Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (99 page)

“Thank
you, Camille,” Xavier began. But his words were cut off by the crashing door.
The golden, mirror-rimmed door left us alone in the room once more. Xavier
blinked toward me, a strange look emanating from his face. He shook his head.
And then, in a strange burst, he came toward me. He placed his fingers—so
delicately—on my neck, on my chin. He kissed me with a zeal, with a passion
that made me want to rip off his clothes once more. My breath came unevenly. It
seemed that our future was wide open for us; it seemed that nothing stood in
our way.

His
eyes gazed into mine, and I nodded slowly, as if we were agreeing to something.
I wasn’t sure what it was. But, in that moment, we both started laughing. I
felt my heart rise up in my chest: it seemed that this moment of sheer, prime
happiness would last forever.

Chapter 2

But
suddenly, I brought my hands to his, still positioned at my fine, feminine
jawline. “Baby,” I whispered. “God.” My voice came in forced laughter. “We have
to go to the meeting.” These were the first mutterings I’d made since Camille
had entered the room. The words came, so guttural.

We
were already twenty-five minutes late for the meeting: the two most important
people in its attendance. I scurried to the mirror one last time and tugged my
fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look inconspicuous. Xavier
brought his arms around my thin waist and kissed my neck. “Let’s bail on the
meeting,” he whispered.

I giggled,
my brain in a faraway place. “We can’t, Mr. President,” I murmured.

“And
why not?” he asked.

My
voice was hushed. I spun toward him, my eyes glinting. “Because we still have a
single, big problem on our hands.”

Xavier
bowed his head. “You mean Jason, don’t you?”

My
heart stopped at the mere mention of his name. “I do.”

Xavier
wrapped his arm around my waist and spun me back toward the door, almost
gruffly. He didn’t answer my concern. Suddenly, we were bursting down the
hallway, the secret service agents following us at an alarming pace. I knew
that we were several hallways, several stairs away from the conference room. I
tried my best, during this time, to calm my rushing brain. My eyes continually
lifted toward Xavier. But his nose, his mouth arched in such a serious manner.
He sniffed. He’d taken his arms from around my waist, and now he walked side by
side, him a half stride ahead of me, keeping his eyes on the White House
hallway horizon.

When
we reached the conference room, Xavier brought his hands up toward the door. He
turned toward me and whispered. “Stay outside for five minutes. I’ll warm them
up. This way, it will seem that—“

“That
we came from different places,” I nodded. “Got it.”

The
president nodded. With a curt motion toward his tie, he swept into the room. I
heard the great campaign team lift to their feet at his arrival. “Please,” the
president said. I could still hear the vibrato of his voice. “Sit. I’m terribly
late. Please. Someone update me on the proceedings.”

But
already, his voice was too far away, echoing in the great conference room. I
turned toward the agents, all of whom held their eyes away from me, as if I
were an embarrassment to them. I scurried around the corner, biting my lip. I
tried to steady my rushing mind. Camille was fine. She was good. She wouldn’t
give us away, as long as we didn’t publicly set out to ruin her life. This
affirmed my previous suspicions, when I’d told Xavier not to leave his wife.
Not yet. It would have ruined his presidency. He wouldn’t have won the
election, certainly.

I
checked my watch, noting it had been three minutes. I would rev the meeting
forward. We would be constructive, during the time we had left. I righted my
shoulders and tapped back toward the door. I gave a snarky look to one of the
Secret Service agents. God, they’d never like me. Not after this.

I
pushed into the conference room.

Several
of the campaign team members righted themselves as I approached the well-lit
room. I saw the two girls I’d fired previously. They stood toward the middle,
holding notebooks, their smiles gleaming toward me. I gave them both a subtle
nod. Ah. Second chances: I knew precisely what they felt like.

Xavier
stood at the front of the room, side-by-side with Jason, who held a baton in
his hand. “Ah. So nice of you to join us, Miss Martin,” Jason began. A few
people throughout the room chuckled.

I
bowed my head, smiling. “Oh, Jason. Your classic jokes are too much for me
sometimes.” I winked toward him, making him take a step back. I brought my
hands toward the campaign team before me. “Team. We have much to discuss.” I
immediately took over the conversation in that moment. Xavier stood a few feet
to my right, nearly gleaming at my prowess over the campaign team. In the back
of my mind, I knew I was proving it—both to him and myself—that I could
champion this team forward. That we could win this war.

I
tapped my own baton against the statistics on the board. “The republicans are
creeping up, team. We can’t get lazy.” I brought my hand into a fist and shook
it toward them, placing a fire in their hearts. I told them their next moves,
their next motivations. “I know that we’ve been neglecting the issue of
Israel,” I noted, then, bringing the talk to a serious note. “But we must
heighten our approach once more. Tell the population that our sincerest
sympathies and allies lie with Israel. Affirm that we will support them, even
as we attempt to strengthen ties with other countries in the Middle East.”

Xavier
spoke up, then. He brought his finger into the air, waiting until I stopped
speaking to interject. “That’s right. News sources have latched onto this,
questioning our handling of the Middle East. I need your help, team, in order
to affirm to the people of America that I stand with Israel.” He pounded his
fist against his chest. I stared at his handsome, bearded face, feeling my
heart beat with the memory of the pleasure that had occurred between us.

Beside
us, I heard someone clear his throat. I spun my head to my left to find Jason
before us, his eyes tracing from Xavier to me and then back again. I gulped,
sensing that he was about to say something—to reveal us. But he didn’t. He kept
his mouth firmly closed, a subtle smirk growing. The fear in my heart was
ripping at me, telling me to take care of this loose end, telling me that
having Jason on the loose—with all this information at his fingertips—was a
serious disaster waiting to happen.

