Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (97 page)

He
brought his other hand into a wave, then. His face lit up brilliantly. He
called toward me. “I thought you weren’t home!”

I
thought wildly. “Just got back!” I lied.

He
nodded, his grin stretching over his face. He held the flowers up toward me,
pointing them at me.

“What
are those?” I asked him, playing dumb.

“You
know what they are!” he called back, shaking his head. “You know!”

“How
can I talk to you? I’m all the way up here!”

“Come
down,” Xavier said, gesturing. “Come on! It won’t be long. And hey. It’s
private. This isn’t business. Just to be clear.” His smile grew larger.

“As
long as you’re sure,” I said back, spinning around and winding toward the back
of the apartment. Rachel stood in the kitchen, a cup of coffee still in her
hands.

“Remember
what I told you,” she whispered, bringing her arms around me as I pushed toward
the door. I halted, allowing her to hug me and feeling the warmth of her
friendship.

“I
will, mom,” I teased, bursting through the door. “I’ll be right back!”

I
wound down the steps, toward the front of the apartment building. There,
standing by the limo, stood the president of the United States. He held flowers
in his hands, and his eyes were geared only toward me. I calmed my speeding
heart and placed a cool, dispassionate smile on my face. “Hey,” I called to
him, taking long strides.

“Hey,”
he answered back. He handed the flowers toward me, nearly touching my hands
during the transition. In this moment, my mind had begun to spin once more. I
knew that I wanted to see him, that I wanted to be with him. But wasn’t this
far too complicated?

“I
didn’t think you were home,” he gestured.

I
shook my head. “I wasn’t. I took the elevator. I went to the grocery store.”
The lines were coming swiftly, coolly from my mouth. He had no questions, no
qualms.

“I’m
glad I caught you,” he said, his eyes unsure. A few feet behind him, the secret
service agents looked on, beyond us. “I wanted to—I wanted to tell you I was sorry
once more. I’ve been a mess, a completely terrible friend. I want to make
things right between us. And I’m willing to do whatever I can.”

I
blinked up at him, unsure of what to say. Of course: he was offering me his
world. He was offering a time in which we could love each other, be with each
other. But did I want that life?

My
voice was hesitant as I brought the words forth. “I suppose we could talk it
out,” I stated, then. “I’d love to be friends.”

His
eyes lost a small edge, a small gleam. “Friends. Yes. Are you free at all this
week? I know you said you were taking a leave from the office, but—“

I
brought my hand up and waved it to the side. I paused before proceeding,
knowing in my heart that this was the right move. “Xavier. I don’t want to
quit. This has been my life dream, from the beginning. I’d love to meet you for
lunch. Monday work well for you?”

Xavier
nodded subtly, looking at me with such earnestness.

“You
haven’t told anyone I’ve quit, have you?” I asked him, worried suddenly. My
heart leaped into my throat.

He
shook his head, nearly laughing. “I didn’t want to face that quit yet,” he
murmured. “Too much has been on my mind lately.”

“Well,”
I sniffed. “We can work that out on Monday. At least some of it. I don’t know
about the Chinese government or what you have going on in Russia. But I’m
willing to learn; I’m willing to be there for you.” My voice was filled with
tenderness.

He
nodded. “I know. And I want to be here for you, as well. Which is why I want to
talk to you about dealing with our little Jason problem on Monday, as well.”

I
closed my eyes, remembering, in a great blast of regret, that going into work
meant that I would have to see Jason once more. I could see his stupid grin,
his fat, smirking cheeks. I shook for a moment, remembering the threats he’d
thrown at me. But I had to be strong.

One of
the secret agents approached us, then, and leaned toward Xavier. He murmured
something about being outside, out in the open like this. Xavier brought his
hand up, nodding. His eyes darted toward me once more. “I think that’s my cue.”

“I
understand. You’re called,” I said, my voice chipper. My heart wanted him to
stay by my side. My heart wanted me to demand of him how the hell we were going
to stay together, with so much up against us.

“I’ll
see you Monday?” he asked. He shot toward the limo, his eyes toward me.

I
nodded, bringing the tulips up toward my face. “Monday!” I called to him.

I
watched as the limo sped out of the apartment parking lot, out toward the
freeway. I wondered what Xavier thought about in that moment, as he leaned his
head back onto the limo headrest. I dreamed of a future in which we could be
together, in which we could each live with equal political power. I dreamed of
a future in which I could feel safe in loving him, in which I could hold his
hand and speak with him in the open about anything and everything.

I
turned and fled up the steps once more, anxious for the coming meeting with
Xavier, and incredibly anxious to get back to work and clamber back into my career-woman
status. After all: I had been away for a mere few days, and yet: I already had
the itch to keep moving, keep driving. As my mother once said, I could never
stop the success train. When I felt boredom and stillness shroud around me, I
was bound to take action.

Chapter 8

The
following Monday, I arrived back to the office bright and early. I tapped
along, feeling such a vivaciousness about me once more. It was like I had been
re-born. Everyone who saw me said hello, such surprise glimmering in their
eyes. They all wondered where I had gone, why I had disappeared. Suddenly, I
was back. Like a whirlwind.

I sat
at my desk and peered across the many campaign workers, all of whom were
working on the campaign strategy for the following year. It was a challenge for
many of them, I knew. After all: this was often a first-job-out-of-college
situation—a situation in which people were often in over their heads,
scrambling to create something good for both the future of this presidency and
the future of their careers. The campaign trail was only traveled so long.

I
parsed through the phone book in my computer, reading all of the many names of
the team. I hadn’t hired a single one of them. I wondered who had. I had been
hired after all of them, I knew; only after the person in my role had stepped
down. I bit my lip and finally found the girls’ names. Monica and Tiffany. I
bit my lip and brought my phone to my chin, dialing the numbers slowly. I made
sure that everyone in the surrounding desks were paying attention only to their
computers, their work. And then, I allowed the phones to ring.

