“What will we do?” I asked in a small voice.
Mitch’s smile became adventurous. “How about a road trip?” he suggested. “We could get away from Washington for a few weeks or even a few months.”
I nodded. The idea sounded perfect. “Where would we go?”
“Galveston,” Mitch smiled. “There’s some people down there I’d like to meet and a property or two I’d like to invest in.”
I smiled and laughed, despite myself. “Sounds great,” I warmed. The chance to spend time with my grandmother in her bookstore was simply perfect. “When can we leave?”
“This afternoon,” Mitch said.
“This is the last suitcase,” I told Mitch as I set the bag down by the front door. I was dressed in jeans and a comfortable gray sweater. Mitch was in jeans and an open-necked shirt. He looked relaxed and buoyant.
“Okay,” he snatched up a set of keys. “The car is out by the curb. Help me get everything into the trunk.”
It was late afternoon and in the distance the sun was setting over the capital. The air was turning cold with the dusk and the sky was darkening. In the hours since Mitch had returned from the Oval Office my mood had risen and plummeted a dozen times; one moment I was shaking with tears and the next I was looking forward to escaping Washington and never looking back.
Mitch seemed more level, more stable. It seemed as though he had been able to put the events of the morning completely behind him and instead turned his full attention to the future.
We carried the bags down the steps and across the sidewalk. Mitch opened the trunk and we loaded the car. He went back to the front door of the house, pulled it closed, and then locked it. He was jangling the keys in his hand and smiling. He came around to the passenger-side door, unlocked it, and held it open for me in a gallant act of chivalry.
“Ma’am,” he bowed.
I giggled and was about to climb into the car when I saw a white envelope on the seat. I frowned and pointed. Mitch looked puzzled. He reached into the car and snatched up the envelope. He turned it over in his hand. There was nothing to identify it; no marks, no address. He ripped the envelope open and removed a folded gray card and a small square piece of black plastic.
Mitch opened the flap of the card. I stared over his shoulder.
A final gift to solve one last problem…
Sergey
I took the piece of plastic from Mitch and studied it carefully. “Mitch this looks like a memory card from a digital camera,” I said. I let that thought hang in the air for a moment and then suddenly my eyes came alight with realization. I clawed at Mitch’s arm for his attention.
“This could be the memory card from the journalist’s camera,” my voice was bubbling with excitement and wild relief. “And if it is, it means there is no evidence of what we did behind the stage curtain. There’s no proof, Mitch. And that means there can be no trade deal scandal.”
Mitch stared at the small memory card.
“It also means that you don’t have to abandon your career or your friendship with the President. Without evidence, the scandal can never be proved!” I persisted
Mitch looked at me, the understanding in his eyes.
I took the card from his hand. “We need to check through the photos to be sure,” I said in a breathless rush. “This could change everything!”
Mitch took the card back. “It changes nothing,” he shook his head. Then he dropped the memory card on the road and crushed it into a dozen pieces under his heel. “This is the past, Connie, and I don’t want that life anymore. I made my decision and I made my choice with no regrets. All I want is a future with you.”
Epilogue
Mitch
“You might want to watch this,” Connie said. Her voice was a little breathless and strained.
We were in the penthouse of a luxury Galveston hotel. The television was on in the background. Connie was naked and sprawled on the bed. Her legs were wide apart and I was kissing my way down her abdomen while one of my hands gently teased her clit.
“What is it?” I murmured between kisses.
“It’s a live broadcast of the signing of the trade deal. The President and the Russian President are both on camera, and I can see Sergey standing in the background by the Russian flag.
I drew my kisses across the soft mound of Connie’s sex and she groaned softly. My lips hunted towards her clit. She was wet, the folds of her pussy glistening with the moisture of her arousal.
“Turn it off,” I whispered as my tongue traced a lazy circle around her clit. “I don’t have time for politics. I’ve got far better things to do…”
Daddy In Charge Page 18