THIRTEEN
ELLE
Four years ago when I told my father that I wanted to go into travel journalism, he’d asked me what the hell had inspired me to choose that, of all the possibilities that were available to me—a Virginia “Courtney.” I’d simply said, New York. Of course, my father had laughed at me, but going to NYC when I was five, experiencing the sights and sounds and even the smell, that Dad called sewer-ish, was my earliest childhood traveling memory.
So when I step off the private charter that flies me into Teterboro Airport the next day as nightfall settles over the city, I tell myself that my primary motivation for being here is because New York had initially inspired the wanderlust that I couldn’t exactly indulge in—thanks to my situation. That the fact I hadn’t slept a wink last night was because of my excitement of coming here tonight.
Not because Graham Delaney is the one who beckoned me. Or that I’m completely hot for the senator.
A Mercedes Benz SUV waits for me at the airport. I hold my breath as the driver—a tall, round, balding man who introduces himself as AJ, a chauffeur for Delaney International—escorts me to the black vehicle. Is Graham waiting for me behind those tinted windows? My chest rises and falls in anticipation the closer we get, and chaotic sparks of energy flow through my body, making my movements unsteady.
God, who do I think I’m kidding? Graham Delaney is already overwhelming my mind, and I haven’t even seen him yet. I must be a glutton for punishment to have gotten on that plane earlier.
When AJ opens the door for me, revealing the tan leather interior of the Mercedes to be empty, disappointment washes over me and settles in the pit of my stomach. I exhale. “Graham—Senator Delaney—wasn’t able to make it?”
AJ shakes his head. “I apologize, Ms. Sutton, but Veronica Delaney sent me on behalf of the senator. As long as traffic cooperates, it shouldn’t take us more than half an hour.”
Ms. Sutton? Apparently, Graham is taking the confidentiality portion of our verbal agreement seriously, fudging my last name in an effort to throw off everyone who comes in contact with me. It’s a gesture that’s much appreciated. Dipping his head, the driver quickly skims questioning dark eyes over me.
“Is there anything you need before we arrive?”
Running my tongue over my lips, I pray my face isn’t an inferno as I slide into the backseat of the SUV. I hold my oversized purse to my chest like a security blanket. “No, thank you.”
AJ smiles, probably to reassure me he doesn’t think I’m not the trust fund call girl his boss has bought off. “No problem, Ms. Sutton.” Then, before he walks around to the back of the vehicle, he holds up a finger. Withdrawing a small white envelope from his jacket pocket, he passes it to me. “This is for you.”
Staring down at the thick, masculine handwriting on the front—just my first name, Eleanor—curiosity eats away at my stomach. Once the Mercedes starts moving, and AJ seems to be more interested in the traffic than what I’m doing in the backseat, I carefully open the letter.
E,
No filter, no clothes, no inhibitions. Leave the pearls on. Go to the room at the end of the hall. No more games because I’m tired of waiting.
-G
I touch the pearl necklace dangling against the square neckline of my black top. Rubbing the heart-shaped clasp between my fingers, I consider taking it off but then I decide against it. I allow the desire to clench my muscles and want tingles through me.
Sliding the card back inside the envelope, I drop it in my purse, startling when I feel my phone vibrate against my hand. Thinking it might be Graham, I answer only to hear a bubbly female voice greet me.
“I’m trying to reach Eleanor Courtney. Is she available?”
I shoot a glance at the front seat of the SUV, where AJ is holding on to the steering wheel tightly. Not once does he glance into the rearview mirror at me, but there’s no such thing as too much caution. “Yes ... this is Elle. I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Janelle Fitzgerald. You know, the redhead from 202?” How could I forget her? It’s been just two weeks since I worked alongside her, even though with everything that’s happened, it feels like months. When I murmur that I remember her, she continues, “How’ve you been?”
“I’m ... doing well.” Where exactly is this conversation headed? While she’d been friendly enough, I never expected to speak to her again. Sighing, I break down and ask, “Are you calling because I left something at the restaurant when I was fired?”
She laughs. “No, you grabbed everything, I promise.” Covering her phone, she says something muffled before returning to me. “Look, the reason I’m calling is that I just got a promotion last night. Chad’s put me in charge of all the hiring, and I want you back on my team whenever you have spare time.”
Well, isn’t this a week too late and several thousand dollars short? While I have every intention of keeping my job as Mr. Kyler’s assistant once that starts, Graham had sent me email confirmation this morning that my spring tuition had been paid in full. My sole reason for working at 202 has already been resolved.
“What happened to me not being—” I cast another glance at AJ before whispering “202 material?”
Janelle grunts. “Please, you were doing a pretty kickass job, if you ask me. Chad just hates having girls quit on him—says he’d rather be the one who initiates the breakup. Typical guy, right?”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, don’t you think it was kind of odd Chad fired you right after you accepted that internship with that representative from Delaware? When Senator Delaney put a bug in Chad’s ear, he...”
And this is where the entire conversation goes fuzzy, and the only sound I hear is the blood pounding violently in my ears. What does she mean Graham told Chad I was taking an internship with a representative from Delaware? I don’t even know the names of any representatives from Delaware.
Fisting my hand, I inhale and exhale until I can hear. And think. And breathe.
After several seconds, Janelle’s voice comes back in. “Anyway, I know it’s a long shot, but if you have any nights free, I’d love to have you back around. You caught on quick, and like I told you before, the tips really are amazing,” she rambles on. “Did my number show up on your ID?”
Numbly, I check it. “Yeah, it’s here.”
