CHAPTER ELEVEN
Brooke
I stood in the shower Monday morning, washing off all trace of Cameron from my skin.
I hadn’t had anywhere to go all weekend, so I’d stayed at home, replaying the events of that night, believing I could smell his scent oozing from my pores. I browsed the millions of Google results for Cameron Brice online, my heart skipping every time I found a particularly hot picture of him. As I gazed at each one, I’d think, Here is a man who can slay in the bedroom just as well as he can in the boardroom.
And I had been slayed. Dead. Not in body, since my body still buzzed from his touch, but my mind had been completely fried. It was enough to keep me out of commission for the entire rest of the weekend. I hadn’t responded to my mother’s calls or texts, and Kiera had sent me a standard, Want to get together for drinks tonight? That was Saturday, and I’d blown her off.
I just... couldn’t. And it wasn’t malaise that filled me. Not at all. It was the knowledge that anything I attempted to do would be positively dull compared to Friday night. And, I didn’t know how I would hold in, much less hide, the humming in my very pores.
Sunday night, I finally went through my photographs on the camera, gazing at his picture with longing as I relived each moment of my night with him in vivid detail.
Then, I deleted every picture and shoved the camera under my bed.
After that, I’d opened up an email to Owen Blakely’s secret account. In it, I attached the only things I could find that might’ve been of any use to him — summary of Cameron Brice’s activity for the previous week, conveniently leaving out everything that happened midnight on Friday. I also attached Cameron’s meeting schedule for the upcoming week along with a note…
Hello, Mr. Blakely,
As promised, here is my weekly report on the subject. Please let me know if there is anything I can elaborate on.
Thank you.
B
I also included my mileage report from all the tailing I’d done, which by now had nearly five-hundred miles on it. Five-hundred miles of absolutely nothing, and I expected him to reimburse me for it?
Shame had filled me as I hit “send.” It was far from privileged, top-secret information. Any moron could’ve put together a similar dossier.
I’d gone to bed thinking I needed to step up my game. There had to be some illegal donations he’d accepted, or secret meetings he’d had, and I simply needed to put my nose to the grindstone and uncover them. He had a slew of meetings scheduled for Monday. Perhaps I could find some time to get into his office while he was out.
But Monday morning, as I showered, a new life force surged through my body, one that had nothing to do with my FBI ambitions. As I thought of going to headquarters, I shivered in anticipation.
I didn’t want him to be out at meetings, and I didn’t give a fuck about searching through his office for dirt. I just wanted to see him again.
After I blew my hair dry and started to fix that awful wig with the heavy bangs over my head, I sighed in desperation. He’d been nice to Violet, wanting to carry on a conversation. It had made me think that he was lonely. Maybe if she pressed him enough, he would open up and talk to her. But that was the most I could expect, and it wouldn’t be enough. The way he looked at her was altogether different from the way he looked at Cassandra. It was sterile, almost pitying. He was just being nice.
Part of me wished he would see who I was, so he could see me. The real me.
I couldn’t let him. I had to wait for Friday.
Damn him, I thought, unbuttoning my sweater. I fished the chain and clamps out of my underwear drawer and affixed them into place. As I did, I breathed out a sigh. Cameron was wrong. I didn’t need these to think of him. It was like he’d been my high, taking me to places I’d only dreamed of, and now, I needed the clamps just to give me some semblance of that feeling, to keep me from losing it during the long and dull days that stretched ahead.
I wasn’t sure if I was addicted to that high, or to the person who’d created it.
My phone buzzed as I fixed on the horn-rimmed spectacles. It was an email from Owen Blakely. I groaned inwardly as I opened it, and read the very terse wording:
Thx.
O
I frowned. The Blakelys were rich, but not ridiculously so, and they rarely flaunted it. When I’d become friends with Kiera, I’d gone to her house in Radnor a few times. It wasn’t Delancey Place by any means — it was comfortable, small, and homey. Nothing like Cameron’s wealth, which oozed from his every pore. Blakely drove a Toyota Prius, for god’s sake. But above all, he was a genuinely nice, down-to-earth guy. You could joke with him, relax with him. The first day I’d met him, he’d made us pizzas while singing “`O Sole Mio” in Italian falsetto.
But when I became his employee, that changed.
I’d heard he was a hard-ass to his workers, and that you didn’t want to cross him when he was angry. Kiera had told me I was crazy for wanting to put myself through this assignment because he drove his people to tears on a daily basis, but I couldn’t believe it. Surely, he’d make an exception for me?
