Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story) (99 page)

The following evening was a Friday night.
I’d wrangled together a long meeting, one that swept into the evening. All
around me, my employees were yawning, upset at the length of time I was keeping
them into the weekend. Of course: their first few weeks of flurry had slowed
down. They couldn’t keep up that endless activity for so long.

I tapped my heel slowly, gazing at them.
“Okay. Okay. You can all go home,” I finally said, slapping my portfolio down
on the desk before me. “I know we won’t get anything done here, anyway.”

The people before me erupted into the air,
all of a sudden talking like a group of elementary kids. Their smiles were
broad. They were eager to get down the hill, back to their bars and their wives
and their boyfriends. I shook my head as they went, wondering about the life I
was missing elsewhere.

I sat at my desk, then, tipping back a
bit. I reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of wine and a
small, paper cup. I poured the wine, allowing the sound to echo throughout the
room. I tipped it back, allowing the flavor of it to pulse over my tongue, to
my throat. I sighed evenly, feeling relaxed for the first time in many days—at
least since the president had pushed me against the stairwell wall and asked me
to go to dinner with him. That wasn’t something you could just shake off.

Suddenly, my phone began to buzz on my
desk. I leaned forward, holding my cup high in the air. There, on the buzzing
phone, I noted that the number was the president’s. I swallowed, realizing that
the president was down the hall, lingering on in his office. I didn’t answer
the phone. Rather, I stood up, still holding the wine bottle in my hand. I
brought it with me down the hall, hearing my shoes as they tapped in the empty
West Wing. What was the president doing there, all alone on a Friday night?
Wouldn’t his wife be wondering about him?

Another secret service officer—someone
named Dave—stood outside the door. His eyes were alert. I nodded to him. “The
president and I have a meeting,” I offered as an explanation.

The man nodded. He swung open the door,
allowing me entrance. I tapped in, closing the door behind me. I stood in the
shell of it. “You rang,” I chirped.

Xavier was sitting in his great chair,
peering out the window. He was faced away from me. I moved forward, placing the
bottle of wine on his desk. “Mr. President?”

Finally, he spun around, his eyes looking
so hollow in his head. He reached toward the bottle of wine and he tipped it
down his throat, looking so comical, even in his desperation.

I clutched my heart, suddenly worried
about him. “Xavier? What’s going on?”

He placed the bottle of wine back down
with a clunk. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know. Last
night, as we spoke with the French president and his fiancé, I realized
something: that my wife is the most boring person in the world.” He allowed his
chair to tip left, then right beneath him.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt my
throat grow dry.

He continued. “I feel no joy when she says
anything. The last time we made love, I was so far away. So far away.” He
snapped his finger next to his face. Something in his eyes told me he was
already drunk—perhaps a few glasses of Scotch into the night.

“Do you—do you want my advice?” I asked
him in a timid whisper, unsure of how to handle the situation. I felt the words
hang between us like a cloud.

He shook his head. “I just—I don’t fucking
know what to do.” He picked up the wine bottle once more and pummeled it to his
mouth, guzzling it.

I felt nervous, a bit frustrated. I felt
like the president was acting like some sort of inane child. He couldn’t
fucking fix his own problems. What was I meant to do?

I stood up tall and I grabbed the wine
bottle from his hand, tugging it back. I shook my head vehemently. “What the
fuck are you doing? Get your shit together,” I hissed at him. “Do you even want
to have a good relationship with your wife?” I asked the question, surprising
him. It was clearly not one he had asked himself, yet. He wasn’t trying to
create a good relationship with her; and yet here he was, complaining about her
once more to me. I couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair to her or to me

He stood up, then. He was a bit woozy on
his feet, but his eyes were sure and passionate. His dark eyebrows were
furrowed. He reached his hand over the desk and allowed it to grip my cheek, my
ear. His face came toward me. My heart was beating so fast in my chest. I
placed the wine bottle back on the desk between us. It landed too hard.

His whisper came with such warmth, such
passion. “No. I don’t want to have a good relationship with her. I don’t.” He
shook his head until suddenly, his lips met mine in a moment of frustration, of
anger.

In this moment, as our lips met over the
great presidential desk, I let go of everything in my mind. Everything that had
been holding me back from this beautiful, passionate feeling was let loose,
finally—allowing me to feel so free in this moment. I brought my arms around
his body, and I pushed closer to him, folding my lips into his more firmly, feeling
the vibrancy, the lust for him deep in my soul.

God, that moment. It was the very answer
to my searching heart.

Chapter
9

I pulled away from the President of the
United States, my head spinning. I bit my lip and spun back, toward the door. I
didn’t hear as much as a murmur from him—no sign of regret, no sign that he
wanted me to stay. I needed to get out of there, to return to some sense of
normalcy. I pushed into the hallway and began stomping back to the office to
gather my things, hearing my heels clatter against the floor. What the hell was
I going to do?

Suddenly, as I rounded the corner with my
head down, I found myself pushing into Jason, my second in command. His wide
eyes blinked at me with surprise. “Amanda! I thought you’d left for the day.”
His eyes perused my red cheeks, my slim waist. I could feel the way he looked
at me, and already it made me uncomfortable. But I couldn’t deal with a drunk
second in command not tonight.

“Good night, Jason,” I said, trying to
push past him.

But he tapped me on the shoulder,
following me. “Actually, Amanda. I had a question about the proceedings from
the day.”

I felt a tear falling down my face in
these moments. I spun around on my heel, glaring at him. I shook my head
vehemently. He didn’t seem to notice my confusion, my internal anger. “What is
it, Jason?” I finally sighed.

“I just—I saw that you had us scheduled
for a meeting in Texas in a few weeks. I wanted to clarify.”

