TWENTY
ELLE
Graham Delaney won’t leave me the hell alone.
Not the man himself, because I haven’t actually spoken to him since Christmas, but thoughts of him.
To my embarrassment, I’ve thought about Senator Sexy-Ass so much that I’ve mentally developed a short list of theories explaining what had happened on Christmas. The one that makes the most sense is the oldest reason for dickhead behavior in the book: At some point in the past, a woman had ripped cool, confident Senator Delaney to shreds.
I do a little digging—if he can research me, I sure as hell can look him up—but there’s limited information about his personal dating life online. In the last seven years, he’s been linked to a handful of socialites and a hotshot district attorney from South Carolina, but none of those relationships look serious. Still, for all I know, one of those women might have trampled on Graham’s heart, shrinking it to the two sizes too small thing it is today.
I choose to go with this theory over the other: That he’s simply a douchebag who hasn’t called me because he’s playing a dirty game of seduction—and winning.
Graham is still on my mind when I arrive at the giant office building located in the commercial district that houses The Capitol Buzz—Mitchell Kyler’s newspaper—on Friday morning. As soon as I walk into suite 550, Mr. Kyler meets me in the lobby and immediately leads me on a whirlwind tour of the office, introducing me to the staff and explaining how things work. It’s impossible to focus on Senator Sexy-Ass while I’m trying to keep up with my new boss, and I’m thankful to have my mind taken off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Politically Incorrect—even if I will have to reintroduce myself to my co-workers because Tom talks so fast.
The last stop of our tour is his cluttered office, where he invites me to sit down on the other side of a desk that’s hidden beneath a mountain of newspapers.
A short, balding man who reminds me of George Costanza from Seinfeld, Mitchell Kyler talks a mile a minute as he reminds me of what he expects while I’m employed as his assistant. We’d already discussed everything during our lunch meeting when he’d hired me, but I listen intently, jotting down notes on a miniature legal pad.
“As my office assistant, you’ll be in charge of answering and returning calls and greeting anyone who walks through our doors. I take my relationship with our Buzz readers very seriously—they’re our family and they take good care of us—so I want you to treat everyone who comes in with respect.”
“Got it.”
“I’m sure Ruby’s already warned you, but this can be boring and repetitive work—that’s why she didn’t last long working here.” Honestly, I had no idea my friend had worked for Mr. Kyler, but I bob my head anyway. Then, cupping his hand over his mouth, Mitchell leans in close like he’s sharing a big secret. “Trust me, though, this place will look great on your résumé when you’re trying to move up to a network position.”
I frown. “I’m sorry, but what?”
He tilts his shiny head to the side. “Though, I was sure you told me before that you’re pursuing travel journalism instead of broadcast.”
I groan. He must have seen the interview my dad had given on Christmas Eve. “Nothing has changed,” I assure him, wanting to tell him my father is an idiot, but quickly changing my mind. Not only is Mr. Kyler’s paper on the verge of being a full-blown tabloid, he also dislikes my father. As much as my dad irritates me, I would never want his name used as negative media fodder.
I clear my throat. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?”
Kyler gives me a gap-toothed grin and then reaches into his top drawer. “As you can see, we really need an organized touch around this office.” I lift my eyebrows at the typed list he places in my outstretched hand. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Courtney.”
By the end of the day, I’ve rearranged two filing cabinets and answered at least a hundred “Buzz Mails”— tips the newspaper’s readers send in. So far, I’ve learned that Senator Renshaw’s wife may or may not be having an affair with one of his interns and that a certain supreme court judge had a penchant for cross-dressing and late night orgies.
I’d felt dirty reading about these people, and with each new email I opened, I had held my breath, scared to death I’d find something about Zach or myself. Thankfully, though, the Courtney kids must not be tip-worthy.
“Is there anything else you need me to do?” I ask Mr. Kyler, poking my head into his office before I leave the building a few minutes after five. He’s on a call, but he covers the mouthpiece and looks up at me.
“I know your schedule will change once the spring semester starts, but will you be able to make it in every day after New Year’s?”
Adjusting the bun at the nape of my neck, I nod. “See you on the second?” Flashing me a thumbs up, he returns to his call.
“Good work, Courtney,” he calls after me.
Before heading to my apartment, I stop at a bar on Capitol Hill where I order a burger and a blackberry cocktail, promising myself that I’ll start eating salads and drinking more water after New Year’s. I down both entirely too fast in an effort to get home before the Friday night influx begins, but standing on the sidewalk afterward, I realize just how close I am to 202. The conversation I had with Janelle on Christmas creeps into my thoughts, but the sensation of my phone vibrating in the pocket of my black trench coat quickly shoves it aside.