Wrong.
He called me into his office and tented his hands on his blotter. He told me that, in no uncertain terms, he was depending on me. He’d clapped me on the back as I left, giving me a smile, but since then?
Nothing. I’d only spoken and emailed with him a couple times since the official hiring, but he’d only become icier and more terse in our communications. He hadn’t said as much in the email, but I could sense it…
He’d wanted more than what I’d given him so far.
He was disappointed in me.
Never had I screwed up so royally on an assignment. In school, I always went above and beyond. I’d never gotten less than an A in my classes, even from the youngest age. Guilt anchored itself around my neck.
Closing out of the email, I finished stepping into my Easy Spirits, trying to summon up a plan to dig deeper, get more dirt on Cameron. But every time I thought of him, a picture of him lost in the throes of our lovemaking came to me.
I cursed myself as my phone began to ring. Kiera. I answered, “Good morning, gorgeous,” knowing exactly why she was calling and preparing for the onslaught.
“Really?” she asked, sounding peeved. “Is that what I get after you ignore my messages for the second weekend in a row? What, did you find a new best friend? Is that it?”
“I’m sorry.”
She scoffed. “‘Good morning, gorgeous?’ Why do you sound like you’ve been cheating on me?”
I cringed. In a way, that was exactly what I had been doing, sleeping with the enemy. I was instantly regretful. Even though it was Kiera’s way to be the ultimate drama queen, for the past couple weeks, her ire was deserved. I hadn’t been the best of friends. I’d blown her last two invitations off, and I hadn’t responded to her texts as quickly as I should have.
“But she’s really hot,” I said, trying to make a joke of it. “You’d like her too.”
“No, thanks. I don’t do threesomes,” she said with a little snort. “Listen. Last chance for you, before I go off and find another love of my life. Friday night. You in?”
Friday night. The night I’d practically red-circled in my head, since it was the next time I’d be with Cameron. “As long as it’s not too late,” I started, then realized I sounded like an old grandma the second the words were out.
“Why? You have something else going on?”
“Um.” I tried to come up with some excuse but found myself grasping at straws. “Saturday morning, I was planning to get up early and tail Brice. He has a golf thing.”
“Oh, right.” I knew she could never fault me for working to bring down her father’s biggest enemy. But it was a total lie. I had memorized most of Cameron’s schedule, especially Friday through Saturday, just to see how much time we’d be afforded together. And though his schedule was as full as the Schuylkill Expressway at rush hour, with dinners with important people every night this week, he’d had a glorious ten-hour opening from midnight Friday night to ten on Saturday morning, right between a dinner with the mayor of Philadelphia and a golf tournament in Ardmore. “How are things going with that?”
I shrugged. The way they were going was, in my opinion, very, very good… if you considered the sex. In all other regards, it was terrible. I doubted Kiera, as close as we were, would understand. No, in fact, she’d hate me. I was failing her father, big time. “Okay,” I said vaguely. “Haven’t really come up with any good dirt. He’s squeaky clean.”
At that point, I had an image of washing his delicious, naked body under a shower, soaping him up, and I nearly went weak in the knees.
“Well, that sucks.” She sighed. “But there’s got to be something. You’ll find it. He’s such an asshole.”
“Yeah. He is,” I agreed, not sounding nearly as resolute as I’d wanted to.
“Great. So… Chickie’s and Pete’s. And don’t blow me off this time, or your name is mud.”
Ugh. I couldn’t understand why I’d have to travel all the way to South Philly during rush hour when there were so many places in the Northeast which would do just as well. “Why there?”
“Craving their crab fries. And the Phillies are playing. So Lorenzo wants to meet there.”
Of course, it had to be a guy. Lorenzo had been Kiera’s man since the beginning of spring. He was a political intern in his first year of law school and worked on her father’s campaign. Speaking of assholes, he seemed like one too, from what I’d seen. But I’d never seen Kiera so whipped over a guy. He said “jump,” she jumped. And Kiera had been doing a lot of jumping lately.
“Oh. How is Lorenzo?” I asked, not caring to know, really. Just the fact that he was still in the picture was enough to annoy the shit out of me.
“Good. Progressing,” she said, and I could tell she was smiling. Who was I to fault a friend for loving a man if he made her that happy? She lowered her voice. “He is a fucking beast in bed. I have to tell you more when I see you, but let me just say, if there was an Orgasm Olympics, we’d win gold.”
