Nothing to Lose (11 page)

“Of course,” he agreed. “It's just sometimes I'm so used to speaking carefully, it becomes the way I speak. Glad to know I can let go of all that with you.”

“I think it's charming.” She felt her face get flushed at the pleasing response he gave to her compliment. “Speaking of elitist
D.C.
folks, why would you come to
D.C.
in the first place? Most people I know from Atlanta never leave.”

“The
A-T-L
is great and it'll always be home. I might even consider moving back there when I retire. Honestly, I would have never left if it wasn't for . . . well, you know.”

“Let me guess,” Billie said, deducing from that somewhat shy smile on his face. “A woman? Yes, it was a woman. Ah, you moved away from home for love.”

“I thought it was love at least.” He reached for the bread, offering it to her.

She shook her head. “No, but thank you. How romantic. Did you follow her here, or did you come here with her?”

“I came here with her.” He focused on the bread, seeming a little embarrassed to be sharing this information. “I was very passionate about her, but it turned out all of her passion was for activism. She came here to change the world and didn't really have any time for much else.”

“You're not the activist type?” she asked, pleased that his Southern accent was coming out, more and more, with each sentence. She found it sexy.

“Not like her. I love being a part of my community. I volunteer at DC Central Kitchen, I mentor for The Making of a Man, and I give free résumé and job interview–skills training at the Brentwood men's center.”

Could this man get any better?
Billie asked herself.
Handsome, successful, perfect manners, and committed to giving back.
Her heart picked up the pace.

The waiter returned; and after sharing the specials, they agreed on their meal. After he left, Michael got right back to the conversation.

“I saw your résumé,” he said. “As part of what I do for the company.”

“You were likely looking for reasons to tell them not to hire me.” She gave him a sly smile.

“I won't admit to that,” he said. “What I noticed was that you like to volunteer a lot too. You made quite a reputation as a crusader during your short stint as a public defender. I take it the money was the big drawback.”

Billie took a deep breath and cleared her throat. Now was as good a time as any to tell the truth. “Divorce can sometimes change circumstances.”

“You're divorced?” he asked, his left eyebrow rose in curiosity.

“Yes,” she answered. “For almost two years.”

“Well,” he offered, without missing a step, “that must be some damn fool to let you go.”

She was pleased with his reaction and felt a little weight come off her shoulders. That was done and he had reacted in the best scenario she could have imagined.

“He wouldn't, by any chance . . .” Michael paused, seeming a bit hesitant to continue. “Do you keep in touch with him?”

“Do we have kids is what, I think, you're asking?”

“No, I just . . . Well, it's none of my business.”

“Don't worry.” Billie's tone was as nonchalant as she could manage. “We had no children together, but he had a daughter before we met. He isn't really a part of my life anymore.”

“ ‘Really' is an interesting word use.”

“He happens to be a lawyer at one of the firms I'll be working with at Agencis.”

“That could be awkward.”

“I've got it under control,” she lied.

After her encounter with Porter two days ago, she was even less confident than before, but what choice did she have but to deal with it? She was a big girl, and big girls just deal with it.

“I hope you're good at stress relievers,” he said. “You'll need it working with your ex. Do you do kickboxing?”

“No, I'm more of a jogger.”

“I'm not talking about exercise,” he said. “I mean just plain good ole stress-relief fun.”

“I've never done it,” she said.

“We'll go kickboxing.” He sat back confidently in his seat. “On our next date.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves,” she said, even though she was already planning their next several dates in her head.

“You have to try it.” He looked into her eyes with an intensity that grabbed at her.

“I have to?” she asked, mesmerized by his gaze.

“Kickboxing will transform you, Billie. Not only is it a massive stress reliever, but also the power that you feel.... It courses through your veins. It takes you over and you just feel like . . . It's a passionate, sensual feeling.”

Billie felt a little breathless for a few moments. She was only torn from his gaze when their appetizers came. She was grateful for the distraction.

“Sounds a little intense to me.” She focused on her bowl of lobster bisque, not wanting to get caught up in those eyes of his again.

“It is,” he said, “and also addictive. Once you try it, it'll become your favorite hobby, replacing whatever it is you like to do now. What is that, by the way?”

Billie tried to think and was a little surprised that nothing easily came to mind. “Well, I like spending time with my girlfriends more than anything.”

“But what do you do by yourself?” he asked. “You know, not with or for someone else, but just for you.”

“Um . . .” She was starting to feel embarrassed after a few seconds of not being able to come up with anything. “I guess . . . I used to love to paint.”

“ ‘Used to'? Why don't you do it anymore?”

This perfect evening was starting to get a little uncomfortable for her. She could tell he was enjoying this, intent on her admitting that she had no real hobbies.

“I don't have a lot of time,” she said, “but I used to love it. I was awful at it, though.”

“That doesn't matter,” he said. “If you enjoyed it, then you were great at it. Although I'd like to see one of your paintings, before taking your word for it. I imagine you're a lot better at everything than you give yourself credit for, Billie.”

This boy is too much,
she told herself. “Too much” usually meant “too good to be true.” She urged herself to be cautious; but as the night continued, all Billie could do was find herself liking him more and more. He was funny and curious, two characteristics she loved. His laugh was infectious and he seemed to know right where the line between being suggestive and inappropriate stood and stayed on the edge.

