by Claire Adams
I couldn’t speak any more. I knew I couldn’t tell Rachel anything else—anything about Jason, about the president. But I peered up at her with these incredibly large, doe-like eyes. And I shook my head, as if I was at a loss for what to do.
She squeezed my hand once more. She reached across and grabbed the bottle of wine. In the silence, we listened to the glug glug glug of the wine as it jostled into our glasses. I took a sip and a sense of calm passed through me. We clinked our glasses together—a bit late in our timing. And we smiled at each other with red-tinted teeth.
She shook her head. “Well. You know you can stay here as long as you like. You have a safe place here, Amanda. I know that we aren’t in the same business, that you’re in a great deal of pressure. And I want you to know that I will help you in any way I can to get you through this. Whatever these people are doing to you. It must be—it must be really bad.” She nodded with affirmation.
I couldn’t believe the feeling of calm that passed through me. My friend—the only person I could trust in the world, beyond Xavier—was allowing me to stay with her. She wanted to be my protector, my person. I thanked her profusely, and then we continued to drink wildly into the night. It felt like old times. It felt like I had someone I could trust once more; it felt like I had someone to lean my shoulder on, to ride out the storm with.
Finally, I held a sense of peace.
Chapter Six
The next morning, I rose early. A hangover glistened over my eyes. I hopped into Rachel’s shower at around 6 and hosed my hair and my slim, naked body of all the toxins from the previous day. I shivered, even in the hot water. I had so much to do.
As I stood in the water, I remembered what Rachel had told me the night before—that other men on the campaign team had actually snuck a camera into her apartment in order to watch her undress. What a sick joke that was. I wondered, half-heartedly, if Jason had been involved. It had been years ago and he hadn’t been at the height of his career. However, perhaps this was his natural scheme—something he kept up year-in, year-out in order to inspect the glowing, beautiful bodies of his female co-workers. I pictured him watching us—all of us up on a screen—as he ate sandwich after sandwich, knowing that we were his pawns.
The rage of this forced me out of the shower and into my fine clothes once more. I tugged at my hair and did my makeup with fine strokes; then I stomped into the kitchen. There, I left a note for Rachel: “Be home at 6.” We were roommates now; we had to look out for each other, be there for each other. I hadn’t had a roommate in years and I was sure she hadn’t, either. Already, I sensed that we needed each other more than we knew.
In the taxi on the way to work, the thoughts were flowing through me freely. I had to make Jason see my way; I had to make him notice that he was being a creepy, backstabbing bastard. I had to make him understand that I meant fucking business, that this wasn’t just a passing fancy in which he could look at my naked body all the time, like some creepy, familiar porn.
I marched into the White House. It was still early, and only a few of the campaign workers tapped tidily away at their desks. I turned toward Jason, who sat eating a donut at his desk. He was sitting with the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.
I placed my hands on my hips before his desk, standing like a statue. Formidable. I cocked my head to the right.
He placed his finger in the air, peering at me with curiosity. “I’m on hold,” he whispered to me, waiting.
But I just stood there. I allowed my eyes to burn holes into him.
Finally, he couldn’t take the pressure. He slammed the phone down before him and hung up, glaring at me with these passionate, bulbous eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed. A few of the campaign workers turned toward us, sensing animosity at the top.
But I just shrugged. “You know what I want.”
He frowned, allowing his eyebrows to course over his eyes. “Shall we go talk in the back office?” His voice was gruff.
“I suppose we shall,” I whispered to him. My eyes were catlike, daring him to cross me.
He followed me into the back office, stomping heavily on the wood floors. I allowed my waist to saunter this way, then that. I imagined that he wanted me. In fact, I knew he did. He would never have anyone like me. I was reserved for people like Xavier—for the powerful men at the top. I, myself, was powerful; I was at the top. I was sleek, refined—and in the face of this sad sack man before me, I was everything.
I closed the door and crossed my arms over my chest. I waited, listening to the clock as it seemed to tick-tick-tick on the wall.
“All right. What is it, Amanda,” he finally stated, tired of waiting.
“You don’t get to talk,” I said, holding up my hand. “Not until I say.”
He raised his eyebrow and leaned against the desk, waiting. The tension hung around us, pushing at my shoulders.
I took a deep breath. I directed my eyes with such menace toward him. And then, I spoke. “You must destroy the files on your computer. The files of myself and the president. There’s absolutely no other way.”
He leaned his head back once more, like he was going to begin his laughter once more. But my heart hurt with the sheer thought of it. I brought my hands forth, exhibiting my palms—that tender part of the body, so pale. “Hear me out. You are blackmailing me so that you can get ahead. You. However, I was already going to give you a leg up. Before this all happened, I thought you were a good person, a good worker. I thought you were a lot of things. But not a blackmailing asshole.” I regretted the words, but I bounced back, shaking my head. “The point is. I’m going to keep giving you a leg up. I’ll keep helping you if you delete those files—if you allow me to have my life back.” I swallowed.
His face grew broad with a closemouthed smile. “Amanda, Amanda.” He shook his head. “I’m so sick and tired of having this fucking conversation. You know that?”
