SEVENTEEN
ELLE
When I discover that the Mediterranean bistro I planned to eat at closed an hour ago, I go to another familiar spot. 202. Chad and staff have gone all out for Christmas—there’s a massive artificial tree sparkling with multicolored lights and glass balls by the bar and LED snowflakes dangle from the ceiling beams. And then there’s the music. During my week working here, I got used to Chad’s affinity for the Easy Listening station on Pandora, but Sam Smith serenades me with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as the hostess leads me to one of the only seats left.
“I figured this place would be empty,” I murmur, and she lifts an eyebrow as she hands me the menu.
“It’s been crazy all day, just like on Thanksgiving.” The bell on the door rattles, and she glances over her shoulder at the big group shuffling in out of the cold. “And it looks like it just got a lot crazier. Your waitress will be with you soon.”
“Thanks.” Shrugging out of my coat, I start to skim the menu but then my phone vibrates on the table. I suck in my cheeks when I read over the message.
Graham Delaney: I’ll see you in half an hour.
His wording makes the muscles in my shoulders tighten. He’s not even asking if he’ll see me in thirty minutes, he’s just assuming I’ll show up. He probably supposes I’ve thought of him nonstop since last night. And if he does think that, he’s right. The asshole.
I’m about to text him back but a voice calls my name, pausing me. I place my phone facedown and smile at the woman approaching me. “Merry Christmas!”
“You too.” Janelle stops by the table, tilting her head to one side so that the white puff on the Santa hat she’s wearing brushes her shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re not celebrating with your family tonight.”
Grabbing the pepper shaker, I shift it between my hands. “I saw them earlier.” It’s not exactly a lie. I did see them—twenty-four hours ago. “What about you?”
“I spent the morning with them in Baltimore but I wasn’t going to miss the rush here tonight. The tips are too good and my car payment is due in a couple weeks.” She reaches into her apron pocket for her pen and pad. “You wouldn’t understand, I guess.”
Although she’s still smiling, and I don’t think that’s sarcasm in her voice, my head flinches back slightly. “What?”
“Um … because of your dad.” She laughs and shrugs. “I just meant it must be nice to be a Courtney, that’s all. Your dad’s probably the first to know about internships like the one you got, and then you’re friends with people like Senator Delaney so—”
At the mention of Graham, my stomach hardens. It no longer matters she’s suggesting my father helped me score an internship—which I don’t even have because Graham made it up—but that she’s connecting me to him now. “I’m not friends with Senator Delaney. I don’t even know him.”
“But I figured since he told Chad about your new job that—”
“No.” Damn, my voice is harsh. Too defensive. I struggle not to grind my teeth, somehow working my mouth into a pleasant smile instead. “He knows my father from work, but I’ve only spoken to him once or twice.”
Her reddish brown eyebrows arch so high they almost touch the white band of her hat. “Oh. Well, if that internship doesn’t work out, you know you’re always welcome back here.”
If this were two weeks ago, I would have jumped at the chance. I would have volunteered to put on my uniform right now and work the holiday rush. But there’s the job with Mr. Kyler. And this conversation. If things at The Capitol Buzz don’t work out, I can’t see myself back at 202 because Janelle doesn’t look halfway convinced that I’m nothing to Graham.
I clear my throat and yank my gaze from hers, focusing on the menu. “Thanks. I really appreciate all your help.”
“Definitely.” She clicks the top of her pen and positions it over her notepad. “Decide what you want yet?”
I ask for the first item on the sandwich menu—the Ham-ilton, which is a glorified club sandwich—and I release a sigh of relief when she takes off to put in my order. I’m grateful when my food is delivered twenty minutes later by another waitress and that Janelle seems too busy to make time to speak to me again. Especially after Blake sends me a text that almost causes me to choke on my fries.
Blake Mayer: Did you make it to his place? Are you in his bathroom?! Does he have one of those body jet showers???
When I text her back that I didn’t, I’m not, and that she should go back to exchanging gifts, she responds a few seconds later.
Blake Mayer: Exchange is done. Some dick took my gift card and stuck me with a Celine Dion cd. Not a recent one but the one with the Titanic song on it. Be rational about the Bathroom Bandit. It’s easier to hear what he has to say than give his money back.
While I finish dinner, I try to focus on everything but my current situation, but on the way home, it’s hard not to let Blake’s advice affect me. If this were any other man but Graham, rational would be my middle name. But he’s not just any man. He’s gotten under my skin since the night I first laid eyes on him. One look from him turns me into a blushing, stuttering fool, makes me defensive at the mere mention of his name, and we’ve yet to actually have sex. If we do this for another four and a half months, who the hell knows what will happen or if he’ll betray me again.
Or worse, if I’ll betray myself.
Even the thought of falling for Graham leaves a terrible sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Stopping at the red light, I focus my attention on the radio to hear Arctic Monkey’s “Do I Wanna Know?”
I laugh bitterly at the irony.
I want to know more about Graham Delaney. Enough that I stupidly take the next right turn and head in the opposite direction toward his luxurious condo.
When he opens his door looking freshly showered with damp, disheveled hair and a designer white T-shirt clinging to his muscular upper body, my emotions ping-pong between lust and exasperation.
“You’re late,” he growls, but he motions me inside.
“I was at dinner,” I say, leaving out the part about dinner being at 202. I feel his eyes on my back as I shrug out of my coat, and I struggle to keep my body still when the sound of him locking the door ricochets through me. Coming up behind me, he takes my coat. He traces his finger around the V-neck of my red sweater.
“No pearls today?”
