I nodded, feeling my hair as it ruffled up against my neck. “I’ll see you later, Mr. President,” I murmured casually, watching him as he walked away. I felt nearly like swooning for a moment. God, this was all too much.
I turned my head back toward Jason then. He was still at his desk and he slammed his phone onto the wood, his hair in a mess above his head. I felt confidence surging through me. I plucked myself from my desk and walked toward him, feeling my firm shoulders waving this way, then that. I sniffed toward him, leaning over his desk with such femininity, such confidence. I knew he couldn’t handle it—that his confidence came and went with his sliminess.
But he leaned toward me, seemingly unperturbed. “Amanda. Can I do something for you?”
&n
bsp; “Actually, you can,” I whispered. “I would love to speak with you in the other room, campaign manager. Just if you have a moment.” My words were laced with sarcasm.
He stood then. “Lady can’t keep her hands off me,” he muttered toward me, making another snide remark.
But I turned and led him toward the back office—the same office in which he’d revealed the photos to me all those days before. When the true terror of my life had begun.
I closed the door then, trapping us in there together. I turned toward him and brought my arms together in front of my chest. I cleared my throat before I spoke, tracing my eyes over his sloppy body. He was in such strange contrast to the president.
“How long do you plan on holding these photos over my head, Jason?” I asked him then. My voice was high-pitched, but laced with such anger.
He raised his eyebrows toward me. “Now, that isn’t the language I want to hear from my champion girl.” He took a step forward, toward me. He was intimidating. I leaned against the wall. “Better question is this; have you arranged my meeting with the president yet? I saw you both speaking a bit earlier. He was giving you those eyes. God, office romances are the worst, aren’t they?”
I felt the wood of the door behind me. I longed to rush out, away from him. But I had to stand firm. “Tell me how much longer you want to play with me,” I demanded in a harsh whisper.
He took an additional step toward me, and he brought his finger to my face. He traced my cheekbone, my eyebrow with his first finger. I felt such menace from him, like he would hurt me if we weren’t stuck at the White House, the two of us. Together and so alone in that middle room—the very belly of the great political home.
“I can’t be certain how long I’ll need you, can I?” he finally whispered. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I braced myself. “I suppose I’ll keep the pictures until I get what I want, ultimately.”
“And what is it that you want?” I asked him. I swallowed, feeling such anger and hysteria beneath him.
He shrugged once more. “What I’ve always wanted, of course. What I’ve always wanted.”
I shook my head. I sputtered another question, feeling the quivering deep in my stomach. “Are there any more cameras in my apartment?” I finally asked. I swallowed, closing my eyes.
I felt him step even closer to me. I could feel his breath on my mouth. I could nearly feel his lips upon mine. His words echoed over me then. “I will answer this question, of course. For it is the most interesting of all. How many did you find?”
“Three,” I said, still keeping my eyes closed. I wanted to run away. I wanted to get out of there. But I felt so trapped, like an animal in a cage.
He started laughing then. I could feel him tip his head back to laugh stronger, harder than I’d heard him laugh since that first day, when he’d brought the photos to me—when he’d ruined my life. “Three cameras. Of course. Those were the ones I wanted you to see. The one in the armoire? What nice china, by the way. Antique, no?”
I bit my lip, feeling waves of nausea pass through me. Three cameras. Three. “How many are there total, Jason?” I asked him. My voice was on the hint of begging. I felt that this was the only way I could translate my sheer anxiety.
“There are five cameras, my lovely. Five.”
My eyes snapped open, and I viewed his hand before me—the five fingers out like rockets from his palm. I swallowed.
“Two others.”
“And you’ll never find them,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. “Never.”
He jutted past me. He grabbed the door knob and jolted into the hallway, through the crowded room with all the rushing campaign employees. I began to run after him, but I was immediately bombarded with questions, with papers. I felt the anxiety close around my throat. There was nothing I could do, in that moment.
Chapter Seven
I sat at my desk for a long time, thoughts of quitting and leaving the White House forever coursing through my brain. I actually saw no way out of this dilemma. This terrifying man was watching my apartment. I was losing control of my position. I was desired by the president—by this wonderful, stunning man—and yet this was the very root of my dilemma.
The phone started to ring once more. Always, it was ringing off the hook. Sometimes, I considered snipping the wire and falling away from this reality. I looked across the room at Jason once more, catching his eyes. They were brimming with dispassion, with anger. He mouthed the words, “Meeting with the president,” in such a way that made me feel like he still had me pressed against the wall, forming his mouth over mine.
I answered the phone in a hushed whisper. “Hello?”
“Amanda. This is Xavier. I need to see you immediately.”