My heart had already begun to sink in my stomach. Instinctively, I brought my arms over my chest. “Jason. Listen to yourself,” I reasoned with him. “You can have everything you want, and you can be a good person. People get to the top all the time without ruining other people’s lives.” I felt a bit of chaos working through my voice. I shivered internally, knowing that the words were bouncing from him without care. He just looked at me with sad, dead eyes. He didn’t care what happened to me.
“Amanda.” He took a large, cumbersome step toward me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. His grip was so heavy, so strong. The pain made my face pinch. “Amanda, Amanda. If you ever come to me and complain about our little situation again, the situation will explode in your face.” He nodded at me, his cheeks ruddy. I wanted to hit him, to slap him until he didn’t look like anything anymore.
I swallowed. “So that’s it, then?” I asked him. I felt my body shuddering. The fear was passing heartily through my chest.
“That’s it then. If you come to me one more time—or if you don’t do my bidding anymore—those photos will explode all over the internet, all over the news. Everywhere. That fine ass will be a celebrity.” He reached down then, and he smacked my butt, making me leap toward the wall in alarm. I brought my hands up to my face, feeling certain that I was going to cry. I felt my stomach lurch.
But then he just laughed, as he normally did. He reached toward the door and flung it open, turning out the light. “Why don’t you sit in here for a while and think about what you’ve done?” he asked me, his voice sounding so much like a kindergarten teacher’s voice. I slumped toward the ground, closing my eyes as I heard the door snap in place.
That had been my last chance. Now, I was doomed to exist in this terrifying reality. Perhaps I could move somewhere. Bermuda? Jamaica? Budapest? I could find a home and a hope for myself somewhere.
But then I’d have to kiss both my career and the love of my life goodbye.
And I wasn’t ready to do that.
Chapter Seven
After a full hour in that dark, close
t-like space, I finally righted myself and moved into the brightly-lit, swarming office once more. The clatter of fingers on keyboards, the pulse of the work life made my smile light up on my face. I passed by Jason’s desk, noting that he was eating a sandwich in the grossest way possible. I felt sorry for him—this man with mustard streaming down his face. I felt sorry for him in a way that I couldn’t quite understand.
I had a meeting with Xavier at 3 in the afternoon, I knew. I prepared the notes for the “campaign” meeting, knowing that we’d discuss so much more than just the campaign. Sometimes I worried that I was far too distracted with loving him, that I couldn’t focus completely on creating a good campaign for him. But I couldn’t care about that. I was in the sunlight continually, smiling up toward the sky. (In a matter of speaking, of course. Jason’s eternal glare made me want to run for my life, sometimes.)
I tapped toward the Oval Office with the notes beneath my elbow. I thought I could feel Jason’s eyes on me as I passed him, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning toward him, of allowing him to notice my fear. The morning had been gruesome, but I’d worked through it, I’d come out on the other side. It was going to be okay.
I snapped my knuckles against the Oval Office, noting that there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on this side of the wall. Suddenly, the door lurched open, revealing Dimitri on the other side. I remembered that I hadn’t seen him since that evening when I’d gotten dressed and snagged a ride home from him, still buzzing with the events of the previous few hours. I didn’t make eye contact with Dimitri, feeling far too frightened of all that he knew about me.
“Thank you, sir,” I murmured, skirting around him.
I found myself in the Oval Office once more. I grinned sheepishly toward Xavier, who stood in the center of the room. His black hair gleamed beneath the light, and his beard was in need of a trim. “Miss Amanda. Please. Come sit down. You’ve brought the notes?”
I nodded, gesturing with them slightly. I sat beside him on the couch. Our eyes were brought together as we listened to Dimitri leave and the door close behind him, leaving us in a bubble of happiness. He reached up and snuck his fingers through my hair, brushing my hair behind my shoulder. “How’s your day?” he asked me softly.
I remembered the morning with Jason, hearing the words that he was just “this close” from ruining my life forever. But I nodded, shrugging a bit. “It was good. It was okay,” I said.
Xavier frowned for a moment. But he didn’t dwell on it. “Did you bring the notes for the campaign?”
I nodded and flung the folder forward, allowing it to open on the coffee table. I began working him through the list of various press releases, through the places we would ultimately have to travel during the fall and spring in order to generate a following. The man he was up against had his way with many of the southern states, and we had no hope down there. I shook my head and traced a red X over the states he just couldn’t win. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, flirting with him a bit and wagging my eyebrows. “I just don’t think you’ll finagle those votes.”
He raised his eyebrow at me then. He brought his hands over my thin waist and squeezed gently, smiling at me. “You don’t think so?” he exclaimed, teasing me.
I shook my head, laughing once more. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“What is all this ‘sir’ business?” he asked me. He brought his face toward mine and kissed my ear, the side of my neck. “You like that?”
I nodded, cooing toward him. “I think so. Maybe.” I turned toward him, and he kissed my cheek, my eyebrow, my lips. I sighed into him, feeling like the rest of the world was falling away from us—like it was just he and I, now.
“When can I see you again?” he asked me then.
