Lead Him Not Into Temptation (Redemption Book 2) (2 page)

I walk slowly behind my mother, the cement driveway clicking under her designer shoes, while my summer sandals squeak against my sweaty feet. She opens the front door, but I remain still in the entryway as she delicately places her keys and purse on the curio table. I feel frozen in place. My stomach is churning, my hands are clammy, and I feel like I could pass out from the fear of what awaits me on the other side of the door. I want to run up the stairs to my room and avoid the inevitable conversation, maybe run back to the car and leave for good. Before I can allow my feet to move me in either direction, my father’s voice breaks my train of thought.

“Jennifer, please meet me in my office,” my father’s voice echoes down the hallway. The tone is stern but not loud, which only sends my already quivering nerves into overdrive. Yelling would signal his anger, even disappointment, but a silent, angry version of my father is ferocious. He is in lion mode, ready to pounce and destroy. It’s what has made him the best lawyer in Denver and now, a star politician in the Colorado State Senate who is currently facing reelection. He is a man to be reckoned with, and he is about to handle me.

I push my blonde, curly hair away from my face, noticing the beads of sweat, which have gathered along my hairline, square my shoulders, and glide toward the door to the office. I pause before taking the cool door handle into my hand. I take a deep breath, and slowly creaks open the heavy office door to see my father standing behind his large mahogany desk. I’m thankful his back is to me and his attention is focused on the papers he’s shuffling through; I don’t think I’m ready to see what he thinks of me. Instead of entering the room completely I stand, waiting for instruction. There will be instruction, there always is. I am never in control of household conversations, and this situation is no different.

“Take a seat, Jennifer,” he says in a low, smooth tone, which is more scary than comforting. I do as I’m told, sliding onto the couch, letting the cool feel of the leather temporarily calm my flushed skin. I keep my head down, staring at the expensive Persian rug under my feet. I feel the tears begin to burn my eyes, but I push them back in an attempt to hold my emotions together. My mother enters the room and closes the door behind her. Apparently, my social climbing mother has decided I’m worth more than an accessory and my actions have impacted her status at the country club. Her presence merely indicates she needs to know how to proceed in order to maintain her place with the ladies who lunch.

I take a deep breath, gathering the strength to defend myself and explain as best I can. I have no memory of the evening, only the end result of the events, which occurred. My father is the least understanding person I know. I can only hope he will show me at least a slight bit of compassion.

“I know you think I’ve been careless. I can only imagine what this will do to the upcoming campaign, but Daddy, please believe me. I had no idea.” I exhale the ragged breath vibrating in my throat from fear. I scoot closer to the edge of the couch in an attempt to further plead my case. “I was at a party, a few weeks ago. Preston Lexington had finally asked me out and we went together. He acted like such a gentleman, offering to get my drinks all evening, even though I only drank soda. Amber hung out with us for part of the night and we had a good time listening to the band that was invited to play. But then…”

“Enough,” he interrupts, almost sighing the word as if my story is hurting him.

“But Daddy, let me explain,” I beg, the lump in my throat becoming unbearable. “I woke up in my car the next morning with tattered clothes and no memory of most of the night after arriving at the party. Preston was gone, Amber was gone; I was alone in the driveway with no idea of how I got there.” The tears roll down my cheeks and I choke on the words I’m trying desperately to spill out. My mother just listens, and my father hasn’t even turned to look at me. My pleas are falling on deaf ears. “Please, Daddy, believe me,” I whisper.

“Believe you?” he bellows, turning swiftly to challenge my request. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, it doesn’t matter what really happened. They only thing which matters is what we can prove, what we can make other people believe.”

He throws the documents he was clutching onto the coffee table in front of me; the pictures spilling across the slick varnished top. I hear my mother gasp at the sight before her. I can barely see the images through my tears, but I recognize enough to know nothing I say will ever matter. I’ve ruined us. The churning in my stomach takes over as I rush to the trashcan and empty the little bit of food I have in my stomach. Once my body has stopped shaking and the nauseous wave passes, I take a tissue from my father’s desk and return to my seat.

“I didn’t do this, I don’t remember doing any of this,” I stutter.

“Stop. Just stop it. This is an election year; do you realize how damaging this is? Even if the pictures were our only issue here, this could ruin us,” he snaps. “I’ve done what I could to contain everything, but you can’t be here right now. I’ve arranged for you to stay with your Aunt Margaret in Montana for your senior year; she will homeschool you. I plan to tell everyone you are caring for your sick aunt, which will help to explain the doctor’s appointments.”

He states everything so matter-of-factly; my feelings are completely disregarded. “You can’t just send me away, I can’t disappear like that, Dad. I can’t just disappear.”

“Yes I can, Jennifer, and yes you will. This disaster is beyond my imagination. It will take a great deal of money, favors, and God knows what else to clean it up. You being here, in the state you’re in will only make it worse. When everything is done, your mother will take you to college in Fort Collins. Your bags are already packed and your flight is in a few hours. I suggest you let the friends you thought you had, know you’re leaving to care for your ailing aunt and that you won’t be able to contact them once you’ve arrived. I’ve arranged for your Aunt Margaret to have temporary guardianship of you while staying with her. All arrangements have been made.”

“Andrew, what about these pictures? We can’t just hide these. The wives will surely catch wind of them; we will be social pariahs.” Of course, my mother is only thinking of herself. She, too, could care less about me, her daughter, her only child. She has no concern for the assault, which I have no recollection of, or consequences of the horrific event for me. Her primary concern is where this will land her within her social circles.

“These are the only remaining copies, Kim,” he says, taking a seat behind his desk while looking at documents laid out in front of him. He is finished with this conversation, not even bothering to look at us as he speaks. “It took a little legal muscle, but we have the photos. All other copies and negatives have been destroyed. Soon these will be too.”

