CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cameron
“Do you know who this is?” My mousy clerk pointed to a photograph on the wall and singsonged to a dozen little heads that shook back and forth in response.
One girl raised her hand and Violet smiled at her. “Is it the president?” the girl asked shyly.
“Why yes, it is. It is the president. One of our presidents, actually. And right next to him is the vice president, his second in command. That’s Ron Brice.” She smiled at all of them, then looked over at me, and her smile faded. “This man’s father. This picture was taken two decades ago, when Ron Brice was vice president of the whole United States.”
I had been leaning against the doorway, trying to be inconspicuous, but upon being caught, I strode into the room, smiling at everyone. “Hi, there. Good to have you all here. Make yourselves at home. Let my associates know what questions you have, and I believe Violet has cookies and milk for you in the break room.”
I looked at her for affirmation, but she avoided my glance and had the girls line up against the wall.
Violet led the long line of girls dressed in brown sashes through the office, pointing out different items of interest. I tried to smile and be gracious to the little Brownies, but my mind was elsewhere. I had a proposal to make, tonight. A debate to master, next week. Big things were happening.
But really, the only thing I could fully concentrate on was Cassandra. Brooke. I played every detail of our last night together in excruciating detail, wondering how it had come to this. I felt like I was standing on a platform, a noose tightening around my neck.
As my clerk led the little girls into the break room, I escaped to my office and closed the door.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the light blue box my fucking father had ordered. It’d been on my desk this morning. Opening the lid, I gazed at the enormous rock, imagining getting down on one knee.
But the woman I wanted to get down in front of?
She wouldn’t need this gaudy piece of flash.
She’d be worth it. She’d be worth a million of them. But she wouldn’t want it. Not to mention, she hated me now.
But I could change that. After all, Philadelphia Magazine had named me the “Man with the Silver Tongue” once. I could get down on my knees and beg for her to take me back. And Bernadette? Fuck her. Fuck my father. So what if I was disinherited? I had a Harvard law degree. So what if I walked away from politics and my father never wanted to see me again? It may have been a shitty thing to do to him, but this was my life, my decision, and what was shittier than forcing your offspring into your own mold?
Cassandra was right. I didn’t like politics half as much as I tried to convince myself I did.
Cassandra. Brooke.
I closed the box and stuffed it into my pocket, feeling a renewed sense of strength surging through my veins. I opened up my laptop to Google and typed in Brooke Philadelphia.
I got over ten million search results. That wasn’t good enough. Tapping my chin with my finger, I tried to think of something else. I thought of when I’d met her, how she nearly knocked me out in that white sundress. She’d had the choice of places to meet, and she’d chosen the Temple Welcome Center. Perhaps she knew the welcome center because she’d been a student there.
I typed in: Brooke Philadelphia Temple. Just over four hundred thousand search results.
Now I felt like I was getting warmer. I added in the word graduate, and it trimmed the list down more. Then I clicked on “images” and started to scroll through thousands of pictures of women that came up in the results. Women of all ages and races smiled back at me. I scrolled for what seemed like ages until the pictures seemed to get further and further away from what I was looking for.
And then, I stopped.
I leaned forward, my eyes bleary, studying the picture of a woman in a cap and gown, her blonde hair curled around her shoulders.
Cassandra.
I fell over myself to click on the image, which led me to an article from the Bensalem Record. Barbara and Gary Ellis of Bensalem are happy to announce the graduation of their daughter, Brooke Ellis, from Temple University. Brooke is graduating summa cum laude with a B.A. in Criminal Justice.
I stared at the name. Brooke Ellis. Brooke Ellis. Brooke Ellis. It was like a door had opened up.
Now, I could find her. Now, I could track her down, and… and…
My office door flew open, and in response, I slammed the cover of my laptop down. I expected my father, but it was two of my employees, one hot on the other’s heels. I was about to ask them what the fuck, since no one ever entered my office without knocking, but Harvey was clearly rattled. “Mr. Brice. Check this out,” he said, pointing to my computer.
I didn’t want to open it and reveal the contents of my latest search.
Turned out, I didn’t have to. Alicia followed and threw her iPhone down on my desk. It was open to a local news outlet. The headline read: Corruption and Lies in the Brice Campaign?
My mouth fell open for a brief moment as I scanned the article. “What the fuck is this about?” I looked at Harvey and Alicia. “Where’s Simmons?”
“He called in sick today,” Alicia said, wringing her hands. “We’re getting calls. Someone from CNN wants a statement.”
I ran my hand through my hair. “What the…” I let out a heavy breath, then looked at them. “Get Bob on the phone. Now! Tell anyone who calls that our office will release a statement once we’ve had a chance to fully investigate the accusations. Alicia, get on our website and social media and do the same thing.”
They both nodded and made for the door.
“Are the Girl Scouts gone?” I asked.
Harvey shook his head. “They were just leaving, but they wanted a picture with you.”
“All right. Give me a minute.”
When the door closed, I took a cleansing breath. I ran my hands over the front of my suit jacket, then checked my reflection in the mirror. Calm.
Then I stepped into the hallway, where general chaos was beginning to erupt. The phones were ringing off their hooks. Kids were playing tag among the desks as Violet looked out the window, a worried crinkle on her brow. My remaining three clerks looked like they’d just gone through a war. They all turned to me, eyes wide, seeking direction.
But what could I do? I wished I could tell them that it was all a mistake, but I’d trusted Bob, my campaign manager, with my finances from day one. He’d secured and accepted the campaign financing, and I’d had little to do with it.
It didn’t matter. It would all fall on me.
I snapped my fingers at Violet to get her attention. “Let’s get that picture,” I said to her, trying to keep my breathing calm.
