Politically Incorrect (13 page)

William Baxter: I need your opinion on something.

A little curious, I plopped down on the bed where I typed out a quick response.

Elizabeth McNeal: How can I help?

I tucked my feet beneath me and leaned forward so that my elbows rested on my knees. Within seconds a new message appeared. This time it included attachments. I clicked the attachments and my jaw hit the ground. There were two selfies of Liam from the chin down. One was of him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a bright yellow tie. The other was in the same underwear with a chartreuse tie. I blinked, shook my head, and pulled the phone away from my face to make sure I wasn’t imagining he’d sent me such a thing.

When I determined my headache wasn’t screwing with my vision, I quickly replied.

Elizabeth McNeal: ARE YOU NUTS? Why would you send me something like that? You have to be careful with what you send out electronically.

While I scolded him, I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the nearly naked man in the photographs. His body was alluring. A feast for the eyes. Hardcore perfection. A body made by the gods for the gods. My phone chirped again, causing me to jump. I returned to the messages to read Liam’s reaction.

William Baxter: It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before. So, tell me, which tie should I wear?

I placed my phone in my lap and rubbed my temples again. If my head wasn’t already pounding it would’ve been after that little stunt. I grabbed my phone and tapped out a response.

Elizabeth McNeal: I thought we were going to let our little incident go?

I hopped up off the bed and closed my suitcase. It was time for me to get dressed. Instead, I was texting with this man.

William Baxter: Did you really think we could ever let go of what happened the other night? I own you for that and don’t you forget it.

Oh, those words sent my blood into flames. They were both sexy as fuck and infuriating as hell. To add insult to injury, I could imagine that damn grin of his slapped across his smug face.

Elizabeth McNeal: No one, and I do mean no one, owns me. Least of all you.

There. I told him.

William Baxter: If that’s what you’d like to believe. Now, answer my question. Which tie would you prefer I wear?

Infuriated, I stamped my feet and let out a shrill shriek.

Elizabeth McNeal: It’s not what I believe. It’s what I know. How about a nice blue tie? And I do mean blue. Not that electric blue thing you wore last night.

I grabbed my dress off the bed and started toward the bathroom. Every inch of my body was on high alert. It was almost as if Liam was in the room with me. I didn’t like feeling so out of control and every encounter I had with Liam Baxter left me feeling exactly that way.

William Baxter: You only have these two to choose from, or I’m going with the bright pink one you demanded I not wear. ;-)

My fingers flattened to my lips, I stared at that little emoticon like a bull stares at a muleta just before charging. That damn winky thing was worse than nails grating over a chalkboard.

Elizabeth McNeal: I thought you were supposed to be a nice guy. Those pics and threatening me with an ugly-ass tie isn’t very nice of you!

I slid my phone across the counter and shimmied out of my sweats. The phone chimed with a new message as I threw off my tee shirt. Determined not to respond immediately, I turned my back on it. If I didn’t see it, then I wouldn’t be tempted to answer it. I needed to get ready and he was distracting me.

My phone chimed again, reminding me to check it.

Stupid technology. And they wonder why the whole damn world is addicted to it.

Unable to resist, I picked up my phone and read the message.

William Baxter: You’re mistaken then. I never once referred to myself as a nice guy. Although, I wish I was there to see that blush on your cheeks right now.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, a stunned expression stared back at me. My blonde hair hung in waves past my slender shoulders. I’d yet to straighten it for the day. My hazel brown eyes shifted up and down from the mirror to the phone, examining the light pink hue on my cheeks.

“I don’t blush!” I screamed at my reflection.

My thumbs rushed across the screen of my phone.

Elizabeth McNeal: I don’t blush! And seldom do I make a mistake. You said you don’t have casual sex. Remember? That equals nice guy in my book.

With that message sent, I slipped into my dress. At this point I was running late. Playing text tag with Liam was silly, juvenile, and deep down I was having far too much fun with it.

The text indicator chimed and my fingers itched to read his message. Like a drug addict ready for their next hit, I snatched up my phone.

