Rachel nodded, nearly laughing. “I didn’t guess; I knew.”
“Anyway. Yes. You were good at reading people,” I stated, suddenly feeling uncertain but allowing her to continue.
She cleared her throat. “I can read you. I know that something’s wrong. I know you’re still in that poisonous environment. Are they eating you alive, like they do the other women? You have to tell me.” Rachel brought her hand over the table and draped it over my fingers, looking at me in the eyes. She pulsed with understanding. I felt like I could tell her anything, like the old times.
But then, I knew what she would say.
She would tell me that I should turn Jason in.
She would tell me that I should take the consequences to my career.
She would tell me that I should allow the photos to be viewed by millions and millions of people.
She would tell me that I deserved a better life and a better career.
But it wasn’t true. Not for me. I was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. I swallowed, trying to think of something to say. Rachel’s cat came sauntering into the room, meowing. Her eyes were yellow, glaring at me. Telling me to answer. Answer.
“Oh. Work is just so stressful,” I finally said, placing my head in my hand. “You were right to get out when you did. Although, of course, I’m addicted to it. I love it. I love the work. I love the pulse of it. The emotion of it. But sometimes, it’s nice to turn to someone and speak out your problems. You know?”
Rachel raised her left eyebrow toward me. I knew she didn’t trust me. She swallowed slowly and flung her shortened red hair across her shoulder in a way that made me understand that she expected more to be there when she made the move. More hair. More of herself. “You can still get out, you know,” she said, her eyes glowing.
“I know,” I murmured. I faked a yawn and stretched my hands into the air, feeling my spine pop inside me. “I think I need to hit the sack. Thanks for being my ears—and my home tonight, Rachel.”
Rachel still looked at me curiously. “Of course,” she whispered.
I stretched out on the couch, then, placing my wine glass on the coffee table. I aligned my feet with the edge of the couch, and I dug my head into the pillow. In a moment, all comprehension of the previous day fell away.
I finally found sleep.
Chapter Ten
The next day, I rose early. My back felt so crooked from sleeping on the couch and I stretched on Rachel’s floor, listening to her as she readied herself for the day. She’d told me she’d become an editor at a publishing company—that she was finally pursuing her dreams. I wanted to proclaim that I’d thought politics was her dream. But I didn’t.
I steadied my hand as I prepared the coffee in the coffee pot, remembering that Rachel liked her coffee with just a bit of milk—no sugar. I prepared it and had it waiting for her as she tapped out of her room. Her face looked fresh; she didn’t look as tired as she had the day before. “I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable on the couch?”
I shook my head, si
pping my black coffee. “Of course not.”
We shared a taxi to our workplaces. We didn’t speak; we stared out of different windows. But when we swept in front of the White House, I could feel that she was impressed. In a small way, I knew I had won. But I also knew that she didn’t know anything that I had to face in that terrorizing house; she didn’t understand that I was a puppet, in hiding.
I turned toward her while I unbuckled myself. “Thanks for letting me crash last night,” I said, flashing her a White House smile. No longer did I want to resemble that tired, weak woman who’d taken up on her couch the evening before, nearly quivering with fear. I couldn’t be that person.
I stepped into the September sunlight without waiting for her response. I flung the sunglasses up over my forehead and entered the White House, allowing the Secret Service men to pat me down in that familiar manner. I greeted them and sauntered in, knowing in my heart and in my mind that that day, I had to fulfill my promise to Jason. I had to alert the president that he wanted a meeting with him; I had to make this happen for him.
Otherwise, I was screwed.
The Secret Service agent allowed me entrance to the Oval Office, and I found Xavier speaking quietly with the vice president by the window. They both turned toward me, a bit surprised. “Hello, Amanda,” Xavier stated with such precision. “I believe you’ve met Raymond.”
I nodded graciously and extended my hand, allowing the sour man before me to place his lips on my skin. I quivered. “So good to see you again.”
Xavier nodded toward Raymond and continued. “I think we can wrap that up with them on our next trip to China. Don’t you?”
“As long as they don’t cook that terrible food again,” Raymond chortled, laughing at his own joke. He spun from the room. I watched as his upper body seemed to bulge from its shirt.
Xavier turned toward me as the door closed, and I felt the tension between us brimming. He was waiting for me to say something, but I had suddenly forgotten why I’d needed to see him in the first place. Think, Amanda! Think!
But then, finally, he sighed. “All right, Amanda. I see you’ve come to see me, instead of me having to summon you. What a nice change of pace.” His voice was a bit tactful, but his smile was warm. I accepted it graciously.