He began again. “Know that I think about you all the time—that you are an essential part of my being. I want you to be with me, Amanda. Please.” He tipped his head forward once more. “Just one more date.” His smile skirted across his face, like he was playing a game with me. I wanted to laugh.
But then I remembered the photos; I remembered the sheer scandal. I knew that Jason could hold this higher and higher above my head, until suddenly I was dangling beneath it, killing myself.
I shook my head slowly, still feeling like I was about to tear up. I felt such passion in his presence, like I could find true happiness with him. But I needed to rid the thoughts from my mind. “Xavier. I appreciate the sentiment,” I began. My voice was strained. “I appreciate it a great deal. But I can’t—I can’t go with you.” His eyes looked so strained. “You have to understand that it’s not personal,” I continued. “You have to know that it’s just—it’ s just because there’s so much going on right now, you know. There’s the campaign—“
But he just waved his hand to the side, like he was brushing off the existence of his own campaign. He stood up, showing me that muscled, taut body. He ran his smooth fingers down his suit. “If that’s your answer for now, I accept it. But only for now.” He brought his hand over the desk and caught my hand in his, shaking it. I felt such tension between us. I half wanted him to grab me by the waist, to toss me on the desk before him. There, in the Oval Office, I imagined that we’d fuck on the desk, against the window—calling out to all the campaign workers down the hall with such passion.
But I shook his hand, instead, allowing the feeling to pass.
I spun around. My long, brunette locks coursed down my back. I knew that he was watching me, looking after me. I turned my head back, still feeling that bit of daring energy in me. “You know. Don’t give up on me, Xavier. You know where my office is.” I winked at him.
But suddenly, I felt it: the lurch, the fear in my chest for what was going on outside. As I exited the Oval Office, I could nearly feel Jason’s grasp on my neck. As I tapped by his desk, I could feel his eyes on me. I wanted to spit at him, to tell him he was not only keeping me from the man I felt such passion for, he was also keeping me from doing my job the way I pleased.
I shook my head at him as I passed, unperceptively beginning a war with him in my mind.
You will pay, I thought.
Chapter Five
The following few days, I found myself in a blur of anger and obedience. Jason had begun to call me on my cell phone often simply to check up with me, to allow me to understand that he’s watching me all the time.
One specific night, he called me on the phone while I sat at my kitchen table, a glass of red wine resting before me.
“Hello?” I heard my voice quiver, and I felt such shame. I drank the wine quickly, feeling the tang of it against my tongue.
“Well, well. How’s the biggest slut in D.C. doing?” he asked me.
My voice grew hot. “What do you want, Jason?” I tipped my head, knowing that I couldn’t be too angry with him. Not overtly. I had to let him know that I would follow his orders; I would do whatever he wanted, as long as he allowed me to get out of this mess, eventually.
“I’m sorry. Is that a bit of sass I hear in your voice? Because you know what I can do about that.”
I swallowed, trying to quell my anger. “I’m sorry, Jason. Just a hard day. How are you doing?”
“Just fine. Just fine. I’m actually swinging up in front of your apartment. You care to come out and see me?”
I panicked. I bounced from my chair and ran toward the window. Sure enough, down on the street sat a long, stretched black limo. “That’s you in the limo?” I asked him.
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“But of course. You know I only do things with style.”
In that moment, I remembered his ridiculous, ruffled shirt and his continuous unkempt appearance. I wanted to laugh. But then I remembered.
“I can come down. But only for a moment,” I stated, turning back. I grabbed my coat and pounded down the steps, my heart racing. I tried to push myself out of fear. I tried to tell myself that soon the campaign season would be over. I tried to remind myself that as long as I did his bidding, I could stay involved in the White House proceedings. I wouldn’t lose sight of my goals. Not yet.
I stepped toward the stretch limo, hearing my heels against the pavement. I blinked rapidly, trying to tell myself not to cry. I couldn’t in the face of him. I swallowed and pulled the door open, placing myself just on the inside, far away from his languid body. He was smoking a cigar, and the cigar smoke emanated throughout the cab, making me cough.
“Amanda. I hope you are well,” he said. His voice was filled with such slime.
“And I, you,” I murmured. I placed my hand over my mouth, trying not to inhale the stench. “Can I ask you why you’re at my house?”
He smiled on the other side of his cigar. “You know I’ve been here before, Amanda.”
I imagined him placing the cameras throughout my apartment, tossing his grimy hands through my fine things. I grew so angry thinking about it that I placed my nails into my skin. I penetrated too deeply, then, drawing blood.
“Anyway. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you out here. I didn’t do it for no reason.”
“Sure, Jason. Not that it isn’t great to catch up.” I tossed him a raucous, sarcastic smile. This sarcasm seemed to please him.