Chapter Six
The next day, I sat at my desk, across the churning room from Jason. I watched as Xavier walked toward him and leaned down, whispering something to him over the chaos. Jason nodded curtly and turned back toward his computer. It was so rare that I saw them talk; I wasn’t sure what was going on.
But then, Xavier turned toward me. His eyes were bright. I could feel him analyzing every single cell of my body. I felt naked in front of him. I licked my lips and turned back toward my computer, trying to find something to think about, something beyond my sheer infatuation with the President of the United States.
But then, his shadow appeared before me. I looked up, acting surprised. My voice came out so slowly. “Hello, Mr. President.” I could hardly hear myself.
“Amanda,” he said. His face looked so open. “I just wanted to check in with you about—about the other day.”
A bit spastically, I waved my hands in front of my face. “No, no. Mr. President. It’s fine. I’m just—I’m a mess right now. The campaign is going really well, but at the cost of my sanity, I’m afraid.” I gave him my surest smile—the smile that told him I had everything under control. But God, I didn’t.
He nodded. I wanted him to take my face in his hands; I longed for him to kiss me so deeply, in a manner that forced my knees to dip to the ground. I bit my lip, wishing him to both go away and stay.
Stay.
But he remained, for better or for worse. “Jason’s doing an okay job, isn’t he?”
I turned my head toward Jason, watching him as he spewed into a phone, his face red. “He grows angry easily,” I murmured, gesturing.
But Xavier placed his hand in the air, in a fist. “I suppose you must have passion in this business.”
The words hung between us like a cloud. I longed to tell him, then. I wanted to tell him that Jason was terrorizing me; that he was the only person who knew about our one-night stand. (Because, at the end of the day, what else was it? It was a one-night stand. It couldn’t be termed anything else.)
Suddenly, two Secret Service agents appeared on either side of the president. One whispered in Xavier’s ear. Xavier’s eyebrows rose, and he turned toward him, speaking loud enough for me to hear. “Well, did you tell her I’m working?”
My mind began to rush. Was he talking about his wife?
The Secret Service agent whispered in his ear once more. His voice was so low, I assumed it was in some sort of code.
“Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” Xavier stated then. His voice came gruffly from his throat. He casually rolled his eyes toward me, like we were sharing a secret joke.
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?”
“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.