I let out a breath, and the clamps tightened under my clothes, my thoughts again drifting to last Friday night. Kiera and I had always been totally honest about our relationships, sharing all the gory, and sexy, details. In the past, there was nothing I couldn’t tell her. But this? I couldn’t tell her about this, no matter what. Even though it had been amazing. Even though it’d been consuming the majority of my brain for the past few days, it was completely and entirely off-limits. Even if Cameron had made me the Queen of Happiness, she’d definitely fault me.
“Hey, girl?” she said as if sensing exactly what I was feeling. “Are you all right?”
“Well… I’d rather just go with you,” I said, which was the truth, if not all of it. “How about tonight? Downtown?”
She huffed, but I could sense that it was her being overdramatic, and in fact, she was flattered. “Since when did you become such a difficult bitch?”
I couldn’t really say it was because I hated her boyfriend. So I said, “I want you all to myself, gorgeous, and I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Fine. Capital Grille? Seven?” she asked, naming one of our favorites.
“Perfect.”
After ending the call, I made it to work at eight, and as I climbed the stairs, I had a small crisis of confidence, trying to remember who I was pretending to be. Brooke? Cassandra? Violet?
Violet. Assuming her hunched over, meek persona, I opened the door, then said my quiet good mornings to the other people in the office and scurried to my desk.
Cameron wasn’t there. It was, as I’d known, his busy day, full of meetings, but he was just downtown. I hoped he’d stop in to change his suit and freshen up midday, as that had proven to be a regular thing for him. Every time the door opened, I found myself looking up, hopeful. But it wasn’t him. At one time, a man came in, holding a large garment bag. “Dry cleaning for Mr. Brice.”
Bob stood up and took it, then motioned to me. I watched as he reached into his top drawer and pulled out a key. He handed the key and the garment bag to me. “Please put these in his office,” he said to me with a wink.
I nodded and scurried to the back hallway. I quickly opened the door with the key, found the hook on the back of the door, and deposited the freshly cleaned items where they belonged.
Then, I looked around. Yes, there were plenty of places where secrets could be hidden. And I had a few moments to snoop. I could have quickly gone through his drawers, or the massive file cabinet in the corner of the room.
Instead, I studied his personal things. A plain white mug with the remnants of black coffee at the bottom. A jar of pens. Actually, there was nothing very personal, at all, as if he’d been well-trained to hide that side of himself from the world. I looked up at the small mirror on the wall, where he’d freshened up so many times, wondering if it had seen any of his secrets.
Then I turned to the suits. Something compelled me to reach up, pulling down the zipper in the middle of the heavy garment bag.
I saw the crisp lapel of the suit first. All of his suits may have looked the same to the untrained eye: They were dark, conservative, and likely custom and expensive. But I could sense the subtle differences. The one in front of me was the dark one he’d worn this last time with me. It was like every last detail of that night had been engrained in my head. I could tell by the color of the buttons, the weight of the fabric.
I reached up and looked at the label. It had been hand-sewn with the name of the tailor.
I ran my fingers up and down the fabric, then grabbed a sleeve, bringing it to my nose. It smelled slightly like the dry-cleaning solution, yes. But I could also detect the smell of him. It was a scent I desperately wanted to bottle. I inhaled it deeply, again and again, until I knew my time was up.
I quickly zipped the bag, feeling ashamed of myself again. I’d had the perfect opportunity to do what I’d been hired for, and instead, I’d gone the insane stalker route.
Closing the door behind me, I handed the keys to Bob, who placed them in the upper tray of his desk drawer. Well, at least one good thing has come out of this. I know where the keys are to his office.
Not that I’d ever use them. Still, what if the insides of his drawers were just as clean and secret-free as the rest of the office? What would I do then?
Bob had me addressing invitations for some gala in June during the afternoon. A party at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. As I wrote out the names of every millionaire in the city from A to Z, I could just see Cameron ascending the Rocky steps with the woman in the blue dress. Bernadette Dryden. I’d learned her name during my marathon weekend googling session. I wasn’t sure if they were exclusive, but they’d been seen together a lot in the past few months, so I assumed so. She was twenty-eight. Her father was a billionaire, and she was the sole heir to his fortune. She’d grown up in one of the most expensive properties on the Upper West Side of New York City, being showered with every possible privilege. She’d graduated top of her class from Wharton, and was, as I’d noticed, the perfect candidate to decorate the White House after 2024.
