FOURTEEN
GRAHAM
Fucking Eleanor Courtney.
It’s been four days since she stalked out of my bedroom, her black hair flying behind her like a battle flag, every muscle in her curvy body taut with humiliation. Four days since she looked at me like I’d crushed her pure heart. And four days since she told me to go fuck myself right before ignoring my calls and texts repeatedly.
I hadn’t followed her that night because I’m not a fool. Not stupid enough to give her that kind of control. I’d watched her walk away, all the while wearing a smirk and shrugging confidently.
She’ll be back, I told myself the following night, as I got dressed to grab a drink and find a pretty brunette with blue eyes to fuck away the need Elle had left me with. She’s predictable. She’s probably back in D.C. right now, building up the nerve to let me know she’s disappointed in my actions. Elle will pick up that phone because, at the end of the day, I’ve paid for her to call.
But here it is, four nights later—and even after the text I sent when I came home sober and un-fucked the other night because nothing and nobody but Eleanor Courtney would do—and I haven’t heard a peep from her.
That ends now.
By this time next week, I will have driven all my frustration, all my wants, into Eleanor’s willing body, and she won’t even think of disappearing for four fucking days again because all she’ll be able to comprehend is more.
But first, I’ll have to get in touch with her.
“Happy Holidays, Senator Delaney.” My doorman’s voice snaps me back to reality. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m standing in front of a building I did not intend to see until after the holidays. All because of a woman I want to break.
“Merry Christmas,” I say with a tight smile. The doorman—who looks more like a high school sophomore than an adult tasked with keeping non-residents out—reaches out to accept my luggage from the chauffeur. I stop him and take my own bag.
He looks around nervously, then adjusts his cap. “It’s my job, Senator Delaney.”
“And I don’t need you to do it because I can manage.” I hoist the brown leather duffel over my shoulder and narrow my eyes. “Here’s what you can do for me. While I’m not expecting guests, I don’t want to be disturbed for the next few days. I have a lot of work to do, and I won’t be bothered under any circumstances. Make sure you leave a note for whoever else is on duty.”
“Sure thing, Senator Delaney.” Rubbing his smooth chin, he gives me a pitying stare that I don’t care for or need, before hesitantly commenting, “Don’t work too hard—you deserve a break on Christmas. Work can always wait.”
But I picture Elle’s giant blue eyes, looking up at me expectantly while she wets her full pink lips. I imagine her legs wide open, my fingers digging into her creamy thighs and my cock balls-deep inside of her tight body as she buries her moans in my pillows. In that brief moment, everything I’ve thought about doing to my prim Ms. Courtney over the last four days speeds through my mind, and it solidifies the reason why I left New York this morning.
Waiting is no longer an option.
I shake my head at the doorman. “No, not this time. Work is absolutely necessary, so don’t do me any holiday favors by forgetting what I’ve instructed you to do.” When the doorman stares at me like I’m the fucking Scrooge of The Hill, I head into the building, calling behind myself, “Once again, Merry Christmas.”
A couple minutes later, I step into my condo. Turning on the news to drown out the silence overwhelming the place, I walk onto the balcony. I’ve given Elle too much time already, and now I need to remind her of exactly what she agreed to do. But when I see three missed calls and a couple of voicemail alerts, it’s not from the woman who’s teased my thoughts and cock to distraction, but the one whose opinion drives me up the goddamn wall.
Vero.
What the hell does she want?
Knowing she won’t back down until I’ve contacted her, I return the call.
“Please tell me you’re still in New York?” she sighs. Judging from the sound in the background, she’s at a party. I groan at the thought of her slinging my personal shit around while she’s in public. “Tell me that you didn’t leave for D.C. after we spoke.”
We’d seen each other yesterday for about five minutes when she stopped by my place on Fifth Avenue. It hadn’t taken her long to point out—in a smug fucking voice that annihilated the last shreds of my patience—that there was no Eleanor Courtney in sight.
“I’m not going to tell you anything until I know you’re not broadcasting my life to twenty other people,” I snap.
Veronica goes quiet. After several seconds of sweet silence, she speaks. This time, the background noise is gone and her teeth are chattering. “I’m out on the fire escape, happy?” she breathes. “Now, answer my question! Bennett’s called twice asking if I knew where you were and I’ve even heard from Monica—and you know I hate when your mother calls me.”
There she goes again. Shouting so that all of New York can be privy to our personal conversation.
“If you’re asking if I’ll be dining on whatever dry ass bullshit my mother plans to serve for Christmas brunch tomorrow, the answer is a firm no.” I walk across the glassed-in balcony to the corner, grabbing a pawn off the chessboard before pacing to the other side. I glare out at the city lights glittering across the Potomac. “Surely you’ll understand that there are more pressing matters here.”
