Billionaire's Amnesia: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #9)

by Claire Adams

  I stumped out the cigarette halfway through, not wanting the smell to course through my hair, my lips for the rest of the day. Something about the moment, there beneath the grey sky, reminded me of a different Amanda—an Amanda of my past. A girl who’d ached for success; a girl who was sure she knew how to get it. I had to do everything for this girl, I knew. I had to continue to stride forward, sure of myself (and of her), in order to please my internal self. I couldn’t let my past self—the one who had strained and worked and stressed continually—down.

  After I stumped out the cigarette, I entered the White House once more. I nodded toward Benny with a secret smile, and he returned it. I scaled the steps knowing that I had several more hours of work left before I could return home, before I could think the events of the day through. I passed a member of the press as I walked down the hallway, and she nearly grabbed me with her excitement. “Is it true the president—”

  But I didn’t allow my ears to hear her penetrating words. I was far too distracted. For suddenly, standing before me, looking wide-eyed, shocked, was Jason. His white business shirt was untucked all the way now. The tails swept around his knees. His tie was loose and crooked, and his face was red and splotched. My heart dipped into my stomach when I saw him. What had Xavier done to him?

  Jason’s eyes darted down, below my eyes. I wanted to say something to him, in that moment—something saucy, something that initiated my win. But I couldn’t find the words. Instead, after a small moment’s hesitation in which we just half-looked at each other, with a reporter screaming into our ears, we went by each other like ships in the night.

  I nearly shook with the intensity of the previous moment. I couldn’t believe how terrible Jason had looked. God, he’d tormented me in so many ways, both physically and emotionally. But it still hurt to see a man fall so far. Xavier must have said something to him, done something to him. He must have threatened him within an inch of his life. This Xavier, I reminded myself, was the same man who initiated drone strikes, who signed off on major wars. I shivered, thinking of our nation’s past—the things that Xavier COULD feasibly change as president, and the things he would never be able to. Not without incredible reform.

  I paused at the doorway of the West Wing offices, looking out over the sea of heads, each of them busy with the impending campaign. I brought my fingers to my lips and wiped them, trying to think through this terrifying time. I knew that I didn’t want Jason’s reputation to be ruined. I didn’t want his life to be over. I wanted him to continue on in his political career. Certainly nowhere near me, of course. He hadn’t technically ruined Xavier and I, although he’d had his finger on the trigger the entire time.

  I swallowed, feeling myself growing lost in my thoughts. I knew that the afternoon meeting was drawing forward, in which I would be required to address several members of our campaign team, alongside both Jason and Xavier. The men—who’d clearly fought like children in a playground earlier that morning—would be hard to handle. I knew they would be.

  But beyond anything else, I knew that Xavier had won.

  I knew that Jason would refrain from ruining us.

  And I knew that I still had so much to maneuver, so much to discuss with the president.

  As much as I just wanted him to wrap his thick, firm arms around me, to assure me that everything was okay, I knew I needed to cleanse my rushing mind and find a truth for our relationship—a path down which we could walk, hand in hand, while still meeting each of our personal, political goals.

  In many ways, I knew that in this pending conversation, I had to assure Xavier that I was his equal. That I wasn’t to be thought of as less than. That my wants and needs were powerful—that I wouldn’t turn them away.

  Finally, I watched as the relevant campaign team rose from their seats, ready to proceed toward the afternoon meeting. I clapped my hands, more trying to wake myself up than anything else. “All right, team. I hope you’ve all grabbed your statistics from the previous day?”

  I turned back, feeling like I was leading an army toward the conference room. The campaign team that was following me was a smaller version—the leaders of the smaller “teams” in the greater campaign group. Each had its own subset, its own worries. We would address these worries with each campaign leader this day. I remembered that I’d been one during my time with Xavier’s first campaign. God, how I’d held my nose high in the air—just like these schmucks were doing now—just because I felt high and mighty, just because I felt that this was just one on the road of many steps that would ultimately propel me to high political power.

  Perhaps I’d been right.

  But I hadn’t been nice about it.

  I allowed the campaign leaders to enter the room and find their seats at big, twirling leather chairs. I stood outside and waited for a moment. I felt my heart quivering in my chest. Finally, around the corner, I saw a shadow. Xavier appeared: his beard dark, his eyes brooding. Three Secret Service agents followed behind him, their heads bald and gleaming in the hallway light. Xavier brought a hand up to greet me, and he stopped short before me, bringing all three Secret Service agents to a halt, as well.

  “Amanda,” he whispered. “How are you?”

  I nodded, biting my lip. “I wanted to tell you. I really need to talk to you about something—in private.” My voice was filled with breath. I huffed into each word.

  Xavier brought his hand to my upper arm. I wondered about this—so open? So uncovered? But I couldn’t care. His touch was a comfort. “I understand,” he murmured.

  I gestured toward the Secret Service agents. “Is everything okay?”

  Xavier nodded. “They upped my security after the Jason incident. I’ll fill you in on everything later. Okay?”

  “Is Jason coming to the meeting?”