I swept my hand out and then smashed it
into my lap, feeling the pangs of pain throughout my thigh. “If it’s in the
calendar, it’s in the calendar,” I growled, shrugging. “Now if you’ll excuse
me—“

“Wait—Amanda!”

But I could hardly hear him. My mind was
racing with thoughts, trying to comprehend the feel of the president’s lips over
mine. This was not what I wanted, I thought over and over again. For a moment,
sure: it had felt so right. But the moment had passed easily as I pulled back
from him and realized what I was actually doing. I was actively ruining both my
life and his. I couldn’t work my way to the top by sleeping with the president.
I was smarter than that.

I huffed, beginning to gather my things
into my bag. I would spend the remainder of the night curled on my couch,
drinking wine deep into the night. I wouldn’t come into work tomorrow; it was a
Saturday and no pressing issues were at the helm. Thusly, I could take my first
real day off from the office.

But as I pressed each item into my bag, I
felt him coming toward me: Jason. I spun my head up, peering at him with confusion.
“What’s up?” I asked him. We hadn’t spoken much throughout the course of our
working relationship. We’d shared a few laughs over a drink, of course, but
nothing more.

He brought his hands over his chest, then.
I was so keenly aware that we were the only ones in the great, empty room. “I
was wondering what you were up to tonight?”

I rolled my eyes, still not understanding
what he meant. “God, Jason. I’m so tired. I just want to collapse in my bed,
you know?” I laughed, trying to make a joke to him.

But his persistence held fast. He stood in
front of me while I tried to pass him, and he placed his hand on my shoulder,
staring at me, face to face. For a moment, I thought surely he was going to try
to kiss me, just like the president had.

But then he spoke stuttering, incomplete
words. “Why don’t you come out to eat with me?”

I tried to hear the words, to comprehend
them. Jason wanted to date me? I raised my eyebrow toward him, unsure of what
to say. I heard the guttural stop in my throat. Speak, I told myself over and
over. Speak!

“Um. Jason. I really have to go, okay? I’m
so tired. Have a good night.” And I swept around him, springing myself from his
tight grip. I rushed down the hallway, past the Oval Office, and down the
steps. I felt so alone in those moments, like everything I wanted couldn’t be
mine.

I grabbed a taxi and asked him to stop at
the store so I could buy another bottle of wine; I’d left mine in the oval
office. “Wait for me, okay?” I asked the taxi driver, paying him a bit extra for
the first fare. He nodded, chewing gum. He didn’t give me any words.

I tapped into the grocery, bringing my
finger over my eyebrow. I grabbed the first wine bottle from the shelf and
tapped it on the counter, shaking a bit as I did it. The man at the counter
asked, “Are you all right, ma’am?” And I hadn’t realized that I was a goddamned
mess, nearly crying all over the place. I couldn’t comprehend it. God, I needed
a drink.

I told him I was fine. And I paid for the
wine swiftly before rushing outside and back into the taxi. The man took me
home, back to my tidy, safe haven. Once I closed the door and breathed an easy
sigh of relief, I collapsed on the couch. All my thoughts were oriented to what
had just happened back there with those two men. Was nowhere safe?

I poured myself an easy glass of wine,
reminding myself that I couldn’t become involved with the president. I listened
to the glug-glug of the wine as it pulsed into the cup, and I felt so sure that
as his lips had descended over mine, I’d been happier than I’d ever been in my
entire life. I hadn’t had many boyfriends, of course—just the one through
college. But I’d never felt such deep passion with him (like the entire earth
had stopped spinning, just for us).

I tried to imagine a future in which Xavier
and I were together—a future in which the president abandons his wife and takes
his re-election campaign manager up with him, to First Lady status. I shuddered
at the thought. The mere idea of it would put the campaign off the rails, for
one. No one liked a presidential cheater, as the Clinton proved so well. And
where would my career go as a result? People would say that I slept my way to
the top, but really I would be sleeping my way to the bottom. Sure, Xavier had
promised that I would have a position at the White House for my career, but he
could only promise this as long as he was there. I had to stay committed to
both myself and my career—and no one else.

I sniffed, allowing the thoughts to pass
through me, allowing the wine to course through my veins. I fell asleep like
this, stretched out on the couch with the wine glass situated in my hand, my
eyes fluttering every few hours with the romantic idea of that man in the oval
office before me, his lips reaching out for only me. Only me.

I awoke the next morning with a crick in
my neck, one that I couldn’t work out with a few nice stretches. It was still
early in the morning, and I realized I had the entire day at my feet—a day
during which I could create whatever world I wanted. I didn’t have to go into
the office; I didn’t even have to watch the news. Although, of course, I would.
Just to see how the polls were doing).

I grabbed some of my running supplies and
I sped downstairs, stretching my neck in a sort of semi-circle. The sun shone
brightly on me, even in the seven a.m. morning. Most D.C. people weren’t awake
yet, choosing to spend their Saturday mornings sleeping next to their lovers,
in their cozy beds. But I was so different, I reminded myself. I had so many
different ideals, so many things I wanted for my life.

As I sped toward the nearby park, I felt
the blood pumping heavy in my veins. I would make it out of this strange,
half-hearted love affair with Xavier. I wouldn’t go to lunch with him anymore,
unless others were there and it involved the campaign, of course. I wouldn’t
put my life or his marriage or our careers in jeopardy just because of this
deep passion pulsing in my gut. It wasn’t worth it to me.

I rushed along, feeling the wind in my
face, through my long brown hair. I’d continually felt a desire to run the past
few weeks, but I’d spent every waking minute at the office, pouring over
ratings, writing speeches, and arguing with one employee or another. I was a
tough boss, and I was earning their respect very slowly, very surely. I was
just a twenty-nine year old woman—someone their daughter’s age, perhaps.

But god, was I so much more.