She scurried over to us, nearly tripping over a couple little imps as the phone continued to ring. I lined up with the girls in front of the picture of my father and managed to smile calmly while Violet snapped the picture. As soon as she was done, I motioned to her to take a look at it.
She came up close to me and handed the camera over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as the rest of the clerks continued to field phone calls. Alicia reached over to grab a pen and spilled an entire pile of paperwork across the floor. Harvey spoke gravely into the phone, as if he’d just learned his dog had died.
This was bad.
The picture, however, was good. If I squinted just right, it hardly looked like my political career was going down in flames. “No need to apologize. It’s a good picture. Get it on our Facebook page,” I said as I tossed the camera back to her, beholding the scene in front of me. Never had our little headquarters been in such disarray.
Violet opened her mouth as if she might say more, but then looked away and scurried off, leading the troop out the door.
My phone rang, and I lifted it out of my pocket and read the display. Ron Brice. Fuck. I opened it. “Yeah.”
“What the fuck did you do now, boy?” he shouted into my ear. I held the phone a foot away and yet I could still hear him.
I headed back to my office and shut the door before I answered. “It’s Bob. He’s MIA. We’re trying to get him on the phone.”
“Well, try harder. This could sink you, boy. How could you be so careless?”
As careless as you’d been at Shady Palms? I thought, tapping my fingers on my closed laptop. “We have it under control.”
I hung up, then leaned back and looked at my computer. Outside, I heard Harvey yell something across the room. He sounded like he was near to imploding from the stress. If I was in danger of sinking, I wondered why my blood pressure wasn’t skyrocketing. If this was the end of my political career, why wasn’t I sweating?
Was it possible that I’d subconsciously been wanting this?
Just then, Alicia stormed in, looking frantic. “Mr. Brice! The press keeps banging on our door! Bob’s phone is going right to voicemail.”
“All right. Just pull the blinds and set the alarm. Take the phones off the hook for now. Go into Bob’s files and see if you can pull the list of contributions.”
She turned away as Harvey called something to her, then she looked back at me, her face even more frantic. “Violet’s gone now! She just disappeared out the front door.”
“All right. Call her phone and make sure she’s all right. Maybe she needed a breather.” When she nodded and started to step out, I called her back, feeling strangely calm and relaxed, “And Alicia? Be calm.”
She nodded, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face before she left.
I lifted open my computer, wondering what the news had to say. When I looked at the screen, there was Brooke Ellis, looking back at me. Desire spasmed in me. I read the words over and over again, my eyes catching on Brooke is graduating summa cum laude with a B.A. in Criminal Justice.
Criminal Justice. Of all the majors out there, I hadn’t thought that would be her course of study. But then again, she said she had three brothers who were attorneys. Maybe righting wrongs was something that ran in the family.
It was strange how every little detail she’d ever told me about herself was so crystal clear in my mind now.
Then I typed in, Brooke Ellis, Philadelphia, and found a partial address. Primrose Apartments, 1C, 1240 Hamilton Avenue.
I typed that into Google Maps, and just as I’d thought, it was only a few blocks north of the headquarters, close to the Temple campus.
Just then, Harvey stormed in. “Mr. Brice. Violet really isn’t here, and it looks like she took all her stuff too.”
“Call her cell phone,” I said, waving it away as I studied the map to Brooke’s apartment. I could be there in five minutes if I sprinted.
“Don’t have her cell phone,” Harvey said. “I think she said she lives a few blocks north of here, though. She walks here.”
I nodded, remembering that she’d said something to me about that. “What, we don’t have her application with her personal information?”
He shook his head. “It’s all bogus.”
That got my attention. I straightened, a punch of adrenaline hitting my system. “What?”
“We tried calling her cell phone, and it’s not in service. And the address isn’t even a real street,” he said, dropping the application on the keyboard of my laptop.
Bob had done the hiring, so I’d never seen this. I scanned it. It was filled out in ballpoint pen, in fat, looping, girlish script.
It gave me the most acute sense of déjà vu.
I was instantly transported to a dark, hazy hallway full of the smells and moans of sex. He is Mine.
I stood straight up, closing the laptop cover. “I’ve got to go. Is the press out front?”
Harvey nodded and moved aside to let me pass. “Yeah. At least two.”
“All right. Sit tight. I’ll be back,” I said, heading to the back door.
The back door led to a thin yard and an alleyway that was barely wide enough for a person to walk through without scraping his shoulders on the walls. The ground was wet with rainwater. I slipped through it quietly, dashing around overturned garbage cans and puddles until I emerged a block away. Then I walked north toward the Primrose Apartments, a small, rundown set of brick buildings that were obviously campus housing, considering the Temple flags and Greek organization banners hanging from some of the balconies. At the door was a set of mailboxes. A little placard for the box for 1C read B. Ellis.
The outer door was old and released when I twisted the knob, to my surprise. My pulse was racing now as I read the numbers on the doors. Then I climbed a thin staircase that ended in two more doors. The one on the right was 1C.
I rang the doorbell.
She pulled it open only a moment later. Frumpy kitten cardigan, now opened, revealing a tight camisole that did little to hide the gorgeous tits I’d feasted on last weekend. Big, blue, innocent eyes, no longer hidden by those massive spectacles. Wig removed, baring flat, flyaway blonde hair the color of which I hadn’t yet been able to replicate on the canvas. It was the intersection of two very separate facets of my life standing before me… in one woman.
And everything clicked into place. How I’d been utterly and truly fucked, in every sense of the word, by one beautiful, tempting, and altogether maddening woman.
Her eyes widened. She wrapped the cardigan tight around her body as if that would shield herself from me.
“Hi, Violet,” I said as calmly as I could manage, crossing my arms. “Or… I’m curious. Do you go by Cassandra? Or are you Brooke now?”