by Claire Adams
Xavier frowned. He leaned up on his elbow, gazing toward me. “You don’t actually think it will falter, do you?” He breathed.
“I don’t even want to give it a chance,” I answered, considering his question. “I want it to be beautiful, to last a long time. And I don’t think that means we can continue to sneak in and out of White House passageways. I don’t think we can continue having meetings that involve—both sexual elements of our relationship as well as what some campaign donator is doing in California.” I sighed, trying to rally my thoughts. “I just think we need better communication, better organization. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.”
Xavier nodded, considering my words. “I understand. And I agree. I think we need to give this time to sort itself out, time to develop a plan organically. But we can agree to no more relationship things during work hours?”
I nodded, my eyes brimming. “That’s a start,” I whispered. I smiled at him.
“Although, you can’t blame me if I occasionally set a wayward meeting, just so I can talk to you. Just so I can be next to you. Days are long, Amanda,” Xavier said, laughing.
“I know. I know,” I murmured. I kissed him once more. “But that goes the other way, as well. No work talk during relationship time.” My eyes were large, serious.
Xavier held his hands up to me, nodding supremely. “Of course. Of course.”
We took a moment to laugh with each other. What a silly thing we had to do—plan our relationship around our all-too-serious running of the greater American people. But it was what we had to do in order to survive, to live with greater sanity. I brought my hand up toward Xavier’s ear and played with it lightly, feeling its delicate hairs.
Xavier’s eyes had grown serious, as well. “Baby, listen to me.”
“Hmm?”
“I want to tell you how happy I am. I can’t remember a time in which I felt happier. I have you in my life, and I am incredibly grateful for that. I wish—I wish I could help you understand. You’ve changed my life for the better in nearly every single way.”
My heart leaped as he said the words. In many ways, I felt the same. Suddenly, he wrapped his naked arms around me, bringing my body close to his. We kissed with such passion, such drive. I felt my body prepare for him once more. We descended into a night filled with lovemaking, with champagne, with good conversation.
In many ways, this was the first night on the road to the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE
5 YEARS LATER
I sat in the back of the taxi as it coursed across town, my suitcases filled beside me. I cleared my throat, directing the taxi driver, who had made a wrong turn a few roads back.
“I am so sorry, Miss,” he declared, gesturing with his hands.
But I laughed evenly. “It’s okay. I usually get lost on my way out here. Don’t worry about it for a moment.”
He pulled up outside of the grand house. Brick, old, with this sort of other-century charm. I smiled at it, bringing my fingers to the glass. Home.
The taxi driver stood outside, helping me gather my suitcases, my boxes.
“You don’t have much stuff,” he said, shrugging. “You are moving here?”
I nodded, bringing my hair around my ear. “This is when I can start accumulating stuff, I suppose,” I said, laughing.
“All right, Congresswoman,” the taxi driver said. “I suppose you know best, no?”
I laughed, reaching into my purse. I paid the man double, thanking him for his assistance with my bags. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I turned toward the grand home before me, breathing evenly. I couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived.
He appeared on the front steps then. He was clad in jeans, a sexy V-neck T-shirt. He looked so casual, so primal before me. I hadn’t seen him without a suit in what seemed like years.
Outside of the bedroom, of course.
He brought his hands around my neck and kissed me, there, in front of the house. He sighed, his eyes large. “The wait is over, Amanda,” he whispered. “It’s finally over.”
I smiled, knowing how grateful I was. The past five years had been a struggle.
Xavier began helping me with my bags, bringing them up into the house we would now share together: the house he and his wife, Camille, had purchased nearly 15 years before. “She never liked it anyway,” Xavier had declared months ago, when he’d proposed this final addition to our plan. “I don’t think she’ll miss the place.”
But already, the brick mansion was stealing my heart. The interior was well-lit, with this remarkable, stone fireplace in the center. Because it was winter, a fire was brimming in the fireplace, such a greeting after the winter chill had escalated throughout my body. I rubbed my hands next to it as Xavier brought in the last of the bags. He set them by the winding staircase and tapped the couch beside him as he collapsed.
I sat next to him, gazing at the fire. It felt so good to be natural beside him, without feeling that everything was about to fall apart—as it had, several times throughout the previous five years. The press had nearly gotten wind of it a few times, especially during the election season. They were continually asking us questions about each other, trying to get us to slip up. But we never did. We were professionals.
Of course, after Xavier won the election, I had to move forward with my career. He understood, and he supported me—without helping me, which had been essential for my procedure. I outlined the reasons why I was essential to Congress, how I had helped the president through every element of his campaign trail. And I’d been voted in—incredibly—as a 31-year-old woman, still a bit bright-eyed, with big, brimming ideas. I’d made great strides since my arrival.
Being at Congress meant that I still saw the president during the day. However, it had never been enough. We would pass each other, our eyes locked forward, still feeling the heat from each other’s bodies. It nearly drove me crazy some days. But most days, I understood: this was our agreement with Camille, his wife. We weren’t to ruin her first ladyship. This was her only asking.