She lets out a strangled noise. “Screwing that poor girl isn’t a pressing matter. It’s cruelty. Plain, simple cruelty. You’re pretending to want her for revenge!”
Fuck, I wish it were as simple as pretending to want her for revenge, but my desire for Elle and her evasive pussy is much more. Leaning against the cold wall, I exhale, fogging up the glass. “Nothing about it will be cruel, I promise.”
“Until you launch whatever plan you have to get back at her father for what happened. Charlotte is gone, and hurting Elle—well, it’s wrong.”
I tighten my grip on the tan marble chess piece, the smooth angles jabbing into my palm. Charlotte. Even nine years later, the sound of her name hits me like a sack of bricks to the face.
The woman I’d loved.
The woman who’d tried to play the game, and lost.
The woman who was ruined by some piece of shit hypocrite who preached promise rings and the sanctity of marriage, all while he was taking advantage of his interns.
Robert Courtney hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t given Charlotte a second thought, and had probably forgotten about her years ago.
I hadn’t. And I won’t.
“Don’t say her name again,” I warn Vero in a measured tone, loosening my death grip on the chess piece. “And forget about Elle, too, because it’s none of your concern. You want to give me feedback? Pick out my ties. Organize my schedule. Do your fucking job and drive me to my meetings. Do not stray into my personal life, do you understand?”
“You invited me into your personal life the moment you had me deliver her to you!” she cries. “If you hurt her, you’re no better than her father. And I know you well enough to realize how much good is...”
I let her bluster on with the usual spiel where she tells me what a sweet boy I was and how disappointed her mother—my former nanny—would be at the cold son-of-a-bitch I’ve become. I’ve heard it more times than I care to remember, and I’ve reached the point where I can recite it right along with her. After she’s done, I give her a moment to catch her breath before I respond.
“Let me make this clear, V. You’re not the cricket on my shoulder. The next time you call me, make sure it’s about work. Given that it’s your holiday vacation, I don’t expect to hear from you in the coming days.”
She tries to give me another piece of her mind, but I shoot her down fast because I don’t like the emotional bullshit that comes with my former sister-in-law’s warnings—especially when those warnings have to do with Elle.
“Goodnight, Veronica. May your Christmas be filled with joy and love and all the empty promises my brother can throw your way.”
In spite of her gasp and the goddamn pang in my chest that comes with hurting her, I hang up.
Fuck, I’m a bastard, but I’d lost my composure the second she mentioned Charlotte.
Staring out at the lights glittering in the night sky, I don’t look away until I’ve shoved her name into the far recesses of my mind and the only thing I hear is another woman’s name.
Eleanor Courtney.
At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me—that Elle has dug her way so deep into my skin that I’m hearing her name now. But then, I turn around and there she is. On my TV screen in full HD. She’s dressed in another one of her hideous outfits—an oversized Christmas sweater with a see-through food service apron bundled over it—but watching her motivates my cock in a way that makes me question my sanity.
I want her.
Crave her like I’ve never desired any other woman, not even the one whose name still haunts me.
A caption scrolls across the bottom of the screen, which I read aloud, “Senator Robert Courtney and family spend Christmas Eve volunteering at Arlington Hope House.”
The reporter says something to Elle, making her laugh. When she parts her pink lips to speak, I listen closely, feeling like an idiot for hanging on to everything she says. “This is a family tradition for us.” She smiles down at the Styrofoam plate she’s spooning mashed potatoes onto. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else on Christmas Eve.”
“But what about New Year’s Eve? No plans with someone special this year?” the reporter teases.
She tilts her head back and chuckles, and my hand closes around the chess piece again. “That depends.” Lifting her shoulders, she lowers her eyes to look into the camera. I wonder if she’ll look so calm and reserved when my dick is down her throat. “Do you count ringing in the New Year with my amazing older brother and my wonderful parents as plans with someone special?”
I don’t know a thing about her brother, but her wonderful parents? I snort. She’s such a fucking liar. “Change of plans, Ms. Courtney,” I say through my teeth.
The news feed flashes to Robert Courtney passing his daughter a plate, and my sneer dissolves into bitter contempt. He smiles for the camera, but it’s not genuine like hers. Laughing at something the reporter says, he gives Elle a pat on the back, which she reacts to with a little grin.
“What the fuck is this?”
She’d left me and immediately gone back to him. I was right. Eleanor Courtney is absolutely predictable—I’d just read her wrong all along.
Returning the pawn piece to the chessboard, I slide my phone into my pocket, deciding against calling her because what I need is best demanded in person.
A few minutes later, I leave the building with one thing on my mind.
Fucking Eleanor Courtney.