Contemplating him over my shoulder, I move my head from side-to-side. “Thought they drove you crazy.” I step away, twisting around once there’s just enough distance between our bodies. I swallow hard at the gleam in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Graham.”
Of course, after having just left the crowd and loud holiday music at 202, it doesn’t seem very merry in his apartment. While Blake and I had set up our Charlie Brown tree in our living room a month ago, there’s nothing remotely similar to that—or anything festive at all—in here. No lights, no red and green décor, nothing. And then there’s the fact that he’s alone. On a holiday.
I guess I could say the same about myself, but something painful wrenches my chest when I think about him spending the day by himself.
Don’t you dare feel sorry for him, the warning voice in my head snaps. He probably chose to be alone just to count his millions, think of new ways to screw you over and make other people miserable. He’s the living, breathing, sexy version of Scrooge—Capitol Hill edition.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” he drawls, tilting his head to the side as he drags his stare over my body. “But mine won’t be very merry until after I’ve fucked you.” He walks toward me. “After I’ve bent you over and taken the only thing I want to unwrap this year.”
I step backward, but I eventually stop when my back slams into the glass entrance to his balcony. “Do you ever think about anything other than sex?” I lift my chin. “I mean, in your line of work, there has to be something else you think about.”
“Lowering taxes, rebuilding the military, bringing more jobs to ‘Merica.” When I tug in an agitated breath through my teeth, he sneers. “Need I go on, Ms. Courtney?”
I wish I could be surprised by his sarcasm, but I’m certain that nothing Graham says or does can shock me anymore. He leans into me. I shove my palm against his chest, which I instantly regret because the sensation of his heartbeat thrumming wildly against my skin takes my breath away. “Do the people who vote for you know what a cynical dick you are?” I whisper in an unsteady voice.
“And ruin the American dream for them?” He grabs my hands, pinning them above my head, drawing a gasp from me.
I strain against him, and the pit of my belly flutters. He’s hard everywhere—all lean muscles that flex against my body as I move. I moan and run my tongue over the center of my lips. “What happened to discussing the deal?”
He bends his head, pressing his mouth to my ear. I breathe in the spicy scent of his cologne, shivering at how good he smells. “I never said we weren’t discussing it, I just wanted you to know I’ll consider my holiday season merry and bright after you’ve gifted me your pussy.”
Releasing my wrists, he rests one hand on my ass and motions out to the balcony with the other. I look at what he’s pointing to. The elegant tan and black chess set I’d noticed when we had dinner is set up on the table.
“You play, correct?” he asks.
“You’re not challenging me, are you?” He nods slowly, dropping his gaze to my breasts. My nipples tighten beneath his intense stare, so I hug my arms over my chest. “How do you know I play?”
“I do my research, remember?” He pulls my fingers into his, and my stomach flutters as I follow him away from the glass wall and onto the balcony. “You were on your school’s team your freshman year of high school.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out. Do you also know my social security number and blood type? Oh, and what about my old Gmail password? I locked myself out months ago.”
“No, but if you give me fifteen minutes I can find out.” Holy crap, is he kidding? A furtive smile dances at the corners of his full lips, and he holds out the chair for me. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m not going to cancel the deal, but I will play you for it.”
A shockwave pulses through my body, and I nearly miss the seat as I sit down on the edge of it. “What did you just say?”
“For every piece you capture,” he whispers, kneeling down to brush strands of hair off my neck before softly kissing my nape, “I’ll knock a week off our arrangement. If you beat me, we’re finished. Just like you’ve requested.”
Sixteen pieces and each one a week I can earn back. He’s giving me the chance to nearly eradicate the entire agreement.
The man kissing my shoulders and causing the tiny hairs on my arms to stand on end is not just wickedly handsome, he’s also clinically insane.
Rubbing my hand over the back of my neck when he stands upright and walks to the other side of the table, I run my tongue over the middle of my lips. “How on earth did you come up with this idea?”
“Veronica’s mother taught me how to play when I was a boy—she was our nanny. When she wanted to make a deal with me that I wouldn’t budge on, we’d battle it out over a game of chess.”
This is an unexpected look into his personal life, and before I ask more questions about his newest proposition, I decide to see if he’ll tell me anything else. “Were you any good?”
Shrugging, he sits down. “Decent. Mrs. Palmero always beat the shit out of me.”
“I can’t imagine you being just decent at anything.”
“Then make the first move so you can find out on your own.” He touches one of the black pawns on his side of the board. “What do you have to lose?”
When it comes to Graham, I have plenty to lose with every single move I make. That scares me senseless. Plucking one of my own pawns off the board, I shift it from hand to hand. “What happens if and when you capture one of my pieces, or if you beat me?”
Because surely, he has to get something out of this. Graham wouldn’t make this kind of offer without thinking about himself first.
He grins slowly, the anticipation in his expression a warning if I’ve ever seen one. “You’ll hand me an article of clothing, starting with that festive fucking sweater I’ve wanted to rip off since you came inside. If I get you naked before you can beat me—or if I trap your King—I win. If I win, you. Are. Mine.”
There’s something about the way he says those words that races a spark of electricity through my veins, causing tingles in my fingers and toes. As much as I try to convince myself that I want out of this deal, I can’t deny my body’s reaction to the possessive lilt of his voice or the way he looks at me like he can see right through my ... festive fucking sweater.
Staring away from him to give myself a chance to collect my thoughts, I breathe in and out slowly until I can speak to him without my voice faltering. “Even if I don’t beat you, I still get to knock weeks off the agreement if I capture any of your pieces?”
“Yes.”
Before I can stop myself, the next words out of my mouth are, “Deal, but I’m putting my coat back on.”