ticket. "Here, you want it? Take it. I have no use for this kind of nonsense."
"Liv, if the guy gave you a ticket to the hottest event in town, then don't you think he's going to be more than a little insulted if you don't show up? I mean, not that I'm not a dashing man or anything, I'm just saying."
"You know, this is just unfair, Carl," I sighed as I looked at the beautiful arrangement and remembered the way Linc had looked at me in front of the florist. His beautiful blue eyes had flashed as he held me close after our collision. His body had felt strong and hard against mine, and his arm around my waist had made me feel like a woman for the first time in I don't know how long. I wasn't going to admit it to Carl, or anyone else for that matter, but since the collision, I'd fantasized about all the naughty things I could do with Linc Redding and had slept more soundly than I had in months. "Why do these guys have to do this kind of stuff and ruin everything?"
"What is wrong with you, Liv?" Carl laughed. "You are like the anti-female. Most women would die to have a man send flowers and a ticket to the ball, but you treat it like he left a bag of burning dog poop on your doorstep! What is your problem?"
"It's not that, Carl," I said slumping down in my chair. "It's just that he's a completely arrogant idiot!"
"Liv, listen to me," Carl said as he scooted his chair over into my cubicle. "You can't keep running away from getting involved in life again. It's not healthy. You need to get out and give people a chance. If they prove that they're asses, then you'll have every right to turn tail and run, but to run away from something simply because it's vexing? It's not fair. It's not fair to you. You deserve some happiness."
"Don't get all sentimental-" I began as I felt a catch in my throat rise and threaten to escape. I looked at him, feeling more vulnerable than I had in a long time. "I know. I know. But I don't like the guy; he's annoying and entitled and he's being pretty presumptuous assuming that I'll just run right out and buy a dress for this thing. I don't have time for this kind of nonsense, Carl. I don't know how to do girl things and I'm too old to learn."
"Oh please, you are so full of shit!" he laughed as he slapped me on the back. That's what I loved about Carl, He knew how to take a moment of raw vulnerability and turn it around so I'd feel more comfortable, while not losing the message. I often told him he should become a therapist. "I've seen you all dolled up and you look spectacular! Why don't you get a dress and then outsource everything else?"
"Outsource? What the hell? Fly to India and have someone make me look like a girl?" I laughed.
"No, I mean go to one of those fancy spas and have them do all the work," he spoke as if he were talking to a small child. "I've seen Trina do it a thousand times – and seen the cash flow out of our bank account. She always looks like a million bucks!"
"This is insane," I said shaking my head. "Fine, I'll find a dress and go to one of your fancy spas so I can look like a girl."
"That's the spirit, Liv!" Carl said as he slugged my shoulder.
"Ouch, that hurt!" I said as I rubbed my shoulder and pouted. "You really shouldn't be hitting a girl, you know."
"Toughen up, buttercup," Carl grinned as I groaned at his terrible rhyme. “Besides, this fits in nicely with all of the reporting you've been doing for the features section and might get you entry into some of the future events, you know? Consider it a good reporting tool."
I simply nodded in response. I didn't want to go to the event, but Carl was right: I needed to make a little more effort to fit in around here if I was going to have access to the people who would make it easier to report the news in Washington. I sighed as I picked up my phone and texted Bix a simple message. "Go shopping w/me?"
I quickly replied, "K. Be there," and then let it go.
#
Carl had just scooted back around the dividing wall to his own desk when Frank came barreling through the newsroom with a stack of papers in his hand. He was yelling, "Olivia, Olivia! Get your things together and get over to the GRIPTech offices."
I shot Carl a look and then said, "What's up, Frank?" I asked as I began shoving a notebook and a couple of pens into my bag. I carried more office supplies than I'd ever use in my lifetime, but there was something about adding more that made me feel fully prepared.
"I need to do an interview with the CEO over at GRIPTech," he said as he looked at the papers in his hand. "Stuff's coming over the wire that he bribed the senators who were shot on Sunday and there's speculation that he might be responsible for the shootings."
"Linc Redding?" Carl and I said in unison.
"You think he had people shot?" Carl asked.
"No, not me," Frank sighed. "Other sources are naming him as someone of interest and he called the office saying he'd do an interview, but only if you wrote it."
"Who, me?" I said in a shocked voice. "Wait, that arrogant jerk called and asked specifically for me?"
"Yes, Olivia, tbu if you keep asking me questions, I'm going to assign the story to a reporter who can handle it," Frank warned. "Get your things together and get your tail over to the GRIPTech building, ASAP!"
"Yes, sir," I said giving him a mock salute. I looked at Carl and shrugged. If Linc Redding wanted me to interview him, I would interview him all right. I just hoped he was prepared for a real interview and not some fluff piece that stroked his ego and talked about all the wonderful things he owned. I rolled my eyes just thinking about how he would probably show me around his offices.
"Nice flowers, who sent them?" Frank asked.
"No idea," I shrugged. "Some anonymous admirer."
"They ask you out?"