Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (87 page)

I
tapped toward the Oval Office with the notes beneath my elbow. I thought I
could feel Jason’s eyes on me as I passed him, but I didn’t give him the
satisfaction of turning toward him, of allowing him to notice my fear. The
morning had been gruesome, but I’d worked through it, I’d come out on the other
side. It was going to be okay.

I
snapped my knuckles against the Oval Office, noting that there wasn’t a Secret
Service agent on this side of the wall. Suddenly, the door lurched open,
revealing Dimitri on the other side. I remembered that I hadn’t seen him since
that evening when I’d gotten dressed and snagged a ride home from him, still
buzzing with the events of the previous few hours. I didn’t make eye contact
with Dimitri, feeling far too frightened of all that he knew about me.

“Thank
you, sir,” I murmured, skirting around him.

I
found myself in the Oval Office once more. I grinned sheepishly toward Xavier,
who stood in the center of the room. His black hair gleamed beneath the light,
and his beard was in need of a trim. “Miss Amanda. Please. Come sit down.
You’ve brought the notes?”

I
nodded, gesturing with them slightly. I sat beside him on the couch. Our eyes
were brought together as we listened to Dimitri leave and the door close behind
him, leaving us in a bubble of happiness. He reached up and snuck his fingers
through my hair, brushing my hair behind my shoulder. “How’s your day?” he
asked me softly.

I
remembered the morning with Jason, hearing the words that he was just “this
close” from ruining my life forever. But I nodded, shrugging a bit. “It was
good. It was okay,” I said.

Xavier
frowned for a moment. But he didn’t swell on it. “Did you bring the notes for
the campaign?”

I
nodded and flung the folder forward, allowing it to open on the coffee table. I
began working him through the list of various press releases, through the
places we would ultimately have to travel during the fall and spring in order
to generate a following. The man he was up against had his way with many of the
southern states, and we had no hope down there. I shook my head and traced a
red X over the states he just couldn’t win. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, flirting
with him a bit and wagging my eyebrows. “I just don’t think you’ll finagle
those votes.”

He
raised his eyebrow at me, then. He brought his hands over my thin waist and
squeezed gently, smiling at me. “You don’t think so?” he exclaimed, teasing me.

I
shook my head, laughing once more. “I don’t think so, sir.”

“What
is all this sir business?” he asked me. He brought his face toward mine and
kissed my ear, the side of my neck. “You like that?”

I
nodded, cooing toward him. “I think so. Maybe.” I turned toward him, and he
kissed my cheek, my eyebrow, my lips. I sighed into him, feeling like the rest
of the world was falling away from us—like it was just he and I, now.

“When
can I see you again?” he asked me, then.

I
tipped my head to the right, raising my eyebrow at him. “You’d really like to
know, wouldn’t you? I mean. My schedule’s just packed.” I teased him, rubbing
at his cheek with my thumb. “God, you’re cute.” I giggled toward him.

He
shook his head. “You’re a menace. Come on. When can I see you again? I have the
perfect plan for us, if you just tell me when. God, when.” His voice had
descended, growing deeper.

I
paused, making him wait for me. I tapped at the edge of my chin, thinking.
Thinking. “I suppose I’d like to see you this weekend. But I’ll have to check
my schedule. I know you’re the President of the United States and all, but when
a girl has plans, she has plans.” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly.

He bowed
his head. “I respect your very busy life, Miss Amanda. And please respect my
sheer need and desire for your body.” He brought his face toward mine, and he
kissed me once more, making my pussy so wet. I cooed, and he brought his hand
beneath my skirt, rubbing at my leg.

As we
kissed, he rubbed at my skin, folding my nylons down over my knees. I sighed
into his shoulder, and I allowed my thoughts to drift, if only for a moment. I
wanted to ask him, suddenly, about Jason. I knew they’d had their private meeting;
furthermore, I knew that Jason was up to something. I just didn’t know what.

But as
the kisses kept pouring over me, as Xavier’s nose dove between my breasts, my
thoughts flitted away, and I gave over to feeling. He was unbuttoning my
blouse, allowing my skin to shine beneath the lights of the Oval Office. I
opened my legs to him and rose over him, rubbing at his dick. I sighed as he
kissed me further, harder. This was where I was meant to be, in this moment.

Beside
us, as we continued kissing, touching, nearly-fucking—but never quite getting
there—the papers for the upcoming campaign were strewn about, reminding us of
our purpose. But we didn’t care about all that anymore. All we cared about was
being in each other’s arms, knowing that the rest of the United States of
America could wait.

After
all, they needed us.

About
thirty minutes later, Xavier started tapping at my back, at my ass. I peered up
at him. I’d been laying on his chest, allowing my mind to drift away. I felt
like I was in a sort of meditation zone, not really aware of my surroundings. I
blinked toward him, my eyes exhibiting such admiration for him. “What is it?” I
whispered.

