Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story) (115 page)

Rachel
and I holed up and watched a movie that evening, drinking wine casually and
speaking about silly things we used to care about. She knew that I was rooted
in political comprehensions, and she was lost in her own work thoughts. But it
was good that we could come together, that we could be a team in these evening
hours.

Rachel
pulled off her sock and grabbed at her toes, looking toward me. “I wanted to
tell you I suited up the guest bedroom for you. I didn’t have a bed for it
until today. I had the movers bring it in at lunch time.”

My
eyes widened. “No.”

Rachel
nodded. “It’s all yours.” She led me toward it, wearing just one sock. She
opened the door to reveal a king-sized bed, a broad desk, and a dresser. I
brought my hand over my mouth in disbelief. The place seemed so comfortable; it
brought an ease over my mind. I brought my arms around her neck and hugged her
tightly.

“This
is the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I told her. I felt my
body shaking a little bit. I couldn’t believe I’d lucked into such a
friend—such a friend who would take me in when the world felt like it was
coming apart.

She
pulled back and winked at me. “Get some sleep, Amanda,” she whispered. “I know
you’re going to need it.” She looked at me with a worried expression before
turning away, back toward her bedroom. I stood in the shadow of the doorway,
looking after her. I was worried that my own, personal anxiety had spread like
a flood, that it was leaking out to those I loved.

There
was nothing I could do, anymore. And thus, I fell between the sheets and
drifted into a deep and delicious sleep.

Chapter 9

The
following day, we had a campaign meeting in one of the greater rooms of the
West Wing. I’d prepared for it for many, many weeks, and I knew it was important:
it was the day when we outlined the next several months of the campaign, when
we really needed to catch voters’ attention, when we needed to rally as much
support as possible.

Naturally,
I was nervous. Beyond the fact that I was falling madly in love with the
president, of course, I was also embarking on my first very important position
as campaign manager. And god, I didn’t want to mess up.

I set
up the meeting room in the early morning, placing packets carefully at each
seat, arranging pens and pencils and pads of paper throughout just in case
anyone wanted to take notes. I brought my hand to my forehead and felt a small
bead of sweat dribble out, alerting me of my inherent fear for the following
few hours.

Jason
still hadn’t arrived for the day. I was dreading his involvement, of course. We
were meant to be working together, to be aligned as a team. But instead, he’d
been a sort of maniacal leader, a traitor to my very sense of self.

Suddenly,
I heard the door open behind me. I froze, my elbows poised high up in the air.
I swallowed, waiting. Waiting. Was this Jason? I heard the foot steps behind
me, but still no words.

Suddenly,
a hand went over my eyes. I lurched forward, frightened. My stomach clenched,
and I thought for a moment that if I wanted to scream, my body wouldn’t let me.

“Ah—if
you—if you want to take something—“ I sputtered, barely able to find the words.

But
then I heard laughter. It was joyful, a bit incredulous. I felt a kiss on the
back of my neck, near my ear. I recognized that cologne.

“Xavier,”
I breathed. I spun around, removing his hand from my eyes. “You know you scared
the shit out of me.”

“And
for that I will be eternally sorry,” he said. His face yielded this incredibly,
bright smile. He leaned forward and caught my lips in his, wrapping his arms
around me. The door, I noted, was safely closed; no one was watching. That I
knew of.

“You’re
here early,” I whispered to him as our kiss broke.

He
shrugged. “I knew you’d be here. You little workaholic.” He winked at me, and I
brimmed with pleasure. I wanted him to think that I was working hard for him; I
wanted him to know that this was my top priority. Because god: it was. My job
was my life.

“You
can have a seat in the front row,” I said, gesturing.

He
stepped toward it and sat down, leaning toward me with such intensity. “So.
Teacher. I have a question,” he said playfully. He lurched his hand in the air
and waved it around a bit, trying to get my attention.