Bracing myself, I grip onto the arm of the couch and pull myself up to stand before my father. I wipe the mess of snot and tears from my face and address my father one last time. Gathering every bit of courage I have, I finally speak the words I need to say to these people who claim to be my parents.

“I hope one day the two of you learn to love something more than just yourselves, more than power, or social status. I hope one day, you figure out how to protect the people you should love, and hopefully I still care enough to want that love.”

Before they can respond, I turn and leave the room, walking away from the life I knew and the friends and family I never really had.

Spring 2014

Jen

“What in the hell?” I croak out, pulling the cocoon of blankets off my head and slightly cracking open one eye to see the sun is barely peeking through the curtains. I reach for my nightstand to find the source of my uninvited morning wakeup call…Campbell. After sliding my finger across the answer bar, I snuggle back down into my warm haven, to find out what in the hell has her panties in a twist.

“Cam, there better be a good reason for this phone call before the hour of butt crack. The normal population is not up right now,” I say, ending my rant with a yawn to emphasize my point.

“The hour of butt crack?” she chuckles. “As in the butt crack of dawn?”

“Exactly. It’s early, Campbell. Why are you calling me? We have a shoot today and I need my beauty sleep to make the magic happen.”

“You definitely can make magic happen,” rasps the smooth, baritone voice from the other side of my bed. Shit! My eyes widen at the realization he is still here and I turn quickly to cover his mouth with my hand to silence him. I use the word he, well, because I’m sure he has a name, yet it escapes me at the moment. I hear Campbell speaking on the other end, but my attention is focused on the groping hands and warm body moving closer to me.

“Hello? Jen? Did you flipping fall asleep? Wake up, Jen!” Campbell shouts, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yes, sorry. You got me. I fell asleep. What was that again?” I ask. Campbell doesn’t need to know my lack of attention is because the model from yesterday’s photo shoot didn’t get the memo that I don’t do sleepovers. Sex, yes. On my terms, absolutely, but never snuggly sleepovers.

“Jesus, Jen, it’s like seven in the morning. The waking world is in fact moving around at this hour. Anyways, we had to change the time of the photo shoot. They’re calling for rain this afternoon, so we’re moving everything up to this morning. I’m calling you to get your ass up and moving so we can meet up with the band at ten.”

“All right, then, got it. See you there. Thanks, Cam.” I hang up on her before she utters another word and I jump out of bed, swatting grabby hands away, and covering myself with the sheets.

“Thanks for the sex and all, but my schedule has changed and I need to get going for the day,” I tell Brad, Bryan, Braxton…I’m almost positive it’s a ‘B’ name.

“Well, let me get your day off on the right start, baby,” he coos, grabbing ahold of my sheet and pulling me closer to him.

I rip the sheets from his hands and walk toward his clothes piled up on the floor near the doorway. “Um, thanks but I’m good,” I say, gathering up his clothes and throwing them at him. “If I need your assistance in the future, I’ll be sure to save your number.”

The stunned look on his face is almost priceless. He is absolutely gorgeous and surprisingly not bad in bed either. I’m sure this is the first time he’s been kicked out of a woman’s bed. In fact, I would bet I’m stealing lines out of his dating playbook. However, repeat sexual encounters are not my thing. I always assume control of a situation and never a let a man too close. If anyone is going to walk away hurt, it’s going to be him. They always say it’s a man’s world, and in regards to my sex life, I have no problem wearing the pants and playing the dickhead role.

“You have got to be kidding me? You’re telling me to leave?” he asks, while roughly putting on his wrinkled clothes. Reason two why I always invite men to my house instead of venturing in their dirty habitats; I will never do a wrinkled walk of shame. No, thank you.

“Look…” I let the word hang in the air waiting for him to fill me in on his less than memorable name.

“Cooper.”

I grimace. “Damn, I was way off,” I say shaking my head, and then lead him into the living room. “The only reason you are still here is because I fell asleep last night before I could show you the door. I’m sure I’ll see you around and if the moment strikes us, maybe we can have round two. We both had a good time, let’s not ruin it by having some awkward morning-after exchange.”

I’ve left the poor guy speechless. He follows me to the door, which I open for him. He swoops down and picks up his shoes he left in the entry and steps into the hall. He’s still looking at me, which surprises me, usually men get the spiel, are relieved they didn’t have to deliver the lines, and leave with a smile. Cooper, not so much.

“You’re a bitch, you know that right? Women don’t act like this. Women don’t treat men like me, like this.”

I won’t lie, his words sting a little, but they are entirely true. I am a bitch, for good reason, and I will never apologize for it. “You’re right. I am a bitch, but you know what? I am a smart bitch who can play a man’s game. The only reason you’re pissed is because I took the words out of your mouth and left you with morning wood. Now, I’ll see ya around, Coop.”

I slam the door in his face, drop my sheet, and walk to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Not only do I need to wash that little prick Cooper off me, but I need to gear up for a photo shoot which I have no doubt will test every bit of patience I don’t have. I’ve only met the guys from Absolution once and I’m not too pleased to have any more dealings with them. Their lead singer is the epitome of douche lead singer who is only in the music industry because of the pussy it can land him. Their drummer is a big, teddy bear who sweats like he walks around in a sauna all day, not exactly great material for a photographer. Their bassist, well, I didn’t talk to him, so I can’t criticize…yet. Then there is their lead guitar player, Casen. He’s infuriating with how he tries to be all insightful all the time. Which is code for I think he likes to hear himself talk and I would like nothing more than to gag him with their drummer’s tube sock. I mean that in the least sexual way possible.