“I
have a meeting,” he whispered back, yawning a bit.

My
eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is that so?”

He
nodded, but he looked far more serious than usual. I righted myself and began
leaning over to gather the papers, allowing my breasts to bounce forward in the
air. The papers were strewn about, so ominous, reeking of the outside world.

“I’m
sorry, Amanda. It’s the President of France. I have dinner with him tonight.”
He tapped at his forehead.

I
nodded, understanding. I realized I had already known that, that I had lost
track of time. I was always losing my mind when I was around him. I pictured
the four of them together, then: the French president and his wife; the
American president and his wife. I shuddered. There was something missing.

But
what was I saying? I was the one who’d insisted that Xavier remain with his
wife.

I
brought my arms toward him and lifted a hand to his cheek. I kissed him
lightly. “I’ll see you Friday, Xavier,” I whispered.

He
nodded. “Friday it is.” He winked at me and sent just one, final flash of a
smile my way.

I put
myself together once more and strutted out the room.

But on
the other side of the door stood Xavier’s wife. Camille.

My jaw
dropped.

Camille
was arguing with the Secret Service agent. She was pointing at the door and
yelling at him in a hiss. “You can’t just disallow me from entering the Oval
Office. That’s my husband.”

“He’s
also the President of the United States, Mrs. Callway. He’s dealing with
important business.”

Suddenly,
they both noticed me. Their heads lurched toward me. The agent looked shocked
for just one moment before concealing it quickly beneath his stoic expression.
Camille gazed at my youthful face, at my long brown hair. She scoffed at my
thin waist. I could see her inspecting every single part of my body. “I see,”
she murmured. “Important business indeed.”

I
frowned and lifted the papers in my hand, as if I was alerting her that
yes—we’d been pouring over important documents. “Good evening, Mrs. Callaway,”
I stated with all the calm confidence I could muster.

“Good
evening,” Camille stated then, lifting her chin. “I expect my husband is ready
for our dinner with the President of France?”

I
nodded, bowing my head. “He’s preparing himself now; our meeting ran long. My
apologies.”

I
excused myself and soon I was racing down the hallway, feeling my heart beating
so fast in my chest. I could hear Xavier greeting his wife and I could feel the
anxiety coursing through my veins. When I reached my desk, I collapsed into the
chair, feeling the sweat pouring over my eyebrows, over my temples. Across the
room, I noted that Jason was sitting there, smirking at me. Waiting for me to
break.

Chapter 8

After
I composed myself at my desk, I knew I needed to get out of there, to go home.
I grabbed my coat and pounded out the door. I heard Jason’s cackle as I passed
him, and it pulsed through my body, making me so fearful a weary. It seemed
like everywhere I went, I was reminded of something terrible that was
happening—something that was haunting me.

I
snagged a taxi and told him to take me to Rachel’s house. I couldn’t even
imagine entering my apartment once more, knowing that all the while, Jason was
watching me. He knew where I was, what I was doing.

He
knew everything.

I
pounded up the steps to the apartment and yanked at the knob. My elbow cranked,
but the door wouldn’t budge. I realized, then, that I’d come home a bit
early—that Rachel wouldn’t be home from work for another half hour. Feeling the
strain of this course through me, I pushed my back against the wall and glided
down, down, down to the ground. I shook my head into my hands, feeling like
nothing was working—like nothing would ever work again.

I
tried to think good thoughts about the earlier afternoon, about kissing the
president on his couch, about making plans for our weekend. Unfortunately, the
entire time, all I could think about was that Camille was lurking outside, her
eyes so watchful and certain that her husband was cheating on her. I hated it—I
hated this feeling. I began to cry, feeling the tears course down my cheeks.

Finally,
I heard them: the clatter of Rachel’s heels up the steps. I lurched up into a
standing position, ready for her to appear on the other side of the wall. And
that she did: eagerly smiling at me, swinging her satchel from side to side.
She waved her hand toward me, and I felt my heart nearly explode in my chest.
“Rachel! God, it’s so good to see you!”

She
began talking to me about her day, telling me about various office drama. All
the while, her eyes looked at me curiously. I knew that she could tell that I’d
been crying; I knew that she had a sort of sixth sense about my emotions.
However, she didn’t say anything, knowing that if I wanted to share, I would. I
absolutely would.

But I
felt that I had been far too annoying about my lack of ability to tell her
anything the previous day—when I’d rambled on and delivered nearly nothing of
my predicament. And so I bit my lip and started preparing dinner, listening to
music, and trying to filter my brain into a sort of happiness. The happiness
was lined with fear, with anxiety. But it would have to do for now.

It was
so strange how my situation haunted me in such a way. It seemed that everything
I did, everything I said reminded me of the fact that my career and my life
could come crashing around me at any second. I sliced a vegetable, and the fear
of the next few months pulsed through my body. It was nearly like I couldn’t do
anything but brace myself for the crash. The crash was certainly coming.

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.