Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (19 page)

And even though I was still in disguise in the
photo, and therefore should have been unidentifiable, it was pretty
clear that whoever had stolen the pics knew exactly who I was,
since the caption below the second photo in every paper’s morning
edition positively identified me as “Jasmine Rand, longtime
publicist for Senator Grayle’s office.” My round, fleshy,
size-fourteen ass was positively identified in each and every local
and national newspaper for the entire Washington DC metro area to
view and enjoy with their morning coffee.

Every
paper.

Even the
Beltway Times.

In fact, the
Times
had even made a point to
make my photo larger and less grainy than Grayle’s.

Rodney Doyle and his sleazy tabloid had betrayed me.
He’d
used
me.

The fucking bastard.

In shock and disgust I dropped my coffee mug,
splashing my scalding morning joe all over the piles of newspapers
and onto my own shins and feet. Heads turned all over the shop, but
I turned and ran rather than clean up. I couldn’t risk any of those
people recognizing the lower half of my face or body from the
photos and putting two and two together.

“Hey! Lady!” the shop owner shouted after me as I
ran away. “You’ll pay for those!”

Yes, I will
, I thought as I bolted out onto
the street.
In more ways than one.

Rebecca found me in my cubicle an hour later, my
head face-down on my desktop. I looked up and saw she carried
several morning newspapers under her arm. I noticed the one on top
was my hometown newspaper from North Dakota, the Bismarck
Register.
It apparently had picked up the story from the
wires; the headline read “LOCAL WOMAN CAUGHT UP IN GRAYLE SEX
SCANDAL.”

“So you’ve heard,” I groaned.

She pulled up a chair and sat down beside me.
“Jasmine, it’s not the end of the world,” she said, and patted me
softly on the shoulder.

“No, just the end of my life.” I started banging my
head hard against the desktop. I figured I might as well try to
hasten the inevitable.

“Look at the bright side,” Rebecca said. “It’s
pretty obvious from the photograph that you had some great
sex.”

I shrugged. “Ha. A lot of difference that makes
now.”

Rebecca forced me to sit up. “Jasmine, you aren’t
the first person on earth to get caught in the act. Believe
me.”

“Maybe not, but I
am
the first person on
earth to get caught in the act on the front page of every major
newspaper in the country.”

Rebecca giggled. “Actually, no, you’re the second.
The first person was our boss.”

Even I had to chuckle at that. “At least he’s safe
and sound in North Dakota now where nobody can bother him.”

“Not exactly,” Rebecca said. “If I know the people
of Bismarck the way I think I do, he’s probably got an angry mob on
his front lawn waiting to tar and feather him.”

“You’re probably right,” I sighed. “And that means I
can’t exactly go back home myself, even if I wanted to. How can I
face my parents now? They’ll be so embarrassed.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Rebecca offered. “I think mostly
they’ll be worried about you.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, right. You don’t know my parents.
When it comes to things like this, they make Pat Robertson look
liberal. They probably thought I was still a virgin.”

Rebecca smiled. “They weren’t too far off. You said
yourself that until Rodney Doyle came along, you hadn’t had a date
in over two years. That qualified you for born-again virgin status
as far as I’m concerned.”

As far as I was concerned, too
, I thought.
“Yeah, and that’s how I got into this mess in the first place. I
never would have gotten mixed up with that rat bastard Randy Doyle
if I hadn’t been so desperate to get laid.”

“Do you think Rodney Doyle is behind this,
then?”

“Of c
ourse
he is!” I cried. “
He’s
the
one who sent me to that stupid sex club to spy on Senator Grayle in
the first place. And the photos are on the cover of
his
paper. He used me. I trusted him, and he
used
me.”

Rebecca’s face fell. “So you were going behind
Senator Grayle’s back this whole time. I thought you were trying to
help
him. And us.”

I felt my cheeks go hot with shame. “Yes, I was. I
admit it. I went behind Senator Grayle’s back because Rodney Doyle
promised me a job to replace this one if I did some undercover work
for him. And I figured I’d be out of a job soon, so I had to do
something.
And then of course there was the sex part, which
I enjoyed. I know that what I was doing was wrong, but frankly, I
didn’t see that I had any choice at the time.”