Xavier
brought his hands together, then, with a loud clap. The campaign team turned
their attention toward him, their pencils high in the air. They tapped their
erasers onto their lips, their eyes dark.

“That’s
it for today, team,” Xavier stated. Such authority, such grandness. “Well meet
back here tomorrow, yes? And discuss the events of the rest of the afternoon.
Go out there. Convince voters that we know what’s right for America.” He
brought his fist into the air, then. The entire campaign team stood up and
brought their hands together in spontaneous applause. I brought my hands
together, as well, still smelling the heat of his body on my fingertips. I eyed
him as he excused himself from the campaign room, darting back into the White
House hallway. The day had been a productive one for both of us. We were
walking down an even path; a path toward understanding, toward being together
for good.

But
beside me, Jason tapped his own pencil against the board, alerting my attention
once more. All around us, the campaign team was filtering out in their various
directions, sweeping to rest rooms and their separate desks in the West Wing.
He brought his lips toward my ears, and I felt my back shiver—right where it
met with my hips.

“Remember
to watch yourself, Miss Priss,” he whispered to me, adjusting his belt as it
sagged on his overzealous belly. “Remember that someone’s always watching you.”

I felt
my smile falter. I cut my teeth out over my lip and brought my eyes low, to the
ground, as Jason passed by me. He clapped his hands loudly, allowing them to
echo throughout the campaign room. “YEE-HA, TEAM!” he called over their heads.
And several yee-hawed back.

Chapter 3

I
brought my hands to my forehead and shook out my displeasure from the previous
moment, from hearing Jason’s voice—so icy—in my ears. I lurched my watch to my
eyes and noted I still had a few more hours in the White House. To rip myself
from the strangeness of the day, I decided to march back to my desk and do serious
work.

As I
sat in my chair, making countless phone calls and arranging meetings with
various members of Congress, I peered around me, feeling a sense of relief,
finally, at being away from Jason, from the First Lady, Camille, and from
Xavier—yes, even Xavier. Here, in my desk, I could pretend that I was a member
of the normal, politically-driven society. Only here did I feel like the person
I’d been attempting to build, to strive toward for the past decade (since day
one of college, of course). It had been an accident that I’d fallen in love at
all. The biggest mistake? He was the president. He controlled everything. And
his wife controlled him.

But
things seemed to be coming together, although I wasn’t completely sure how or
why. I certainly hadn’t slaved to create this fantasy—like I’d slaved to get
every other position I currently had. Rather: I’d gone with the flow, allowed
myself to fall, fall, fall. Was it actually going to work out? Was it actually
going to go smoothly?

I
pushed myself from my desk that evening and swept back to Rachel’s house,
knowing that I’d spend an evening of relaxation, of joy with one of the only
people I could trust. I didn’t tell her much about the day’s events. Rather, I
allowed her to tell me about her day at work. I allowed her to rant about one
of her co-workers, and I made her laugh. Bringing a fresh smile to my friend’s
eyes. We drank wine heartily. We cooked a meal together, as well—a frittata,
for dinner. We cracked eggs into this great glass bowl, and she whizzed at them
with a fork before pouring them over zucchinis, broccolis, sausages,
onions—everything cut with such precision. The colors sparkled beneath the
well-lit kitchen. Outside, the growing darkness was alerting us: it was nearly
winter, it was coming. But in the warmth of her kitchen, we couldn’t care. This
was all we needed.

We ate
the frittata and drank further into the night. I allowed my mind to glide away
from the truth of the White House. I tried not to imagine the First Lady and
the President’s conversation that evening.
 

“Amanda?”

I
heard the words, as if from a distance.

“Amanda?”

Finally,
I jostled my head toward my friend beside me. Rachel held her wine up, and it
glittered in the light. “I wanted to present a toast. To your career. And to
your commitment to this—this political field.”

We
clinked glasses, and then I set my finger up, pointing at the light above. “And
to you. For knowing when to get out of a bad situation—“

“You
mean my own political career?” Rachel asked, laughing. Her laugh was always so
good-natured, hearty.

I
nodded. “For knowing yourself well enough to work for what you want.”

We
drank, then. And we giggled into the night, allowing ourselves to ease into the
morning.

The
next morning, I sat at my desk in the West Wing and swept my eyes over the
campaign team. Everyone seemed so rooted in the belief for this president. It
was inspiring to see how everyone had firmed their work efforts in the hours
since the previous campaign meeting. I nodded toward Jason, across the room. My
eyes burned toward him, and he gave me an evil grin. The fear of it made my
shiver.

I knew
that I had a great deal to think about—that I hadn’t allowed my mind to
consider all my options the previous evening. Better, I’d thought, to cling to
the fun moments I had left with my friend. Surely, the seasons would change.
Surely, I wouldn’t see her as often, very soon. It seemed that everything was
coming to a head. We would resolve our friendship with the occasional dinner
and drink; we’d find lackluster things to talk about. But we’d drift apart. Our
lives were too different, now.

I
stood from my desk and tapped out of the West Wing, winding my way down the
staircase. I nodded toward a secret service agent, one that held eagle eyes
toward me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked me.

I
nodded toward him primly. “For a walk in the White House grounds,” I murmured
back, blinking my long eyelashes toward him.

“It’s
quite chilly today. Below fifty, I’d say,” the secret service agent answered
back.

I shrugged,
showing him the black coat I’d draped over my arm. I brought it around my
shoulders like a cape, and I murmured toward him. “I won’t be gone long.”

At
this time of the year, the Rose Garden had been shrouded up, brought to face
the dull and driven winters of the Washington D.C. area. However, I felt a
sense of solace out there by myself. In the summer, it was swarming with
tourists, with guests of the White House. But then, it was only me. My thoughts
swirled around me, staying low beneath the shaded, cloudy skies.