I
scanned the room, a grin on my face. “Hold on, Billy. I think someone else
might have a question—“

He
started laughing. But all at once, the play was over. The door swept open,
bringing a few of the campaign employees into the room. I nodded toward them
and gestured toward the side wall. “We have bagels and coffee, if you like,” I
stated to them. They looked at me fearfully. They were in their mid-twenties. I
was sure I looked like an old, corrupted shrew to them—only twenty-nine, and
already at the top of the game. “Have a seat wherever you like!” I called.

They
were no longer listening to me. I sighed, peering at the president. My eyes
gleamed. He snickered at me and leaned forward. “Not the most popular girl in
school, anymore, are you?”

I
shrugged my shoulder and leaned down. “I was always in chess club, anyway.” I
winked toward him.

All at
once, the remainder of the crew came in through the door, chattering and
grabbing bagels as they flew into their seats. I stood at the helm of the room,
my hands grasped together. I had my PowerPoint slides ready; I had my speech
prepared. But one thing bothered me, in the back of my mind: where was Jason?

Suddenly,
the door burst open one final time. Jason flounced in, still wearing his
sunglasses. His hair was in uproar and he was carrying a big, steaming cup of
coffee. He dropped his suitcase by the door, and he strode up to stand next to
me at the front of the room. His presence was so massive, so obtrusive, that
many of the people in the room had turned toward him rather than me. I frowned.

Jason
bowed his head toward Xavier, then. “Mr. President.”

“Jason.
How are you doing?” Xavier asked him, smiling. They pounded fists. I thought I
was going to throw up. A part of me wanted to blurt out the entire story right
then, right there—in front of everyone. But where would that get me? I’d be
fired instantly; the president would be out of office. Our lives would be over.

“All
right, everyone. Are we ready to get started?” I asked. My voice grew loud and
it emanated over people’s heads.

A few
people nodded, waiting.

“All
right.” I clicked my clicker, bringing the first PowerPoint slide over the
wall. “So. We’re in the beginning stages of the campaign.”

“That’s
right; we are,” Jason spit.

I
turned and glared at him, uncertain about his outburst. He was chewing gum and
raising his eyebrows toward me in such a provocative, strange manner. I paused
for a moment, my mind racing. Was he going to fuck this up for me?

“Right.
Anyway. Here’s a map of the states we’re going to hit really hard this time
around. As you know, we already won the election utilizing younger voters.
However, we’re struggling, now, because the older voters are dropping in
droves.”

A few
people from the audience nodded their heads toward me, their eyes large. Jason,
beside me, scoffed at these words. “They’re dying off, you mean,” he said. His
joke rang false through my ears, but many of the campaign workers started
laughing joyously, holding their gut.

I
cleared my throat, searching around the room. Finally, my eyes latched on
Xavier. He nodded toward me, frowning. He didn’t appreciate the joke either, I
knew. But he didn’t understand the undercurrent of why Jason was trying to get
me to mess up. There was so much at stake here.

“Anyway.
As you know, Michigan currently has a very rocky economy because of Detroit—“

Jason
raised his hand, then. He stood right beside me and raised it, ready to silence
me. “Please don’t be offensive about Detroit,” he said, his eyes glowing, so
bright. “Some of us are from Detroit. Isn’t that right?”

One
small girl in the very back of the room raised her hand. Everyone glared at
her.

But
Jason brought his hands together. “That is a girl who worked hard to get here,”
he said, turning his eyes toward me. His eyes were evil, burning. “That is a
girl who kicked and screamed her way in here. She didn’t sleep her way to the
top or anything.”

The
eyes were on me. They were accusatory; they were filled with hatred. I dropped
my pen on the ground. I wanted to drop down and get it, but I didn’t want to
look so flustered in front of my employees. I cleared my throat. “Anyway.” I
continued on with my speech, feeling Jason’s eyes on me the entire time. His
eyes were so wicked, so angry. Every time I felt them upon me, I heard myself
mix and match different words; I felt myself stutter. Soon, I felt my face
redden beneath my fingertips. I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I
stopped for five seconds and stared at the wall, my fingers over my mouth. It
was like I had no idea what came next.