That didn’t seem to impress Rebecca very much. “You
did
have a choice. You could have chosen not to do it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, Rebecca. I really,
really am.” I stood up and gathered my things. “I should probably
go now. I’m sure that after all that’s happened, I don’t have a job
here anymore.”

Rebecca hesitated, then gave me a hug. “Jasmine, I’d
be lying if I said that what you did didn’t upset me. But we’ve
known each other a long time. I still consider you a friend. And as
your friend, I’d like to say that I’m glad you had a good time with
Rodney Doyle while it lasted. You were way past due for a good time
if you ask me.”

I sighed. “Thanks, for saying so, but it doesn’t
make me feel any less used.”

“Are you absolutely sure Rodney was behind all
this?” Rebecca asked.

I threw up my hands. “Of
course
he was! Who
else could possibly have done it?”

Rebecca frowned. “So you’re just making an
assumption, then.”

“Well, I’d say it’s a pretty valid assumption. He
owns
the Beltway Times, after all. And the
Times
printed those pictures just like all the other papers did. I’m sure
the whole reason he met up with me in the first place was with some
kind of angle like this in mind. Then he made sure to get hold of
those pictures from the sex club, and then
sold
the pictures
to all the other papers, too. If he wasn’t directly in on the whole
deal, he would have put a stop to it.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows raised. “Are you sure? One of his
lower-level staff could have been responsible. I highly doubt
Rodney personally edits and approves each and every issue of the
Times
. It could have slipped past him without his
knowledge.”

I scoffed. “I highly doubt it.”

“Well, you’ll never know for sure unless you ask him
yourself.”

I took my coat off the rack and laughed. “Yeah,
right. I’d rather eat glass.”

Rebecca’s expression softened. I could see the pity
in her eyes, and it made me uneasy. “I know it doesn’t sound like
fun,” she said. “But after all you two have done together in the
past two days, I think you should at least give the man a chance to
explain himself. If he turns out to be a sleazy, slimy bastard who
used you—fine. At least then you’ll know. But if you don’t confront
him and find out the truth first-hand, I think you’ll regret it for
the rest of your life.”

“More like I’ll regret
meeting
Rodney Doyle
for the rest of my life,” I retorted. But I didn’t really believe
it. Deep down, I knew Rebecca was right. I had to confront Rodney
directly at some point, or I’d never forgive myself.

But I didn’t want to think about that right now. All
I wanted to do was crawl under the biggest rock I could find and
stay there forever.

****

I packed all my office supplies into a box and
carried them home with me on the subway, along with the personal
photos and a potted philodendron I’d kept on my desk for two years.
I knew I could never show my face in Senator Grayle’s office again.
I wasn’t going to wait around for him to fire me; I departed with
what little dignity I had left.

I arrived at my building and trudged up to my
apartment. It was hardly in the condition necessary to sustain me
through the extended hibernation I felt I needed. My cupboards were
bare—I hadn’t set foot in a grocery store in months. There were
piles of dirty laundry everywhere and there was a huge stack of
suits and blouses that I’d never found time to take to the dry
cleaners in my closet. The bathroom was grimy and dirty, the
carpets covered in dust and lint.

My apartment looked how I felt—soiled, used, and
tired. But I couldn’t summon the energy to clean it up. I spent
three hours on the sofa, staring at the carpet and feeling sorry
for myself. I couldn’t even relax in front of the television,
because no matter what channel I tuned it to, the regularly
scheduled programming kept getting interrupted with the latest news
on the “North Dakota Nooky” scandal, as it was being called
now.When I flipped the TV to CNN, I was shocked to see a videotaped
photo retrospective of my girlhood in North Dakota and my years in
Washington. As the retrospective progressed, the news announcer
wondered aloud how I’d somehow gone from being a wholesome,
virginal, All-American girl to a two-bit whore with her naked butt
exposed on national television.