God, I hated her. I wondered if she’d be able to keep that First Lady poise and refinement if she knew her boyfriend had been fucking me last weekend. I wondered if she knew how dirty he really was, frequenting sex clubs, making me wear that chain thing while I ground on his cock.
Ugh. The thing was, I didn’t think he was her boyfriend. He looked more like her obligatory escort than anything.
Did she know that? Did she know that he didn’t look at her the way he looked at me? Did she care? Or had her path been laid down for her too? Did she care for Cameron or was he a means to an end?
I wondered if she knew other things about him. Like how much he liked painting. Like how he hated all the structure in his life.
She looked all business. Stuck-up. Tight. Boring. I, for one, loved art. If I were on his arm, I’d stroll the halls in the museum, listening to him comment on the art, the lines, the use of light.
Not like I would ever have that chance.
When I got to the “W” names, it was the end of the day. I heard the others leave and reminded myself I needed to cut out soon so I could make it to dinner with Kiera. I had to get back home and change out of my disguise before making the drive. I was just writing one of the last names in the pile when the door opened and in walked Cameron.
I sucked in my breath and held it, afraid that if I let it out, he’d render me breathless. The clamps around my nipples seemed to pinch slightly, as if they were an extension of his fingers.
Because god, even at the end of the day of a million meetings, he still looked fantastically fuckable.
“Hello, Violet,” he said loudly and pleasantly, using a voice a person would for a grandmother or a child in a sick ward.
Ugh. I hated looking like such a loser in front of him. I wanted to show him my best side, the side that made him hungry for me. And yet, here I was…
“Hello,” I choked out, looking down, having yet another crisis of confidence. It was clear he hadn’t recognized me, but maybe he would now. Now that we’d made love. No, now that we’d fucked.
He strode closer and tapped on my desk.
“Whew,” he said, yawning. “Long day. I might just fall asleep under my desk.”
Okay, I told myself, knowing I couldn’t keep staring away from him since that would be more suspicious than anything else. It’s now or never.
I turned to him and used my quiet, Violet voice. “Was it really busy?”
He nodded and checked his watch. “And it’s not over yet, unfortunately. I need coffee.”
So far, so good. He hadn’t really taken a good look at me, but he didn’t seem to think anything other than that I was Violet. I jumped up. “Can I get you a cup?”
He waved me away. “Fuck that.” He stopped. “Sorry. Forget that,” he said apologetically, pointing to the massive stack of invitations I’d addressed. “You’ve had a long day too. Why don’t you finish up what you’re doing? I’ll get the coffee, and you can join me for a cup in my office?”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just left me there, feeling so stunned that it took me damn near forever to start writing out envelopes again. He wanted me to have coffee with him, in his office? Whatever for?
A thousand possibilities ran through my head, but only one seemed remotely plausible.
He was on to me.
I quickly finished the last few invitations in the pile, feeling more and more nervous. Of course he was on to me. This was Cameron Brice, Ivy League educated, top of his class, not some dumbass. But if he was on to me, why not rip off my wig and shout, “Aha!” Why invite me to his office for coffee?
Deciding it was now or never, I wiped my sweaty palms on the thighs of my hideously large denim prairie skirt and scuffed my way toward his office. I took a deep breath when I saw him in there, bare-chested in front of a small mirror. He’d shaved and was just buttoning up the buttons of a new white dress shirt as I stood in the doorway, completely melting from desire.
He turned as he started to tuck in his shirt, pushing the hem under the belt of his pants, and all I could think of was the massive cock that those finely pressed dress pants concealed. I knew I was blushing, my face as hot as the two cups of coffee steaming on his desk.
“Sorry,” he said with a smile, gazing at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Can’t have that five o’clock shadow at five o’clock. It makes me look — god forbid — human.”
He motioned to the coffee, which was in one of the mismatched mugs from the kitchen, surrounded by little packets of different sweeteners and creamer.
“Didn’t know what you drank, so it’s black. Do with it what you will.”
Do with me what you will, Prophetess.
I felt dizzy.
“It-it’s okay,” I stammered, sitting down on the chair across from him. I poured in one packet of Splenda and a creamer and stirred demurely with the plastic wand, vaguely aware that I would be late to my dinner with Kiera.
But of course, the second he’d walked in, I’d gone beyond caring.
“So,” he began, finishing with his cuff links and shrugging on his vest. “You intrigue me.”