After three days of silence from Graham, I feel light-headed as I read his text asking me if work was everything I hoped it would be. Swallowing hard, I respond, I didn’t realize you knew I started. Less than twenty seconds later, he answers me, sending my heart into a frenzy.
Graham Delaney: You mentioned it to me. I remembered. Are you surprised that I focus on more than just your tits and talking about your pussy when I’m with you?
Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t called, period, I retort, moving to the other side of the sidewalk, which is less congested. My pulse races when my phone vibrates again, and I read his message, holding my breath.
Graham Delaney: I’ve been busy. As much as I’d love to call you to me at all hours of the night, I’m obligated to my New York constituents. Do you want me to neglect my job?
Snorting, I race my fingers over the keyboard, typing, Why do I feel like those words are drenched with sarcasm?
Graham Delaney: Jinx. I was just about to ask you why I feel like your panties are drenched from me finally getting in touch with you.
Stopping at a crosswalk, I consider how I want to answer that question before, finally, I flick my tongue over my lips and send him a safe response. How’s New York?
Graham Delaney: I wouldn’t know. I do know that you’re bright red right now, that you’re licking your lips. It’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all day.
All this from a text message? I question, but when I press my hands to my cheeks, the heat radiating from my skin scorches my palms. “Lucky guess,” I mutter under my breath.
My phone rings and Graham’s name flashes on the screen. I count to three and then answer. “Hello.”
“Just so you know, I haven’t left the city since we last saw each other,” he informs me, and my pulse goes from zero to sixty at the sound of his deep voice in my ear.
“Where are you then?” I ask. And why are you just now calling if you haven’t been in New York?
“I was on the way to my office when I looked across the street to see the most aggravating woman in all of D.C. licking herself and playing with her pearls.” Looking down, I realize that I’m unconsciously fingering the single strand of pearls around my neck. I drop it and shove my hand into the pocket of my trench coat.
“By the way, that tall fuck has walked by you three times, and I have a feeling he’s going to ask for your number at any moment,” Graham adds in a smug voice.
Sure enough, I look over my shoulder to see the man he’s talking about—a giant who’s at least a foot taller than my five foot six. He winks at me, and I smile politely before whipping back around to look at the other side of the street. There’s no sight of Graham.
“You’re not following yet, dove?” he asks, his tone low and sexy—a challenge that I can’t resist wanting to accept because Graham is in D.C.
And he can see me.
He’s watching me right now, and I need to stop trembling so he won’t notice exactly what speaking to him does to me.
“Where are you?” An errant strand of black hair escapes its bun, and I tuck it behind my ear. Squinting, I scan the area in search of him. “I don’t see you.”
“You know where I’m going,” he drawls. “Come and find me.”
“No, just tell me where you are, and I’ll meet you there,” I breathe, but he’s already hung up. Dammit. Impatiently, I wait for the crosswalk light to change to green. Once it does, I walk as fast as my four-inch pumps will allow, keeping my head down as I make the quarter-mile trek to the Senate office building where Graham, and my father, works. Approaching the entrance, my heart flutters wildly when I spot him walking up the front steps.
He looks both sexy and reserved in a dark gray business suit and his brown hair neat and orderly, reminding me why he’s been the source of all my fantasies since we met. The man is sensual crack.
Turning on the top stair, he sweeps his dark gaze over me and then winks. “Ms. Courtney,” he mouths with a straight white grin, before disappearing into the building.
I gather my bearings. Give myself a few moments to catch my breath. Then, I follow behind him.
Every intelligent part of my brain is yelling for me to turn around, but I ignore them as I hand my license to a security guard. Holiday hours have been implemented for the public, but he must recognize my name because he lets me through, informing me that my father is likely still in his office.
Aware that my dad is in the building—for whatever reason that may be considering the senate is adjourned—I feel twice as reckless about following Graham to wherever he might be leading me, to do God knows what.
“Thanks,” I tell the guard with a shaky smile, clutching my purse in front of me like a shield that will hide my erratically beating heart. “Have a happy New Year.”
“You do the same, Ms. Courtney.”
With my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I walk through the rotunda, wishing my shoes weren’t so loud. Although the building is practically empty thanks to the holidays, and there’s nobody loitering in the hallways, I continue past the glass double doors of Graham’s suite after he walks through them. A minute later, I loop around and go inside too.