I
turned toward Jason. “I’m sorry. I will have to excuse myself for a moment.” My
voice was hushed, unsteady. I didn’t bother to look toward Xavier, to make any
sort of eye contact. Instead, I just rushed from the room and into the hallway.
I closed my eyes and let out a small, helpless scream that I was certain no one
would ever hear.

I
rushed into the bathroom, then. My breaths were coming in strange, scattered
stages. I inhaled with my nose, exhaled with my mouth, trying to right my brain
once more. I staged toward the sink and thought I was going to get sick. I
gazed at myself in the mirror, looking at an unsteady, insane person. The girl
in the mirror was not Amanda Martin. She was a strained and haggard
woman—someone who needed help.

I
brought water over my face and padded my cheeks with my fingertips. I coughed
into my fist and felt my body rattle. Who would help me? Who could I turn to? I
didn’t know. I couldn’t know.

I
turned back and leaned heavy on the porcelain, my mind racing. Xavier couldn’t
know about this. He had so much on his plate; he couldn’t sit around, worrying
about this man. And what would he do, anyway? Wouldn’t Jason discover what was
going on and immediately release the photos to the public?

My
mind was chaotic, strained. I turned toward the wall and pounded on it once,
twice, three times. The tears were running heavy down my cheeks.

And
then, suddenly, I realized that I did have a friend. Just one friend in the
world. I had a bed and a home and a friend.

I spun
out toward the door, knowing that I needed to go home, I needed to go see
Rachel. She had been a part of this world, before she’d gotten smart enough to
get the hell out. And because of her experience, she’d know exactly what to
tell me. She’d point me in a reasonable direction.

I just
wasn’t sure if I was actually ready to hear what this “reasonable” direction
would be. Perhaps it would involve never seeing Xavier again. And just the feel
of Xavier’s lips on my neck, on my cheek that morning had made me weak at the
knees, ready to give him my all.

I
shook my head, trying to clear the cob webs from my head. I was on the curb,
trying to hail a taxi. I was going home. And I could be my own woman—I could be
someone beyond Xavier’s other woman.

If I
had to give up this beautiful, romantic endeavor, so be it.

Right?

Chapter 10

I
rushed home, willing the taxi driver to drive faster, to go further. But I sat
in back, biting my tongue and waiting. I couldn’t wait to give this to someone
else, to ask Rachel to help me carry it. It seemed like too much, in so many
ways. And I knew it was.

I
burst up the steps, knowing that Rachel had the day off that afternoon. I felt
my bag as it banged against my side. Each step seemed further and further
apart. Finally, I reached her floor and tapped at the door, bringing my weight
from one foot to the other.

Rachel
appeared in the crack of the door. She looked so bright, so sunny. She was
wearing a spring dress, even on the grey fall day. And she was holding a broom.
“Hello! You’re home early!” she called to me.

I
loved that she called it my home. In that moment, I felt really light, really
happy. But then, she saw my face, and her frown took form. “What is it,
Amanda?” she asked. The reality rushed up around me. She pulled out the kitchen
chair and allowed me to collapse in it. She locked the door. “You look so sick.
Are you all right?” Her voice had taken on that authoritative feel—the one
she’d used to use when she’d worked in politics. It was oddly comforting to me.
This was the Rachel I had first met.

I
shook my head. “I really need to talk to you,” I whispered. I made a strange
motion with my hands. My throat was caught. “I just. I need to talk to you.”

Rachel
frowned. She reached around and grabbed the wine bottle, then, and she tipped
it back on her mouth, allowing the wine to drizzle down her throat. She handed
it to me, and I did the same. Then, she grabbed two glasses and got serious.