I blinked, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought more about where I’d seen you before, and I realized… you’re Cassandra. “What?”
“When you said that last week. About those I’d hurt.”
I relaxed a little, remembering the conversation. “Oh?”
“Well, I know we don’t ask your political leanings during the hiring process as it’s against the law,” he said, running a red tie under his collar. As I watched his fingers, I began to imagine just what would’ve happened had he recognized me. Would he have run me out of his office? Fucked me silly again? What?
He started to pontificate while I imagined the latter. Him, stripping me bare and taking me right on the desk. I only snapped out of the fantasy when he said, “But it stands to reason that if you’re interested in working for the Republican Party, you’re likely a conservative. Otherwise, I imagine this work would be very difficult to stomach.”
Oh, god. It was the former. He was toying with me and was going to run me out of his office.
“I am a conservative,” I blurted.
“Right. I mean, you’ve been to my rallies.”
I had? What the hell was he talking about? Like I would set foot anywhere near those Tea Party scumbags. I opened my mouth to speak as it came to me. I’d told him that during our first meeting, when he’d wondered why I looked familiar.
“Yes,” I said, shifting in my seat. I demurely leaned forward and took a tiny sip of my coffee. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was merely playing devil’s advocate.”
“Assumed,” he said, nodding. He walked around his desk and leaned back, taking his mug of black coffee in his hand. “But the truth is, I do hurt a lot of people. Unintentionally. And I have to justify that to myself.”
“There has to be a middle ground, though, right?” I asked. “A compromise?”
He let out a snort. “Perhaps. But if you take the middle ground, you run the risk of both parties hating your guts for being too ‘soft.’ Thus, the dilemma. Better have one party’s hate than both, right? Even if I end up compromising my own beliefs?”
I just stared at him.
“Often I would get the feeling that if the solution to these things were easy, it would have already presented itself,” he said, studying the mess of papers on his desk. “I’d go around in circles and never get any further.”
That was such a pessimistic view, it instantly peeved me.
“That can’t be true,” I stepped in before he could say more. “I mean, there are math problems that have baffled scientists for hundreds of years until they’re solved. There is a solution to any problem. Some might just take longer to find.”
“Right.” He set his coffee cup down and looked at me. “That is where I was headed. We may take a few steps forward, a few back, but we are always moving toward the solution. For example, the problem of immigration? Do you think we should open our borders?”
I swallowed. My father was an immigration attorney. He’d defended hundreds of families facing deportation for entering the country to create a better life for themselves. But that clearly wasn’t something I could tell him.
I hesitated just long enough for him to urge me on with, “This is off-the-record. I promise not to fire you if you say the wrong thing.”
It didn’t help me loosen up. If he knew what was truly in my head, he’d probably run me out of the building with a pitchfork. Knowing the answer he was searching for, I said, “Of course not. The country’s already too crowded as it is.”
He pressed his lips together, not pleased as I’d expected. Oh, he was definitely on to me. “And how did you come to that opinion?”
I stared at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Like, where did you get the information you used to come to that conclusion?”
God, now his sexy eyes were boring into me, and my mind was swirling with memories of his cock inside me, the way he’d kissed me as we moved together as one continuous unit. My nipples, already aroused by the clamps, hardened to pebbles. “I just… the news. And…”
“Googling?”
No, I’d been googling him all weekend. He seemed disappointed, but the fact was, I was just spouting off the answers I thought he’d want to hear. Like a good clerk. A good clerk, who at this moment, wanted to fuck the hell out of him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said, holding my coffee rigid on my lap.
He smiled tiredly. “I wanted you to say what you feel. Not what someone on the news told you to feel. If you came into this topic not knowing anything about it, what would you say?”
I thought for a moment. And then I answered, “I’d say that I think people should be allowed to live where they want to live.”
He nodded. “And I’d agree with you.”
I blinked. “You would?”
“Yes. People should be able to do just that. Live where they want to live, marry who they want to marry, do what they want to do,” he said. “Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, right? But then you have the slippery slope.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If we open our borders, how do we prevent overcrowding and reduction of resources? Are we inviting crime inside? With the legalization of same-sex marriage, what is to stop marriage between people and animals, or toasters, or children? For that matter, if a child can identify as transgender in grade school and have her breasts cut off, should we also let her cut off her leg if she identifies as disabled? If we say it’s illegal to abort a baby in the womb, who is to stop us from aborting a child at one minute of age… one week… one year?” He paused, staring at the wall, looking like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’d like to think opposition exists to stop humanity from sliding down it.”