  “I think he knows not to,” Xavier informed me. He pushed open the door, allowing me to enter first. “Shall we?”

  I nodded and entered the meeting, feeling all eyes on me. I snapped my binder on the table before me, alerting the members of the campaign that the meeting was coming to a head. Xavier stood beside me—such a powerful force to have at my side. “All right, team.”

  But the meeting was generally uneventful. After a while, I was able to get through the tremors I felt about Jason missing the meeting. The back of my mind ticked, wondering where he was, where they were holding him, if he was fired—But the streaming thoughts didn’t affect the meeting. And no one on the campaign team raised their alarm bells, curious about Jason’s whereabouts. Generally speaking, many people on the campaign team couldn’t stand that snake of a man; they came to me with their questions and looked toward Jason with distrust. Strange that their feelings about him were so correct, even without any tactile backing.

  Finally, Xavier and I dismissed the meeting. I sat in the black leather chair, spinning slightly, back and forth, as the people proceeded back to their desks. “Thank you, everyone,” I continuously said, flashing my pearly smile. But I felt my happiness dissipating. I knew that Xavier and I needed to face real truths, in the following hour. I knew that we had to gear into our relationship, tear it apart perhaps, in order to allow it to survive. It was, in so many ways, like that Rose Garden downstairs. Faltering, falling apart—at least in my tired mind. We had to make it grow once more.

  Xavier sat beside me. He turned toward his Secret Service agents. “Could you please give us several moments alone?” he asked them.

  The agents nodded curtly and escalated from the room, leaving us in a pocket of quiet. I swallowed, feeling that I could hear every mechanism in my body, my rushing heart included. I looked toward my fingers.

  After allowing the silence to stretch far too long, Xavier finally began. “Amanda. I know you called this meeting for a reason. You aren’t one for wasting time.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t find the air for it.

  “Please,” Xavier murmured. He brought his hand over mine. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 
“Okay,” I breathed. I twirled my chair toward him and forced myself through the words. “Yesterday, I went for a walk through the Rose Garden. A strange time of year to do it, sure. But such a solace and understanding passed over me. I understood that—that so many things about this relationship aren’t good for me.” I allowed the words to glimmer in the tense air.

  Xavier frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He would trust in my words, no matter what they were.

  I continued. “Not that it hasn’t been wonderful. God, it’s been wonderful. There’s something electric between us. But this relationship doesn’t align well with my goals. I have a million things I want to do in my lifetime. Political goals I’ve had since I was a little girl. Even—even silly ones. Like being president someday.” I bit my lip, gazing up toward him. He didn’t scoff or laugh, like I’d assumed he would. “I just. I’m trying to imagine the next five years. Us together, sneaking around, even while your wife knows everything. It feels wrong, Xavier. It feels—distasteful. Off.”

  Xavier considered this for a moment, bringing his fingers to his chin. “And does the relationship feel off to you right now?”

  I considered his words for a moment. I shook my head slowly. “No. It feels incredible. It feels like—the sort of relationship I’ve been waiting for since I was a girl.”

  Xavier nodded. He brought his fingers toward mine and laced them through, linking us. I felt the rest of the world humming around us, but everything was so solid, so stark, there between us. We were the last, flickering flame.

  “Amanda, Amanda. This is one of the reasons I love you,” he murmured.

  I blinked, unsure of what he meant.

  He continued. “I love that you think, think, think all the time. About your dreams, about your goals. I love that you’re not willing to give them up, just because you’re falling in love. But please. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t expect you to give up on anything, because of this. I expect you to continue doing your job, to continue working up at the White House. You have a bright future. I saw it when I first met you—when we first had your interview, in the Oval Office.”

  My eyes were so bright toward him, feeling like his words were too good to be true.

  He continued. “I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did, but I don’t. I can assure you that I won’t try to get in your way on your path toward your dreams. And I can assure you that I want to be with you. These are the only two things I can readily understand. If experience has taught me anything at all, it’s simply that no one knows what the future will bring. An example of this? I thought I’d become a baseball player when I grew up. I thought I’d want to be married to Camille for the rest of my life—and not just the five years our happiness lasted.” He adjusted himself in his leather chair. “But I know that I want to be with you, that I want to fight forward on this journey with you. This doesn’t mean I’ll help you. I know that you don’t need any help, anyway. But it does mean that I’ll stand by you. I’ll take hits with you. I’ll be with you, and I’ll see what life has in store for us.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still revealing such intensity.

  My heart was beating so fast in my chest. I bit my lip, my heart bursting with the knowledge of his words. He understood my qualms, and he had rectified them completely. “Xavier. For so long, I’ve regimented every element of my life. I’ve known what my next steps are going to be, every step along the way. And now—“

  “Now I’m asking you to go with the flow a bit more. To have fun with your life. I think you need that,” Xavier whispered. He brought his fingers up toward my cheek, feeling the softness of my skin. I closed my hand, loving his touch on me.

  And then, with my five-year plan ripped from my brain, with all caution tossing to the wind, I wielded my head forward with my eyes closed. I kissed Xavier, the only man I’d ever truly loved, with a sort of abandon that I, myself, could have never imagined. I brought my arms around his chest and rubbed at his thick, pulsing muscles. His lips met mine with such love, such passion, as well.