Billie felt silly when she discussed her concern about their working relationship. By the time she'd mentioned it, it no longer seemed like much of a big deal to her. Michael reinforced that fact with his own belief that there was nothing there to worry about. He seemed determined to wipe away any doubt she had about the two of them pursuing something, but it wasn't much necessary. Before the desserts even came, Billie couldn't wait until the next time she'd get to see him again.

 

Sherise wasn't feeling so great. As she sat in the chair of her office at campaign headquarters, she felt compelled to complain again. This was the third chair she'd sat on in two days. She had demanded that her staff find her something more comfortable. This was ridiculous. She wasn't even two months pregnant; yet she was already feeling her body start to change. That wasn't a good sign. She wouldn't dare ask for another chair. What would LaKeisha say if word got back to her that Sherise was already complaining? No, she'd just bring a better pillow to sit on tomorrow and suck it up.

It was time to leave, anyway; but just as Sherise got up from her chair, there was a knock on her door.

“Yes?”

In popped Jesse Williams, a young man on her staff who got the job because he was Northman's Harvard roommate's son. Politics was all about connections. Sherise held some animosity for people like Jesse. He was only twenty-two and as green as grass, but he was born to the right person. His circumstances were so unlike Sherise's, who had to fight for everything she'd gotten, because she didn't have any connected DNA.

“What is it, Jesse?” she asked.

“You know about Congressman Cooper, right?”

“Of course I know about him. Everyone does.”

Congressman George Cooper, the pro-life, pro–traditional family Republican from Texas, was caught coming out of a Miami hotel with a rent-a-boy who was barely eighteen and more than eager for the fame that came with bagging a hypocrite. It was the story of the day around
D.C.

“LaKeisha says that before you leave, you need to get a statement on her desk for Northman to say.”

“He doesn't need to say anything,” Sherise said. “I told him that this morning when the news broke. This is Cooper's mess. Let the Republicans wallow in it. Northman needs to stay above it.”

Jesse shook his head. “LaKeisha said the Democrats are urging him to make a statement. She said something dry and unattached, but acknowledging his hypocrisy. Cooper went to Yale with Matthews.”

Sherise was taken aback. How could she not know that? She'd been listening to the news reports all day and no one had mentioned that connection. This was good news. If they could imply a relationship between Cooper and Matthews, it could force Matthews to get involved in this scandal, which would put a crinkle in his campaign. No, they probably had no real relationship at all, but all one had to do was imply that they've known each other since college, more than twenty-five years. Both ended up in
D.C.
in national politics. The relationship would be inferred from that.

More important for Sherise, it would distract the press from Jonah for once, since he seemed to be the only person everyone wanted to talk about.

“She'll have it,” Sherise said, smiling.

After Jesse left, Sherise went straight for her phone. She was supposed to relieve the babysitter within the hour, but she didn't think she'd be there in time. She was going to write this statement for Northman, but she also needed to create some hints she could leak to the press that insinuated a stronger connection between Matthews and Cooper.

Her momentary excitement at this new opportunity was immediately shattered when she heard a woman's voice say “hello” on the other end of Justin's cell phone.

“Who is this?” Sherise asked tersely.

“Oh,” the voice said after a few seconds. “Hello, Sherise. This is Elena.”

Sherise's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she gripped the phone more tightly. “Really, Elena? You're calling me ‘Sherise' and you're answering my husband's cell phone. Since when did we become such good friends?”

Sherise heard what she thought was a chuckle, which only made her more fuming mad.
This bitch is about to get an earful.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Robinson.” If Elena was trying to veil her sarcasm, she was horrible at it. “I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” she corrected quickly. “Why are you answering my husband's private phone?”

“I was just here,” she said. “I'm in his office. We're working and he stepped away.”

“Where is he?” Sherise demanded.

“He just stepped away to go to the bathroom. I didn't think it would be a big deal if I answered it. I was just trying to be—”

“Save it,” Sherise said. “You know cell phones are private, and you knew when you picked his up that I was calling. My name was clear as day on the phone.”

“I picked it up without looking at—”

“Elena, you're not fooling anyone. Answering a man's private phone when you know it's his wife calling is a classic territorial move.”

“Sherise, stop it.”

Sherise was halted by the sound of Justin's voice. She paused for a second as she heard him ask Elena to give him a moment.

“Justin, I—”

“What's the matter with you?” he asked.

“Where is she now?”

“She's gone,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Sherise asked. “Because last time she was gone, she was actually outside your damn office listening in on us.”

“Sherise,” he said as almost a sigh.

“I don't appreciate that bitch answering your private phone. She knew it was me. My name is lit . . .”

“Sherise, you can't go around yelling at my coworkers. You just can't. Look, I'll tell her not to answer my phone again, but—”

“Why are you working alone with her, anyway?” Sherise asked.

“The other two are out getting dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was just about to call you. I have to stay tonight and do a working dinner. I'm sorry, but—”

“You can't, Justin.” Sherise didn't feel up to another “who makes the sacrifice?” argument. “I have to stay and work on an emergency here. Kenya can only babysit until seven.”

“It's out of my hands, Sherise.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” she said. “You're the boss of your team. If you wanted to go home and leave the work to them, you could do it. But you want to stay. You want more time with your young coworker who knew damn well what she was doing by answering your—”

“Can you get off that already?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “I'm not going to listen to this. I have to work. The sooner I can get back to it, the sooner I can be home.”

“What difference does that make?” Sherise asked. “It's not like you'd be willing to discuss it then either.”