He’s drinking Kool-Aid, I thought to myself. “You really think people would marry toasters?”
“Have you seen the sex robots? There are brothels of them now. I don’t put anything past the American people. We are the most amazing country on the face of this Earth, but also… quite stupid, at times.”
I had to smile at that.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” he said, and my mind flung back to that sofa in The Black Room. Right then, I’d have given anything for his power over me. Absolutely. “Given the freedom to do what they will, people will take advantage of it, and do what is in their best interest, damning everyone else. Everyone needs a healthy dose of humility.”
I nodded, wondering what he’d think if he could see the dirty thoughts creeping into the mind of the clerk with the kitten sweater. What he’d think if he knew the chain I’d worn while fucking him was touching my skin now.
“I’m sorry. My intention in bringing you in here wasn’t to interrogate you. I assumed that you were interested in a career in politics, and well, I thought I’d impart the best advice I could to you.” He stood up, checking his watch. “And that advice is: There is no ‘us versus them,’ as some people would have you believe. No enemies. When it comes to politics, it is very easy to become disillusioned. If you search for the commonalities instead of the differences, you won’t get disheartened. After all, we all want essentially the same thing — a better life for all citizens. Got it?”
I stood up too, feeling warm. “Oh. Yes. Um. Why are you…?”
He smiled. “Because I’ve been there. Right where you are. Maybe not right where you are, because there never was any question what I’d do with my life. Yale, Harvard Law, you get the picture. But I have grappled with crises of faith and confidence in the political arena. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be human.”
I nodded, my face now pinking over. He hadn’t been on to me. He’d just wanted to have a powwow with his employee, to help her with some friendly career advice. He hadn’t made a single sexist remark, and while I knew Violet wasn’t a sex vixen, he hadn’t exerted any masculine power over her whatsoever.
It was so… not the egotistical Republican asshole I’d expected from him.
As a result, I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to leave. “Yes. Thank you.”
He’d picked up his phone, which he looked up from for a moment as he gave me a genuine smile. “Anytime, Violet. Have a good night.”
I tore myself out of his office, and by the time I checked my phone, I was ridiculously late for my date with Kiera. I raced home, tearing off my wig and slipping into the first pair of jeans I could find, then drove to Center City, replaying his words to me over and over again in my head.
God, fuck the slippery slope. Fuck his politics. He could be all for marrying toasters. It wouldn’t affect the overarching fact that I wanted him.
Desperately. Achingly.
I’d hoped the feeling would go away as time went on. But now, it was stronger than ever.
After all, wanting him had been a given since I’d left The Black Room. Now, not only did I want his body, I’d unbelievably started to think he was a pretty nice person.
And I’d started to think that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t deserve to be brought down.
What the hell was wrong with me? Liking a Republican? I could almost hear a million yellow-horned toad souls crying out in anguish over the revelation.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried, breathless, as I slid into the giant half-moon-shaped booth at the Capital Grille. Kiera was sitting at the very center of it, looking like all the masculine leather was about to swallow her up, sipping on a nearly depleted dirty martini.
I gave her a smile and moved in for a hug, but she backed up. “It’s nearly eight,” she muttered. “And take off the stupid glasses, dork.”
I felt my face. Oh, god. I still had them on. I ripped them from my face and pocketed them. “I’m sorry!” I said again. Then I whispered, “He kept me late.”
“The douche?” she asked. When I nodded, she shook her head. “He is such a douche. Ruining our dinner like this.”
Of course, she easily forgave me after that, since it was all in the name of helping her father. That only made me feel more guilty.
I opened my menu. I already knew I was going to have the Kona coffee rubbed filet, my favorite, but I buried my nose in the pages, hoping my face didn’t give away that I far from thought Cameron was a douche now. I’d always thought that being a conservative, he automatically hated liberals. Didn’t that come with the territory? I didn’t think he could actually be thankful for them.
When the waiter came, I ordered a glass of merlot.
“So,” Kiera said, leaning forward. “What is he like?”
I swallowed. I knew exactly who she meant, but the more I spoke of him to her, the worse I began to feel. “Who?”
“The douche, of course.”
“He’s um…” I coughed, then softly said, “Douchey.”
She chuckled. “So, what are you doing there all day?”