  There, in the meeting room in the West Wing, it seemed that we sealed the deal: to trust in each other completely, to have fun with each other, despite everything, and to take hits, side by side.

  As Xavier and I exited the meeting room together, grinning wildly at the press outside, I felt my head brimming with such happiness. Perhaps I’d been meant to meet Xavier my entire life, if only to bring a looseness, an acceptance to my life. Everything seemed like it was gleaming. “No comments today,” I told the press sweetly, as I parted ways with the man I loved and returned to my desk. Our eyes caught each other as we swept our different ways, and my cheeks tinted pink, with love and secrets.

  Chapter Eight

  That evening, I arrived home to find Rachel tucked into her favorite chair by the television, a book sprawled in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. She shook her head at me as I entered, eyeing me like a hawk.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  “You’re glowing,” she whispered back.

  She joined me at the counter then, watching as I poured a glass of wine for myself. My hands were still shaking from the events of the day. I couldn’t believe that Xavier had aligned us so perfectly in some strange, offbeat future—a future in which we could be together, side by side, no matter what was going on around us. A future in which I could still reach toward my dreams.

  Rachel placed her hand on her hip, twirling her wine glass on the table beside her. “Do you want to go out?” she asked suddenly. “You can meet Michael, if you like. He’s going to be at this bar called—The Mousetrap, I think. He said there’s dancing.” Her eyebrows bobbed up and down on her face, making me laugh.

  I nodded, knowing that this evening hadn’t been a part of my plans—that everything I’d really done in the past few months hadn’t been a part of my plans. “Sure. That sounds—great.” I landed on the final word with emphasis, wanting to assure her. This was what I really wanted. I wanted to go out into the world and explore it with my best friend.

  We dressed quickly in dancing clothes and swept into the world, toward The Mousetrap. Rachel talked on and on in the cab about Michael—about how he had acted at work that day. “A bit nervous, when he entered. He told me he had a great time with me, that he’d love to do it again. And then. He told me about dancing. Isn’t it strange? I don’t know many men who actually suggest going dancing.” Rachel’s words were rapid, escalating from her mouth all too quickly. I laughed, sensing her excitement.

  We arrived at the bar then. We entered and peered around us. The place was dark, a bit crusty, with graffiti on the walls. Twenty and young 30-somethings were dancing with great movements, tossing their arms into the air, holding their drinks high. The music bumped into my heart, and I smiled toward Rachel, mouthing the words: “Do you want to get a drink?”

  We each got a gin and tonic from the bar, and we sat near the wall of the club, peering around for Michael.

  “Just got a text!” Rachel jolted, holding her phone up like a beacon. “He said he’ll be here in five minutes!”

  I paused, taking a drink from my gin. “It’s so good to see you happy,” I murmured. I knew she could hardly hear me over the music.

  Rachel understood. “Thanks, Amanda. I want to see you happy, as well. And you do—you seem like things are working out? What is going on, anyway—with everything at the White House?”

  I bit my lip, knowing I needed to tell her. She was my best friend; she was the only person I could trust in this world, besides, of course, Xavier. “I can’t tell you too much, of course,” I began. The music pounded into our faces. What a strange, oddly private place to discuss an affair with a president, I thought abstractly. “You’ve been such a help the past few months, always listening to me as I complain. But I have to tell you. I think it’s almost over, that it’s finally working itself out.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “How is that?”

  “Well. I suppose it isn’t working itself out
so much as I’m simply meant to—to loosen up a bit. About my five-year plan. About everything. He’s understanding about my goals. And we’re just going to take it easy, have fun.” I nodded, affirmed in the words. My heart lightened with each moment.

  A smile stretched across Rachel’s face. She placed her hand over my arm—a comfort. “I think that’s wonderful, Amanda,” she breathed. “Have fun with it. Live and learn.” She swallowed. I sensed that she didn’t have much to say—that her mind was lurking with thoughts of Michael. But finally, she said something else: “Please remember. I will always be your friend. You can count on me to tell me things. I can keep secrets.” She winked toward me, stretching a grin across my face.

  Suddenly, before us stood a large man with broad shoulders, a goofy grin. He held two drinks in his hand, and he gestured one out for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes were bright toward him. She stood up beside him and greeted him with words I couldn’t hear over the driving beat. The man named Michael shook my hand, and the two young lovers swept out onto the dance floor, to understand each other better in this rushing world.

  As I watched them, I stood up, knowing it was time for me to take my exit, that I had to find a different route. That Rachel didn’t need me just then. I spun around, allowing my pretty brunette hair to gloss down my back. I was gone from the club in an instant. As I rushed down the street, my hand held high in the air to hail a taxi, I could still hear the bumping beat of that club. It seemed that everything felt alive, in these moments. Everything was vital.

  Chapter Nine

  The following day, I sat at my office desk, speaking with a client in California—a bigwig guy who was willing to donate a good deal of money to the campaign. I couldn’t trust any of the campaign workers to handle him. He was all mine.