“Awesome, just let me know.” Her voice still chipper because she isn’t the one who just found out she’s been screwed over. “Have a merry Christmas, Eleanor!”
Fingers trembling, I return my phone to my bag just as AJ pulls onto the curb of a Fifth Avenue building that puts Graham’s D.C. digs to shame. I barely even notice my surroundings as the doorman takes me and my luggage to the fifteenth floor.
Once I’m alone, I walk slowly through the spacious apartment, which is dark except for the city lights blazing through the windows, toward the hallway. Standing in the middle of the archway, I almost want to turn and leave, but then I shake my head, strands of my black hair flying around my face.
I will not run away from this, so I walk to the door.
Twisting the knob, I step into the room, expecting to be alone, but I gasp when strong hands close around my wrists. I’m in his arms before I can say a word, and Graham crushes his mouth against mine. This is our first real kiss—and if I have it my way, it’ll be our last—but I moan as his hot tongue parts my lips, hungrily tasting me. His hands bury in my hair, tugging the black strands back to give him better access to my mouth, and I feel his hands between my legs, on my ass, on my breasts.
There’s so much intensity—anger and desire and pain—that my head reels violently.
Senator Sexy-Ass had betrayed me.
This son of a bitch had intentionally cost me my job.
Pulling away from him, I press my back against the wall. Heat pricks my eyelids, but I squeeze my eyes to hold back any tears. When I finally open them, I see his dark brown eyes staring down at me, narrowed like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.
“You’re fully dressed, Ms. Courtney. Why the fuck are you still dressed?”
He is too. He’s beautiful in business pants and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt that exposes the bronze, muscular lines of his chest, but that’s the last thing on my mind. Because he might have screwed me over. And that makes Graham something else.
Depraved.
“Did you tell my boss at 202 I was taking another job?” I ask in a low voice, and I watch the surprise register in those dark irises, the muscles in his face tighten and his broad shoulders go rigid. He says nothing, and during his silence—his awful, damning silence—I finally start to register details about the room. Cold shades of black and white. An assortment of items I’m afraid to see up close sit on the grey upholstered bench at the edge of the bed. Knowing Graham’s filthy mouth, it’s probably an impressive offering to the kinky arts: whips, chains, and lube. To my surprise, the centerpiece of the room is not the giant bed, but the massive mirror against the wall directly across from it.
So I can watch him fuck me over.
When he remains stoic, my voice is louder when I say, “Did you tell him that I was taking a job with someone else just to get me fired?”
He finally lifts his shoulder in a careless shrug, and I suck in a shattered breath. What had I agreed to do? No, who had I agreed to do it with? Who the fuck is Graham Delaney?
“Why would you do that to me?” I demand brokenly.
“I’ve already told you, Elle, I want to possess you.” A smile—shaky at first and then so bold it blinds me—splinters his bronze face. I press my hand against my chest because I swear my heart can’t take the explosion taking place within me. “And as of this morning, I do.”
“You don’t own me.”
“The word own was never tossed around, Elle. Now, are you going to—” He cuts himself off when I stumble away from him and down the hall. My legs are like rubber, flimsy and close to giving out on me, but I keep moving until I reach the foyer. He’s right behind me, hands on my shoulders as I jerk my carry on and purse in either hand. “Don’t go.”
“I can’t stay.” My lungs burn as I keep my stare straight ahead on the front door. “I’m not going to stay. Play your tricks and games with someone else, Graham. I’m done.”
“Where will you go?” His voice follows me as I stalk out of the apartment. The luggage is heavy but its weight has nothing on the pressure dragging on my chest. I spin on my heels, flames and fury swishing through me when I catch the look on his face. He thinks he’s won. “Just come back inside, and I’ll send you back to D.C., as promised, in two days.”
I press my lips into a tight, close-lipped smile. “Your promises don’t mean shit. You are, after all, a politician.” And then, I leave him standing there as I stalk away.
“Ugh, Colton’s sent me three texts from the other room asking if you’re spending the night.” Blake rolls her eyes and tucks her short legs under her. “You sure you have to leave?”
“My flight leaves in four hours, and I really, really want to just go home.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and drop my head so far down I almost whack my forehead on Colton’s coffee table. “I feel like an ass.”
“You know, I could probably give you better advice if I knew why you think that. Or, if I knew why the hell you’re even here in the first place.”
After I left Graham’s apartment, I had hailed the first cab that came my way. I was terrified that he’d do something out of character, come after me. If he did, I was long gone by that point. I’d called Blake and was relieved that she was still in the city. She hadn’t asked questions as she gave me the address to her cousin’s apartment, but her eyes said it all when she let me in.
I want to tell her everything, but I’m too embarrassed. Too angry.
“An impromptu trip,” I say huskily.
“That you decided against after you touched down.”
“Blake,” I groan. Her next statement is cut off when Colton comes out of the kitchen, double-fisting cheap beer. When I accept one and thank him, her eyes go wide. I know what she’s thinking—that I never drink beer—but I shake my head. “Trust me, I need one tonight.”
The corners of her mouth twitch, but she simply bobs her head. I’ll deal with her questions later, and I know there will be many. Like the runny mascara I’d washed off my face right after coming in. Or the fact my phone has been ringing nonstop since I got here. Or why my hands shake when I check said phone again, only to find yet another text from him.
Graham Delaney: Answer your phone, Elle.
I haven’t responded yet, but something urges me to do so this time. Fuck you, Delaney, I shoot back before turning off my phone. My eyelids still burn, but I force my gaze up. Pretend to be interested in Colton’s flirting and Blake’s hesitant smiles.
And I fail because no matter how hard I try, Graham is still in my head.