She’d seen my hideous disguise before, as three weeks ago we’d gone shopping at Goodwill and bought all the makings. Back then, I’d been so excited. I’d dressed in it, then sent her selfies, which she proclaimed to be Pure Gold. “I could always blackmail you with these later,” she’d said with a wink.
The waiter came to freshen my drink, and I took a big gulp of wine. “Oh, you know, just the normal stuff. Today I addressed a bunch of gala invitations.”
She screwed up her face. “You should have made up fake names. Like John Q. Fuckface and stuff before sending them out.”
I gave her a look as I took another gulp of my drink. “My job is to find dirt on him, not sabotage him with middle-school pranks.”
She shrugged. “It’s what I’d do.” The waiter dropped off warm bread, and she dove for the first piece. She must have been hungry, so I let her have more. As she buttered it, she said, “Has he been a total jerk to you though? Like, what are some idiot things he’s said?”
I sighed. Actually, nothing he’d said to me had made him seem like an idiot. In fact, his Harvard and Yale education was evident. I couldn’t even think of one instance where he’d been a jerk. I hated to admit it, but the media didn’t have him right at all.
“Everything,” I lied, wishing we could change the subject “It’s just terrible. He’s so…” Deliciously tasty? “Egotistical.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You poor thing! Daddy should give you a raise, having to listen to that shit all day. I’m surprised you haven’t ripped your hair out. Or your wig off. What is your name again?”
“Vi—” I stopped as the door to the restaurant opened, and a group of men in suits strolled in. It wasn’t unusual as this place catered to an upscale business crowd. I did a double take. Any one of those men might have resembled Cameron slightly, because of the suits. But there was no way they could match his style. His build. His handsome face and thick dark hair. His utterly fuckable everything.
Then I did a triple take as the crowd parted and a tall, well-built figure approached the hostess desk.
It was Cameron.
Holy shit.
My mind cycled to his schedule. Yes, he had dinners arranged for every night this week, but his agenda was for another restaurant. It must have gotten changed.
I leaned forward, blinking, as Kiera raised an eyebrow. “Vi?”
“Violet Wilkes,” I said, my voice cracking. I looked around for a menu to hold up over my face, a napkin, something. But I decided all of that would look too suspicious. Finally, I shuffled closer to Kiera in the booth and leaned back, hoping she’d block the view slightly. I whispered, “Speak of the devil and he will appear. Cameron just walked in.”
Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward to get a better look. “Oh, my god! Where?”
I swatted her back. “Chill,” I shushed her, though I sounded anything but chill. “I don’t want him seeing me.”
“Why not? You’re not Miss Mousy Mouse,” she said, tugging on my blonde ponytail, then bobbing her head back and forth to see him among the suits. He’d moved behind a pillar, where I’d lost track of him. I noticed there didn’t seem to be a trace of Bernadette or any other woman, which made me happy. This was just another boring business dinner, not a social thing. “You’re hot shit. He won’t recognize you like this.”
I didn’t worry about him recognizing me as Violet. No, Kiera was right. Even though I worried ceaselessly about being recognized as Violet, I knew that the disguise was too good, and I looked nothing like her. But the only thing separating me from Cassandra was the tiny golden mask still tucked in my handbag.
Of course, I couldn’t tell Kiera that. “I know, but—”
Our dinners came, and I was forced to deal with the waiter while Cameron was being escorted to the private rooms in the back. He’d be in there for at least the next few hours, during which I could make my escape. I heaved a sigh of relief. That was a close one. Too close.
We finished our dinners, ordered two more cocktails apiece, shared a piece of coconut cream pie, and I even managed to carry on some semblance of a normal conversation despite inwardly losing my shit. Was this what undercover agents had to go through all the time? Were they constantly worrying about getting tangled in the web of lies they wove or did it come naturally to them? Because this didn’t feel natural at all. In fact, it was exhausting. By the time the check came, I had the beginnings of a massive headache.
But as much as I’d like to say my mind was consumed only with thoughts of the job, it wasn’t true. No, I’d managed to think of Cameron, sitting in the next room, about a thousand times. Who was he talking to? What was he eating? How did he like his steak? Was he discussing the fate of the state while thinking of me? And on and on.
When we finished splitting the tab, we headed out to the lobby. The crowd had thinned, and only a couple of people were still waiting for tables. Kiera gave me a giant, warm hug, and said, “Where are you parked?”
“On Sansom and Sixteenth,” I told her, fishing in my Michael Kors purse for my keys.
