Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (76 page)

I charged up my steps,
toward my apartment, my former sanctuary. I dropped my things and began looking
around the place with fury. I had to find the cameras—the cameras that were
currently ruining my life. I had to get them out. I tried to imagine Jason in
my apartment, placing the cameras in various places. I wondered if he had any
others: of me sleeping on my couch, for example. Of me drinking wine. Of me
simply getting undressed and preparing for the day. I shuddered. The invasion
of privacy was something I couldn’t get over. What do people do when they don’t
know they’re being watched?

Everything.

I wanted to report him so
badly, but I felt like I was pushed against a wall with his hand against my mouth.
I could cry out as much as I wanted, but he would press harder and harder until
I couldn’t breathe any more. He would stifle me, stifle me until both my career
and Xavier’s career were dead forever.

I started at the top of
the refrigerator, where I felt like the camera had been positioned that
captured us atop the table. I ruffled my hand over the top haphazardly. I
knocked a forgotten magazine onto the ground, allowing dust to scatter
everywhere. I started to cough, grasping my throat.

I spun around, my hands
on my hips. I sauntered toward the couch and plucked up the bottle of wine on
the coffee table. I flung it back, toward my mouth, and allowed the full flavor
to graze down my tongue. I felt the wine immediately alter my brain, making me
feel a bit woozy. The dizziness cut through my disdain.

I flung back toward the
kitchen and began to rifle through the cabinets, tossing things to the ground.
Cereal fell to the floor: bowls, plates, everything. I heard a wine glass crash
to the ground and fling itself into a million little glass pieces. I tugged at
my hair, wondering where the cameras would be.

Finally, I swept back
toward the fine armoire that sat on the other side of my dining room table. On
the inside of the armoire sat all the fine china that had been passed down on
my mother’s side, from my grandmother’s grandmother. It glinted in the
afternoon light.

On the inside of the
armoire, I found it: the camera. It was blinking at me in the darkness of the
cabinet, as if it was saying hello. I sniffed at it, turning it this way, then
that. I whispered into it, suddenly, muttering the words: “I’ve got you, here.
Yes I do.”

I suddenly flung the
camera into the sink. I turned on the sink and allowed it to die there at the
bottom, still blinking at me for several moments before finally giving itself
over to death.

Breathing heavily, I was
finally able to pulse through the rest of the apartment and find the remaining
cameras. I found three in total, and I allowed each of them to die a very wet
death at the bottom of my sink. I poured myself a very full glass of wine and
drank it alone at my kitchen table, still watching the light from the lamp as
it glimmered over the broken glass on the floor. I knew that this was
representative of the terror of my situation; I knew that I was currently
mid-repair. How long would this fucking situation put me back from my goals?

I would have to be
careful in the future. I would have to watch my back. I couldn’t get
bleary-eyed with adoration for that man—the President of the United States.

I was smarter than that.

Chapter
3

The rest of the
afternoon, I drank heartily from the wine glass before drinking from the wine
bottle. I wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation, but I knew I couldn’t
miss another day at work. I called in at around four in the afternoon and spoke
in a strained voice to Jason’s second-in-command, the man beneath both me and
Jason—a man named Scott. “Scott?” I said, my voice a bit gruff, a bit strained.

“Amanda. We’ve been
worried about you. Are you coming back in this afternoon?”

I shook my head into the
phone, feeling frustrated. “No. I’m under the weather, I’m afraid,” I muttered.
“Please tell the team I’ll be back with them tomorrow. Please apologize for
me.”

Scott affirmed that he
would. I imagined him telling these words to Jason; I imagined Jason’s ominous
laughter once more—the sheer understanding that he’d put me in my place—that I
couldn’t even comprehend going to work, to face that atmosphere.

Ultimately, I fell asleep
that night in the kitchen chair with my head on my hand, with my wine glass
still half-full. I felt the anger and anxiety of the day fall away from me, and
I finally allowed myself just a few hours of sleep.

Until suddenly, at six in
the morning, I stood up suddenly out of my slumber, blinking my eyes wildly at
the surrounding arena. The kitchen light was still on, and it seemed so ominous
above me. I shuddered, looking down at my now-ruffled work clothes. I knew I
had to be at work a bit earlier that day because I’d missed the previous day.
No rest for the campaign manager, I thought.

I rushed into the
bathroom, allowing my clothes to fall to the ground as I walked. The water
pounded upon me like a baptism. I closed my eyes beneath it, allowing the steam
to calm me. This had been the worst experience of my life. But I was going to
come out of it with flying colors.

I didn’t have another
fucking choice.

I grabbed a towel and
wrapped it around my head as I exited the heat, allowing the water to evaporate
from y skin. I shivered slightly as I brushed my teeth, allowing my elbow to
rotate slowly at my side.

I chose a fine, prim,
black suit—something that didn’t create any sort of sexuality, I was certain.
It was even a bit bigger on me than my other suits, thus forcing my body to
look a bit overweight. I nodded at myself in the mirror, sure that I could go
to work, do my job, and then simply come home. Someday—maybe ten years from
now—I would allow myself to feel passion once more. But god. Not now.

I took a taxi back into
work, preparing my mind for the day ahead. I didn’t want to see Dimitri
anymore; I felt he knew too much about my situation. When I saw him at the
entrance to the White House, I skirted my eyes away from him, saying a prim:
“Good morning.” I was a ghost to these people, now. I had to be.

I tapped up the steps,
toward the brimming West Wing. I could feel Xavier’s presence, even as I walked
past the closed Oval Office door. I could nearly see him in there, tapping a
pen against his lip (and perhaps thinking of me?). I wondered if anything had
happened with his wife recently; I wondered if he had left my apartment only to
go hold her in his own bed. The thought of this chilled me to the bone.