God only knew how the news network had gotten hold
of grainy pictures of me as everything from a cute toddler to gawky
sixth-grade Girl Scout and skinny teenager with frizzy hair and
braces to a tipsy sorority girl back at Georgetown. Most of the
photos were ones I had never seen before, which made me wonder
which one of my old grammar-school or college classmates had dug up
those old photos out of their scrapbooks just so they could
capitalize on the scandal and sell them for ready cash. I figured
it probably had been Sadie Marshall, my old rival for the
valedictorian slot of my high school class back in Bismarck, and
also possibly Daphne Donaldson, my snobby sorority sister at
Georgetown’s chapter of Alpha Chi Omega, who’d always been bitter
about losing the election for chapter president to me our senior
year. What a way for both of them to get revenge for petty
squabbles that had happened decades ago!

Fed up with television, I skulked off to the shower.
I needed to wash off what seemed to be layers and layers of
scandal-laden filth off my body. I no longer felt like the exotic,
sensual sexpot I had yesterday. Today, I just felt cheap.

I finished showering and wrapped myself in my
favorite terrycloth robe. I gazed at myself in the steam-fogged
mirror and despaired at what I saw. Huge black bags under my eyes.
Mottled, blotchy skin. Lips pulled downward in what looked to be a
permanent frown.

I guessed this was what miles of nonstop negative
press attention could do to a person. No wonder Monica Lewinsky had
put on so much weight after the Clinton impeachment scandal
hit.

Suddenly, the shoe was on the other foot. I’d spent
my entire PR career working to elevate the politicians I worked for
in the media solely by tearing down and mudslinging their
opponents. And now,
I
was the one being torn down.
I
was the one having mud slung at her naked ass on television.
I
was the one being humiliated.

And I was sure that in some ways, I probably
deserved it.

As I brushed out my damp hair I came to a
realization. I could either sit home, stewing in my own juices and
feeling sorry for myself and my pathetic situation, or I could do
something about it. The only question was,
what?

For the first time in my entire PR career, I was at
a complete loss on what to do about a media disaster. I racked my
brain for inspiration; after all, I’d rescued plenty of other
Washington insiders whose careers went on the skids when scandal
hit. I’d built an entire career around my skills as a
damage-control expert, for Christ’s sake. How could I apply those
skills to my own situation?

I honestly had no idea.

I headed for the kitchen to search for something to
drink. If memory served, I still had a half-bottle of vodka in my
otherwise empty freezer. I poured myself a glass and drank it
straight because I had nothing in the house to mix it with. Within
five minutes of guzzling the strong liquor, I finally got an idea.
A rather
crazy
idea. An idea that I thought might not have
an iceberg’s chance in Hades of working.

But it was the only hope I had at this point.

In order to get started, I needed to leave town and
have a nice, long rest far away from Washington. But not
too
far. I had to be no farther than a short plane trip away, so I
could get back quickly just in case my crazy plan worked.

I found my purse and dug through it until I found
the dog-eared business card Dexter the cab driver had given me the
day before. I’d need Dexter’s help in bringing my plan to
fruition.

Chapter
14

Dexter came to pick me up for the airport only
fifteen minutes after receiving my call. “I had a feeling you’d be
calling me soon, Jasmine,” he said. “Tough break on the newspaper
pictures. That’s some nasty luck, hon.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I sneered. “Why do you
think I’m hightailing it out of Washington on a moment’s
notice?”

“I don’t blame you a bit,” Dexter said, his
expression grandfatherly and kind in the cab’s rearview mirror.
“Where you headed? I hope it’s somewhere nice.”

“St. Lucia,” I answered, checking my reflection in
my mirrored compact. “One of those all-inclusive luxury resorts. I
had a bunch of airline miles built up on my credit card that were
set to expire if I didn’t use them soon. I cashed them in at the
travel agency and it was almost enough to cover the entire trip! I
only had to pay two hundred dollars out-of-pocket, and everything
is paid for once I arrive. I even got an upgrade to a suite.”