And, all in all, she’d been a remarkable first lady. She’d made great strides with younger elementary education programs, working alongside Xavier as he altered the education program of the entire country. With a few minor hiccups along the way—and with me working Congress tooth and nail to get the bill passed—Xavier was able to make great changes. It had been beautiful. Already, people were remembering this president for his achievements. And Xavier’s incredible, bountiful presidency had actually paved the way for another Democrat, a member of his own party, to churn into the White House seat. I’d clapped heartily at his inauguration, of course, knowing in my heart that it wasn’t yet my turn. I was only 34 years old. I had so much learning, so much living to do.
“How was it when Camille left?” I asked Xavier there, as we sat on the couch.
Xavier turned toward me, his eyes a bit far away. “She told me she would have left me anyway, even if we didn’t have this deal.” He laughed a bit at these words. “I thanked her for staying, for keeping my presidency together. I know, of course, that she has to feel that she wanted to leave me. Otherwise, it would feel wrong—it wouldn’t feel like her choice. But I know that she has a boyfriend in New York. I know that she has plans to move on, to have a life of her own.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. It was strange, the way people came together. It was strange, the way they came apart.
“But now. I have you,” Xavier murmured, kissing my cheek.
“How should we tell everyone?” I whispered. It had been over a month since the inauguration of the new president, which meant it had been four months since the election. God, it seemed that time was moving both too fast and too slow, all the time. Once, I had been a young and bright 29-year-old. And now, I felt my limbs aging, every day.
Xavier thought for a moment. “I have a PR guy on it. He says it’s tricky, but it can be done. It surely won’t hurt your career, either. We were very careful. I ne
ver gave you a single recommendation.” Xavier laughed, shaking his head. “I remember a reporter once asking me if I didn’t like your policies, if I didn’t like your ideas on the bill. I wanted to scoff, to tell her everything. But I knew you’d kill me.”
I smiled. “I wanted it to feel like I’d worked my way to the top, on my own.”
“You never needed my help,” Xavier murmured. “You never needed anyone’s help.”
I bowed my head. “I need you, though. I need you more than anything.”
We sat in silence, brimming with the knowledge that we could finally be together, out in the open. We could go to brunch together, to the theater together. We could go out on double dates. I could introduce him to my family, if I wanted. Everything was different. He wasn’t the president, and I wasn’t his campaign manager. We were just people, struggling to survive and finding something particularly special along the way.
Xavier snapped his fingers then. He stood up, leaving me still, on the couch. “Do you want to make a toast? I have this aged bottle of red. I’ve been saving it.”
I nodded, standing up before him. “Of course,” I murmured, a bit sleepy. Something about making these big, overarching decisions seemed to conk me out.
Xavier was gone in an instant, rushing down toward the cellar. He left me alone, to my own devices, for several minutes. I began to roam the house by myself, gazing at the beautiful artwork. I wondered if the place had been decorated with Camille’s tastes in mind; I wondered if I could change anything, personalize anything to my taste.
I imagined the grand parties we would have at this place. The friends—and non-friends, the political socialites—would gather in the foyer, kissing each other on the cheeks, calling out to each other, eating hors d’oeuvres. Perhaps we would have my campaign party here. I imagined myself, then, 10 years down the line. A presidential candidate. The first woman to rule the office, poised with Xavier by my side. I shivered at the mere thought of it.
For a moment, I allowed my mind to shift back to my old life. Immediately after Jason—that terrorizing brute who I’d heard had accepted a job in the state of Illinois, for some political agency in Chicago—had been revealed by Xavier, I’d moved back into my apartment. Rachel had grown quite serious with Michael in the months after they met, and I knew that I needed to get out of their way, to bring myself back to the place I belonged. I remembered their wedding—the bright, outdoor ceremony the summer before Xavier’s second election. I remembered standing by her side at the helm of the ceremony, feeling myself brimming with such joy for her. My best friend in the world, finally meeting her happiness, head-on.
Suddenly, the cellar door creaked open. I stood, face-to-face with Xavier once more, in the kitchen. My fingers passed over the cold, beautiful countertop. My eyes met with Xavier’s. In that moment, a bit of tension flitted through the air. I swallowed, unable to breathe.
In Xavier’s hand, he held a bottle of aged wine and two wine glasses. He walked forward, his eyes still on me. He tapped each glass on the counter, and the sound rang throughout the air. He uncorked the wine and poured it, allowing it to breathe for only a moment. And then, he passed the wine to me.
I didn’t say anything. I waited as he pushed his wine glass into the air, as if he were about to make a toast.
He began.
“Amanda,” he said, his voice soft. “You have been a constant joy in my life. You’ve guided me through two presidencies. You’ve held my hand during difficult times. You’ve waited for me, until this final day when we can finally come together and be free with each other, find love with each other, without prying eyes. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for it.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. My heart had begun to swell in my chest.