Suddenly, after I passed
his office, I heard his door open. My very spine seemed to chill. I continued
walking slowly, primly, hoping he wouldn’t call out to me. But I could feel his
eyes on me.

Then, I heard him:
“Amanda.” The word was so sensual from his lips. I wanted to smack him,
suddenly. I wouldn’t have been involved in this debacle if it hadn’t been for
him—if he hadn’t of asked me out. He had the true power here.

I spun around, allowing
my hair to wind around my neck. “What is it?” I asked him. I didn’t make eye
contact with him, but I could feel his presence before me. His suit was cut so
primly; he held his hands in his pockets with such subtle sensuality. His beard
was growing in bit-by-bit on his chin. And he was looking at me with such a
worried expression on his face.

“Amanda. I heard you fell
ill yesterday at work.”

I nodded, swallowing. “I
didn’t feel very well, no,” I murmured. I tried to smile, but the muscles
didn’t work. I wanted to flee back to my desk, to continue my dutiful work. All
I could think about in those moments was what I was meant to do: promote Jason.
Tell the president, perhaps, that he would be a better campaign leader than I
was. Tell him that I didn’t feel like I could take on the role anymore,
especially after everything that had happened.

But I didn’t want to
remind the president of what had happened.

Xavier stepped forward.
His eyebrows had narrowed more starkly over his eyes. “Amanda, I need you to
tell me if something is wrong. Do you want to talk in my office?” He ducked his
head to the right, trying to catch my eyes. But I held firm.

I shook my head. “I have
so much to do, Mr. President. I’ll have an updated explanation to you in the
afternoon.”

“Explanation of what?”
Xavier asked. His voice was leading, as if he were searching for something—an
explanation for what was going on between us, instead of the campaign.

I cleared my throat.
“Explanation of—of the campaign, of course,” I answered. I smiled at him, still
looking somewhere far away from him, down the hall.

I spun back around and
fled toward my desk. I passed by Jason’s, where I heard him speaking on the
phone to one of our backers. It took all my strength not to spin toward him and
pound his face with my fist.

I sat at my desk, feeling
the chair dip beneath me. I cleared my throat, feeling such anxiety as I passed
my eyes over my crew. This crew had been entrusted to me; I was meant to watch
over it, to cultivate it.

Xavier appeared in the
doorway, watching over all of us just as I was watching over them. I placed my
hands onto my keyboard and began writing up a decidedly terribly email to
another backer, something that I immediately deleted after I wrote it, my
eyebrows still narrowed over my eyes. I had to get through the goddamned day.

Denise, from the previous
day, approached my desk once more. In an uneasy, shaking voice, she tapped her
pen against her portfolio and began speaking to me in what I was sure was
English. I couldn’t understand her at all; the rushing in my brain was filtering
out her words. I nodded as she tapped. Finally, I agreed to whatever she’d
stated to me, and I watched her walk away with such stunning confidence. I had
been her, only a few years before. I was only twenty-eight years old.

And already, I was
ruined.

I considered going into
the president’s office and exposing Jason. I considered telling him what was
going on, allowing him to arrest him. Before that day, Xavier had been someone
I could trust. He had been more than a friend. He’d been someone I could laugh
with over lunch, someone I was sure who held a comprehension of who I was and
what I had gone through in order to get to the top.

However, I knew that if
Jason didn’t hear wind of a promotion soon, he would expose the photos.

Suddenly, my computer bleeped
at me, forcing my eyes to the screen. Suddenly, the computer showed an image of
the president and I, both of us undressed and touching each other, our eyes
closed. I saw such supreme desire on my face.

I snapped the computer
closed before me, my face burning with such anger. I looked toward Jason, who
continued to tap along at his own desk. However, his face reeked of guilt. He
was teasing me.

I continued staring at
him until he turned toward me and raised his eyebrows, mouthing the words:

“I’m coming for you.”

The words sent my heart
directly into my stomach. I wanted to start crying. I brought my hands up to my
forehead and felt my feet on the ground, bringing me up into the air. I
sauntered toward the Oval office, where I knew the president was sitting,
waiting for me to approach him

Finally, I found myself
at the door of the Oval office. Outside, Dimitri stood, his face grim and long.
“Amanda,” he said, nodding at me curtly.

“I require a brief
meeting with the president to discuss his campaign,” I stated, my voice spewing
with professionalism. I could turn it on when I needed it.

“Absolutely, campaign
manager,” Dimitri stated. His voice held none of the warmth of the previous
years of our friendship. He flung his hand toward the doorknob and opened it,
revealing the stunning, light-filled oval office before me.

I entered the doorway and
found myself face-to-face with the president once more. When I thought about
it, I could nearly feel his mouth over my nipple, our tongues grasping at each
other as we made love in my apartment.

I cleared my throat.
“There’s something I must discuss with you, Mr. President.”

Xavier stood. His eyes
looked at me with such familiarity. I knew that he felt terrible about the
morning; I knew that he felt that I was backing away from our half-hearted
relationship, unsure. But he didn’t know why.

“Amanda. Hello. I’m glad
you came.”

I opened my mouth, my
mind spinning. My anger was spewing in my heart. If only Jason hadn’t spied on
me, I would be in Xavier’s lap now, kissing him. Falling for him. Laughing with
him. But Jason had cut between us like a knife. I was so incredibly angry,
because I’d planned to have this conversation with the president, anyway. I
wanted to put Jason ahead. Not in my position, certainly. But I wanted him to
succeed. At least: in that eternity that I would always call “before the
photos” in my mind.

“I wanted to talk with
you about Jason,” I said. I tugged at my oversized black jacket, nodding to him
assertively.

Xavier sat down,
gesturing forth to allow me to sit on the other side of his desk. “Please.”