Billionaire In Hiding: The Complete Series (Alpha Billionaire Romance Western Love Story) (103 page)

I spun around, then, feeling the tears
running hot and steady down my face. I pushed through the door and began
running through the familiar hallways, back toward my desk. A small girl—one of
the campaign workers—rushed toward me with a phone pressed to her chest. Her
eyes were wide. “Amanda! I have a very important question for you—“

But I held up my hand, shaking my head. “I
have a terrible migraine, Denise,” I whispered, placing my hand on my head.
“Please. Give me—give me just a moment.”

Denise looked at me with a gaped
expression on her face. She wasn’t sure what to do, I knew: but I wasn’t cut
out for this anymore. Not now. I had done too much—I’d nearly ruined the entire
operation.

I caught my cardigan
around my bony shoulders and I grabbed my bag. In the dark hallway, back toward
the oval office, I saw Xavier suddenly. He peeked out of his office, like he
was watching me from afar. His shadow was so dark. I felt my body shiver with
longing for him. But I knew—I knew everything had to stop. It had to stop dead.
He didn’t know what was at stake.

I ran toward the steps,
turning away from the president. I could still feel his eyes on me as I fled.
The tears continued as I rushed into a taxi and told him to take me the fuck
home.

Chapter
2

In the back of the taxi,
I allowed the tears to fall fast down my cheeks. My long fingers clung to my
cheeks. I could hear the taxi driver in the front seat, whistling away with
such utter contentment.

“Miss? Are you all
right?” he finally asked me, peering at the rearview mirror.

I nodded, choking a bit.

Truly, the anger was
pulsing through me, throwing me off. I didn’t feel like my true self. Just the
day before, I’d been so enraptured with the president. I’d been of the—albeit,
strained—belief that he and I could be together, that nothing could stop us.

And yet this man, Jason,
who’d I’d viewed as a friend before, turned on me. He’d given me to the dogs.
And now I was to be his slave.

No one had ever gotten
the better of me. All the way through college, I’d won every campaign I’d come
up against. I’d been wide-eyed and assertive; no one had ever dared to cross
me. Even the men in my life hadn’t dared to keep up with me. They’d allowed me
to pass, like a great ship through the night, beside them and then beyond them.
Everyone knew that I was headed toward greater things. And I’d always known
that, as well.

The taxi turned right,
down my street. I pushed open the door of the taxi and handed the man several
bills. I didn’t make eye contact with him, didn’t thank him. I didn’t want
contact. I certainly didn’t want anyone to really, really see me cry—to see the
desolation lurking behind my eyes.

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.