“Oh, me too!” She beamed at me. “Let’s walk together. But first, let me use the little girl’s room. It’s a long ride back to Radnor. I might not make it.”
I nodded as she ran away. I stood by the hostess desk, holding on to my keys and my container of leftovers, as the door to the men’s room slipped open.
And who should be standing there but Cameron.
I couldn’t control my reaction. I gasped and quickly turned away, hoping he’d just go back to his meeting, but I could almost feel the heat of his gaze burning a hole into my back.
He’s seen me.
Not only that, but my quick movement pulled on the chain down below and the clamp pinched my clit.
I was frozen in place, grasping my foil-wrapped container of leftovers, and pretending to be very interested in the photograph of the Philadelphia skyline at night that was on the wall while trying not to rub my thighs together.
I felt the footsteps sweeping up to me. Him, in those expensive dress shoes that barely made a sound.
I should’ve run. I should’ve pushed open the door and escaped. But that wasn’t possible where Cameron was concerned. Now, I only wanted to run to him.
Before he said a word, I looked down and saw my Michael Kors purse. He’d seen that purse. I’d taken it to the club both times, and he’d taken it from my shoulder. I knew men weren’t interested in such things, but Cameron was observant, and a snob for things of status since he’d caught on to my imitation pearls right away. He wouldn’t let that slide.
“Hello, there.”
Holding my breath, I turned, ready to deny everything.
He was standing so close to me, and that desire was in his eyes. It was enough to set me on fire. That desire had a way of making my insides completely fall apart. My hands tightened on my keys. I nearly dropped my leftovers. My knees buckled.
My resolve broke.
“Cassandra?” he said, his eyes fastened on mine. He didn’t appraise me, didn’t shift his glance to my body. His eyes stayed locked on my own. The connection was palpable.
Dreamily, I opened my mouth to say yes, to confess, to be claimed as his.
And then the women’s room door opened, and Kiera walked out. Her eyes widened at once. Here I was, talking to her father’s mortal enemy, ready to confess everything.
I blinked into reality. What the hell was I doing? I shook my head slowly. “Excuse me?”
His eyes narrowed. “You are Cassandra, are you not?”
I managed a small, confused laugh. “No. I’m sorry.”
Kiera barreled in, all guns blazing. She laced an arm through mine and said, “I’m sorry. She doesn’t talk to douches,” and led me out into the night.
As the door swung closed, we stood on the sidewalk in the humid late spring air. I just stood there, breathing hard. That hadn’t really happened, had it? Kiera pumped her fist in victory. “Did you see his face?” she asked excitedly. “I can’t believe I just called him a douche to his face!”
She was so proud of herself, I didn’t know if she saw the small breakdown I was having. “Do you think…” I couldn’t process what this meant. It was all so confusing, but it felt like my house of cards had just faced a stiff wind. “Do you think he recognized you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “What? Why?”
“As Owen Blakely’s daughter.” I swallowed. All blood had drained from my face, and I was suddenly freezing, despite the warm night. “If he knows I know you, and puts the pieces together—”
That I am Cassandra and also know his sworn enemy’s daughter...
“Don’t worry about that,” she said before I could have a heart attack on the sidewalk. “You know how Daddy likes to keep me out of the spotlight.”
“Right,” I said, still not sure.
“What was with him, though?” she wondered. “Why did he call you Cassandra? I thought you said your name was Violet.”
“I-I don’t know.”
She shook her head, her nose wrinkling in clear distaste. “Just like a douche like him. He probably has so many girlfriends he can’t keep any of them straight. I bet he treats them like garbage.”
“Yes. Probably.” I sucked in a breath of air, still trying to quell the goose bumps. It wasn’t so much seeing him there that had made my skin flare. It was the way he’d looked at me. So much desire, mirroring my own. If I’d revealed myself as Cassandra, I doubted we could’ve lasted ten minutes without getting into it. He’d have had to pull me into a nearby dark alley, and I would’ve welcomed it, welcomed his hands on my body, any way I could get them. The thought made additional goosebumps appear.
She hugged me again once we got across the street to the parking garage. “Take care, Cassandra,” she said with a teasing lilt.
I stiffened at the thought of all these worlds crashing together.
I didn’t go home right away. No, I waited another hour for him to leave the restaurant. I only saw him for five minutes of time, while he shook hands with the other men and stepped into his limousine. But as I was driving home, as much as I knew I was in trouble, falling too deep to ever recover, I felt like somehow it was worth it.