The
first girl I rang answered the phone after three solid rings. She sounded
annoyed, surely recognizing the office number. But I explained to her the
situation.

“Hi,
Rachel,” I stated into the phone. “This is Amanda Martin. I wondered if I could
ask you and your friend, Monica—who I will be calling here shortly—if you would
like your positions back at the campaign team. Both of you ladies have such
enormous potential. You belong to this place, to this creative, energetic zone.
Won’t you consider?”

“Um.”
The girl on the other line was clearly surprised. I hadn’t taken a single speck
of interest in her in the previous few months, and now I was calling her
personal line. “Monica and I will have to talk it over.”

“I
understand!” I interjected. “Of course. Just please understand that one woman
losing her cool should not be enough to pummel you out of this business. I’m
trying to keep you on track.” I swallowed, closing my eyes. Already, I felt
like some formation of my mother. I felt like I was bowing to them, ready to
please them with anything.

Rachel
paused for a moment. “What the heck, Miss Martin,” she stated, then. I heard
her smack her gum. “I want that job back. God, I do. I’ll convince Monica to
come back, as well.”

“I can
expect you back tomorrow morning?” I asked her, my voice nearly quivering. I
wanted to make her seem strong, powerful. We couldn’t have any more fear
mongering in this place.

“Yes.
Both of us,” Rachel said, assuring me. “I look forward to it!”

“Me,
too, Rachel,” I whispered. I clicked the phone closed and peered around me, a
sense of pride entering back into my soul. This was what I was meant to do: to
create opportunities for these women, to fuel a growth in the woman’s
population at the White House.

I got
up, then, and walked toward the desk at which the young girls would be sitting.
I arranged the papers, the folders. I spun back around and found myself face to
face with Jason, then. My pleasure in my actions shattered at the look on
Jason’s face. It was a look of malice.

“What
are you up to?” he asked me, leaning against his desk. He brought me closer to
him by tugging at my sleeve, and I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“What
do you mean?” I swallowed, shaking my head.

“All this
sneaking around, behind my back. You have to remember that I’m on your side, in
many ways, Amanda.” He blared an evil smile toward me.

“It’s
not that, Jason,” I said, shaking my body from his hands, so oily, they slipped
right off me, leaving a sweat patch. “I’ve just been really ill. You have to
understand that.” I smiled at him half-heartedly, moving toward my desk once
more. I spun around and swerved into my desk, peering down at the messy papers
beneath me. My face burned, and I dared him to approach me once more, to tell
me what to do. I dared him to try to ruin me.

Suddenly,
Dimitri appeared at my side. His burly self took up so much space. He crossed
his arms and leaned close to me, a disapproving expression lingering over his
lips. “The president would like to speak with you for your lunch hour.”

“I’ll
be there straight away, Dimitri,” I said, smiling up at him, shaking myself
from my anger toward Jason.

But
Dimitri didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Amanda. This is a confidential location, and I
must take you myself. You understand?”

My
heart quickened. I stood up hurriedly, nodding. A fearful expression waffled
across my face. I knew I needed to appear strong in front of him; I knew I
needed to show him that I could be his campaign manager and even his girlfriend,
if I wanted to be. I couldn’t let things phase me in the same ways, anymore.

I
followed Dimitri down the steps. I expected him to take me back toward the side
room, offered only through a separate door, at the base of the White House. But
he led me just a few floors down, closer to the East Wing. I peered at him
curiously, my eyebrows furrowed. He opened the door.

“Here?”
I whispered, my voice scratchy.

He
nodded disdainfully toward me, his eyes still searching beyond me. He wouldn’t
be friendly toward me again, I knew.

I
entered the room. It was small, brought together with floral, blue wallpaper.
Several gold mirrors glittered around the room, reflecting my fine, feathery
brunette hair and my small waist. I twirled in the mirror as Dimitri shut the
door behind him, leaving me in peace.

The
table had already been set. A large, golden slow cooker was sitting in the
center, closed and sealing the heat for our fantastic meal. I eased toward it
and opened it, finding myself braced with the elaborate smell of spiced and
herbed chicken, potatoes, Brussels sprouts. I closed it quickly and felt my
stomach rattling. So empty.

I
twirled once more, feeling the anxiety filter away from me. It was like I could
suddenly pretend like the previous few weeks of anger, of sadness had never
happened. In my reverie of lost thought, I couldn’t hear anything; I held my
eyes closed. I was alone in my little world.

Suddenly,
I felt his hands at my waist. I stopped short and leaned into his warm body,
feeling the fineness of his suit between my fingers. I kept my eyes closed as
he brought his hands more tightly around my waist, wrapping me into an embrace.

“You’re
a beautiful dancer,” he breathed into my ear, making me feel so sensual. My
brain dove into sexual thought immediately. I imagined myself overtop of him,
humping him. Making his eyes close with passion.

“Thank
you,” I breathed instead, rearing my face up toward his. We hadn’t had our talk
yet, I reminded myself. I took a step back, shaking my head and trying to root
myself back in reality. “This looks like a fine meal. The location is a bit—“

But
Xavier just waved his hand. “It’s fine. Please. Sit down.” He gestured, and I
sat across from him, placing the napkin over my lap. The tension between us
hadn’t dissipated. I wanted to calm myself down, to find the proper words to
say.

“Would
you like some wine?” he asked. He reached toward the bottle and poured it for
both he and I. I listened to the glug glug glug of the liquid as it escalated
into the glass.

We
clinked our glasses together, our eyes meeting across the table. I was trying
to quell my sexual appetite. I turned my eyes back toward the chicken. “So. We
meet again,” I said, my voice a bit jocular.