“Senator Delaney?” I say formally.
“We’re alone,” he calls out, amusement tingeing his voice. “So drop the uptight intern act and come back here.”
How often do you hear the uptight intern act, Senator? I wonder.
Tentatively, I head in the direction of his voice, walking through a series of doors to the back of the suite. When I see the partially opened door to his private office, I creep inside and close it behind me, pressing my back against the wood. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Lock that,” he orders, and I gladly comply. That’s the last thing I need—for someone to burst into Graham’s office and find me with him after hours.
“Nervous?” he questions, drawing my attention to where he’s seated behind a horseshoe-shaped mahogany desk. Directly behind him is a large display case, showcasing yet another elaborate chess set and numerous leather-bound books.
“Of course I am.” I sink down on the plush, mustard yellow couch opposite his desk. “What the hell was I thinking coming back here?” I ask myself aloud.
“About me.”
I roll my eyes. “Cocky much?”
“Nine inches,” he assures me, causing a flush to immediately stain my cheeks. “But nobody saw you. Even if they did, they won’t make the connection.”
“It still probably wasn’t my brightest moment.”
He drums his long fingers impatiently on his desk, his brown eyes drinking me in as I smooth my red skirt and trench coat over my knees. “Do you think I would have invited you and your damp panties into my office if I thought your privacy might be compromised?”
“God, I love the eloquence of everything you say to me.” But it turns me on. It does things to my body that I know will keep me up tonight long after he’s gone.
“Take off your coat, Elle.” I shrug out of the trench coat without putting up a fuss—telling myself because it’s so hot in here—and drape it over the side of the couch. He rests his elbows on his desk and leans forward. “So … do you want me to be eloquent for you?”
I pick a piece of black lint from my white V-neck sweater and lift my shoulders. “There’s a lot I want from you.”
He rubs his chin. It looks smoother than usual, which tells me it hasn’t been too long since he shaved. “Like?”
“Was it a woman?” I blurt out. His eyes narrow questioningly, and I clear my throat and lick my lips. “The reason why you asked me to leave your place the other night when it was so obvious you wanted me to stay, was it another woman?”
“We both know you don’t think that at all. Remember, I’ve seen your reaction to the thought of me fucking another woman.”
Recalling the afternoon at Monroe’s, I shake my head. “No, I didn’t mean like that. I meant ... in the past.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Elaborate, Elle, so I can figure out what the fuck it is you’re trying to say.”
“That I’m getting to you,” I whisper, crossing and uncrossing my legs, feeling a surge of power when his eyes lower to my thighs. He doesn’t budge, so I continue. “I’m saying that someone broke you in the past, and your motivation for asking me to leave was control.”
I wouldn’t call his expression furious but detached. Graham Delaney does detached better than anyone I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something considering I’ve been around politicians, lawyers, and a mother who sweeps problems under the rug without blinking an eye, my entire life.
“Are you a journalism major or a fucking psychologist?” he questions in a flat voice.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. I know nothing about you except that you’re wealthy and can kick my ass at chess.”
“You know where I’m from.”
“So does anyone else with access to the Internet.”
“You know what I want,” he adds.
“Knowing you’re attracted to me doesn’t help me figure out why.”
“What about you?” He smirks. “I still don’t know what naughtiness you got into to make your father cut you off. Wouldn’t you say we’re just about even?”
I wring my hands together in my lap. Other than Blake, nobody outside my family and Zach and Jameson’s closest friends knows about my brother’s marriage to his longtime boyfriend—or how my father had responded by informing us that Zach’s sexual preference would kill his presidential ambitions—and I’m not about to reveal any of those details to Graham.
No matter what my body’s reaction to him might be, I can’t trust the man as far as I can throw him.
I shake my head. “No, we’re not even. You know that whatever it is, I feel passionately enough about it to give my dad—and his money—the finger. I just want to know why you’d pursue such an unconventional relationship when you can have any woman you crook your finger at. I’m trying to understand you.”
Heaven help me, I’m desperate to understand him.
“Stop,” he snaps. “Because it’s a waste of your time. My motivation is simple. Greed. I want to possess you, want to fuck you speechless, and want everything about you. I’m not broken. I’m nothing you’re trying to make me out to be, so unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Fuck me, Graham,’ we’re done here. Your move, Ms. Courtney.”
“Fine,” I tell him, glaring directly into his dark eyes. “Fuck me, Graham.”