I tipped my head to the right, raising my eyebrow at him. “You’d really like to know, wouldn’t you? I mean. My schedule’s just packed.” I teased him, rubbing at his cheek with my thumb. “God, you’re cute.” I giggled toward him.
He shook his head. “You’re a menace. Come on. When can I see you again? I have the perfect plan for us, if you just tell me when. God, when.” His voice had descended, growing deeper.
I paused, making him wait for me. I tapped at the edge of my chin, thinking. Thinking. “I suppose I’d like to see you this weekend. But I’ll have to check my schedule. I know you’re the President of the United States and all, but when a girl has plans, she has plans.” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.
He bowed his head. “I respect your very busy life, Miss Amanda. And please respect my sheer need and desire for your body.” He brought his face toward mine, and he kissed me once more, making my pussy so wet. I cooed, and he brought his hand beneath my skirt, rubbing at my leg.
As we kissed, he rubbed at my skin, folding my nylons down over my knees. I sighed into his shoulder, and I allowed my thoughts to drift, if only for a moment. I wanted to ask him, suddenly, about Jason. I knew they’d had their private meeting; furthermore, I knew that Jason was up to something. I just didn’t know what.
But as the kisses kept pouring over me, as Xavier’s nose dove between my breasts, my thoughts flitted away, and I gave over to feeling. He was unbuttoning my blouse, allowing my skin to shine beneath the lights of the Oval Office. I opened my legs to him and rose over him, rubbing at his dick. I sighed as he kissed me further, harder. This was where I was meant to be, in this moment.
Beside us, as we continued kissing, touching, nearly fucking—but never quite getting there—the papers for the upcoming campaign were strewn about, reminding us of our purpose. But we didn’t care about all that anymore. All we cared about was being in each other’s arms, knowing that the rest of the United States of America could wait.
After all, they needed us.
About 30 minutes later, Xavier started tapping at my back, at my ass. I peered up at him. I’d been laying on his chest, allowing my mind to drift away. I felt like I was in a sort of meditation zone, not really aware of my surroundings. I blinked toward him, my eyes exhibiting such admiration for him. “What is it?” I whispered.
“I have a meeting,” he whispered back, yawning a bit.
My eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is that so?”
He nodded, but he looked far more serious than usual. I righted myself and began leaning over to gather the papers, allowing my breasts to bounce forward in the air. The papers were strewn about, so ominous, reeking of the outside world.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. It’s the president of France. I have dinner with him tonight.” He tapped at his forehead.
I nodded, understanding. I realized I had already known that, that I had lost track of time. I was always losing my mind when I was around him. I pictured the four of them together then: the French president and his wife; the American president and his wife. I shuddered. There was something missing.
But what was I saying? I was the one who’d insisted that Xavier remain with his wife.
I brought my arms toward him and lifted a hand to his cheek. I kissed him lightly. “I’ll see you Friday, Xavier,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Friday it is.” He winked at me and sent just one, final flash of a smile my way.
I put myself together once more and strutted out of the room.
But on the other side of the door stood Xavier’s wife. Camille.
My jaw dropped.
Camille was arguing with the Secret Service agent. She was pointing at the door and yelling at him in a hiss. “You can’t just disallow me from entering the Oval Office. That’s my husband.”
“He’s also the President of the United States, Mrs. Callaway. He’s dealing with important business.”
Suddenly, they both noticed me. Their heads lurched toward me. The agent looked shocked for just one moment before concealing it quickly beneath his stoic expression. Camille gazed at my youthful face, at my long brown hair. She scoffed at my thin waist. I could see her inspecting every single part of my body. “I see,” she murmured. “Important business indeed.�
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I frowned and lifted the papers in my hand, as if I was alerting her that yes—we’d been poring over important documents. “Good evening, Mrs. Callaway,” I stated with all the calm confidence I could muster.
“Good evening,” Camille stated then, lifting her chin. “I expect my husband is ready for our dinner with the president of France?”
I nodded, bowing my head. “He’s preparing himself now; our meeting ran long. My apologies.”
I excused myself and soon I was racing down the hallway, feeling my heart beating so fast in my chest. I could hear Xavier greeting his wife and I could feel the anxiety coursing through my veins. When I reached my desk, I collapsed into the chair, feeling the sweat pouring over my eyebrows, over my temples. Across the room, I noted that Jason was sitting there, smirking at me. Waiting for me to break.
Chapter Eight
After I composed myself at my desk, I knew I needed to get out of there, to go home. I grabbed my coat and pounded out the door. I heard Jason’s cackle as I passed him, and it pulsed through my body, making me so fearful and weary. It seemed like everywhere I went, I was reminded of something terrible that was happening—something that was haunting me.
I snagged a taxi and told him to take me to Rachel’s house. I couldn’t even imagine entering my apartment once more, knowing that all the while, Jason was watching me. He knew where I was, what I was doing.
He knew everything.
I pounded up the steps to the apartment and yanked at the knob. My elbow cranked, but the door wouldn’t budge. I realized, then, that I’d come home a bit early—that Rachel wouldn’t be home from work for another half hour. Feeling the strain of this course through me, I pushed my back against the wall and glided down, down, down to the ground. I shook my head into my hands, feeling like nothing was working—like nothing would ever work again.