He continued. He brought his hand into his pocket and revealed a small, black box. He sent his wine glass back to the counter. I noted that his hands were shaking. He bent down on one knee, allowing his dark, penetrating eyes to look up toward me—so deep, so full of wisdom, so full of love, just as they’d been all those years ago, when this all had begun.
“I want you to be my wife, Amanda. I want you to be by my side through thick and thin, and I want to do the same for you. I love you.” He opened the box then, revealing this stunning, immaculate diamond ring.
I brought my hands to my face, feeling the tears riding hot, fast down my cheeks. My mind knew my answer. I brought my left hand toward him, and he drew the engagement ring over my finger. I watched as it glowed in the subtle candlelight of the beautiful kitchen. I nodded, with passion, with zeal, unable to form the words.
Xavier understood, just as he always had. He brought his body up, toward me, and he kissed me, bending me over the countertop in the new home we shared together. Our lives were joined, then. We were united: at the helm of the country, our hands linked and our eyes locked together. Nothing could tear us apart.
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ROCK STAR BILLIONAIRE
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Owen
I hadn’t felt that energized in a long time. Nothing compared to the feeling of pouring my heart and soul into a microphone with my band. And tonight, I was feeling adrenaline I hadn’t felt since the early days when we were still unknown teenagers playing dive bars and practicing in the garage. Why? Because something was about to happen that hadn’t happened in over five years. Something I had missed terribly, but hadn’t realized just how much until the very moment I was standing there with the mic in hand and the guys playing behind me.
“I can’t believe we are actually doing this, Owen! Bleeding Heart, finally back together.” My younger brother, Talon, beamed at me, pushing his blond hair out of his face. He twirled one of his drumsticks with stylish flair as he sat behind his old drum set.
“And, we actually don’t sound half bad for being so out of practice,” Jeremiah, my best friend and lead guitarist, added. “I’m just shocked we got you out of the office,” he added, looking directly at me. “You've been wearing a suit and tie for so long now, I was wondering if you even knew how to slip into those ripped-up jeans anymore.”
I laughed and shook my head. “What can I say, man? The record company has been keeping me pretty damned busy. You know how crazy this business is, and when you get to the top, you really start to understand just how hard you have to work to stay there.”
“Right, right,” Jeremiah piped in. “We get it, but we’ve been talking about coming out of hibernation for the last three years, and it's only happening now. I'm not trying to bitch about it, but, hell, aside from Talon, most of us have barely even seen you. Still, it's great, dude, it's really great to have you back where you belong. You might be a billionaire record mogul now, but being on stage in front of that mic is where you truly belong. It's where you've always belonged, and you know it.” Jeremiah slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder as the other guys nodded in agreement.
It was true. I did tend to get lost in my work, but I couldn’t help it. Especially when my record company Young Productions had still been in its infancy. My dedication had paid off, though, because I’d managed to bring the company from a small, indie label to a billion-dollar up-and-coming monster of a label that was constantly churning out hot new talent and Billboard Top 40 hits.
Still, telling my band mates that didn’t make a difference when I had continuously promised that I’d get back behind the mic—a promise I’d made a long while ago and had taken years to fulfill. All they wanted was for me to
keep my word so we could get back in the studio and on the road. I’d heard from each of them over the years, including our other guitarist, Jay, and our bassist, Nate, but ultimately, it had been Talon that had convinced me to make good on my promise.
“So, we going to play the new song you sent out or what? Give it a whirl?” Talon waggled an eager eyebrow at me as he continued twirling his sticks impatiently.
When I'd finally made the decision that we should get together, I’d sent out a new song I'd written to each of them. After being inspired by my brother’s struggle with drugs, I wrote the music and lyrics in just a couple of days, then attached it to an email and sent it out to everyone along with the note telling them it was time we got the band back together. Naturally, everyone was pumped to try the new song since they’d all been waiting on me for years.
Talon was especially pumped. He was a good kid, and one of the best drummers in the business, but he had gotten into some bad stuff for a while. He had a nature that was easily tempted.
I nodded at Talon, smiling. “Yeah, man; let’s do it.”
Nate started on the bass, strumming the first few measures as we all took in the beat, then Jay and Jeremiah came in on guitar before my brother hit it on the drums. I couldn't help but beam out an ear-to-ear grin. Hearing my newest creation coming to life with the guys I’d always been close to, despite the time and distance away from each other, was a sensation words truly couldn't describe.
When I came in on the vocals, all the pieces finally came together as one, and it sounded as good as it felt. Granted, it was different from our old stuff, but despite this, it still remained true to the heart of our sound. I could feel everyone’s energy merging, and the song started coming together even better than when I had imagined as I was writing it. Some people have different views on what heaven might be like, but at that moment, right there, playing with the band is what it felt like for me.