William Baxter: Just because a guy doesn’t fuck everything that walks doesn’t mean he’s a nice guy. It means he has some respect for himself and the women in his life. And, my dear Elizabeth, you do blush. Our little incident is proof of that.

I met my own gaze in the mirror, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. My imagination whispered
fuck
in his voice. It sent a salacious shiver through my nervous system, tantalizing me.

Too young. Too young.
I chanted over and over.

It was the truth. Even if he wasn’t my client, a scandal waiting to happen, he was still far too young for me.

It was time for me to nip this little texting game in the bud. Scout and Aaron would be at the courthouse soon and I still needed to apply my makeup and fix my hair. I wet my lips and tried to conceptualize a great comeback. Nothing came to mind, so I simply stated the obvious.

Elizabeth McNeal: We both know you’re a nice guy, William Baxter. Now, I need to finish getting ready. I have this thing to attend to.

Almost as soon as I hit send, I received a new text.

William Baxter: Just remember, nice doesn’t always mean safe. ;-) Now, since you never told me what tie to wear, I’m wearing the pink one. See you in a bit.

Dammit! No! Not a pink tie!

I slid my phone across the counter and pressed my palms along the edges, hanging my head.

Liam 2 - Elizabeth 1

I’d lost that battle. A deep breath in, I reminded myself it was okay as long as I won the war.

And this was war.

Lost in thought, a lone ink pen dangled between my teeth. The angsty chords of Radiohead blared from the turntable in my quaint office at Baxter campaign headquarters. From my desk, I had a great view of Capitol Hill – one of my favorite sights in the city.

Upon moving into our new headquarters, I expected a tussle with Liam over this office. It had a huge pane window that opened the room up unlike any other office in the building. But he spared me the argument. That left me a little disoriented at first, especially with our constant battle for control, but after a few weeks I realized it had been a tactical move and I fell right into his trap.

So, I chalked it up as another point on Liam’s scorecard.

At my last count, I was up by one.

Liam 10 - Elizabeth 11.

But that number fluctuated frequently, so I stayed on my toes.

With my bare feet propped up on top of my desk, I slinked down into my chair, allowing the haunting melody and melancholy lyrics to wash away the events of my day. This had been the longest of days and it was far from over. I’d spent the better part of my afternoon rallying staffers, buried under paperwork, and conducting countless meetings. The campaign trail was calling and that meant four weeks on a tour bus in Texas.

A trip of this magnitude required a great deal of planning. Since only a few of the staff members would be on the road with us, I needed to ensure everyone was on task while I was away. So far, we were leading in the polls, and I refused to lose that lead because some staffer lost focus without me being on top of their every move.

In my lap rested a copy of the late edition of the
Statesman
. On the front page was a picture of Bonnie Keating with her mouth wide open and hands raised in the air, as if she were preaching the gospel. As we’d expected, Keating became the Republican front runner and her camp wasted no time going after Liam once he announced his candidacy. If only they were more creative about the shit they liked to sling. Anyone could attack his bachelorhood or his platform. Those were no brainers. Even a rookie could come up with a good speech to bash the obvious.

Keating’s latest interview took place on The Rachel Maddow Show. Throughout the entire interview, I died of laughter. Keating spent most of her time looking like a damn fool stumbling over how someone Liam’s age wasn’t prepared to help make the big decisions for our state and country.

Idiot!

It was people his age watching that interview. My favorite moment occurred when Maddow mentioned Liam’s military service. That shut Keating right up. Though politicians loved throwing mud at the wall to see what might stick, when it came to military service, they had to be careful. The attack must be clever and provide a semblance of proof to back up the claim. John Kerry’s 2004 scandal was indicative enough of that. And Keating had nothing.

I folded the paper and tossed it on my desk at my feet. As the coda of the song peaked, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back against the headrest, immersed in the music. My head bobbed from side-to-side with the beat, the ink pen bounced between my teeth. Something about this song always relaxed me, no matter how depressing it might be. Of their own accord, my hands lifted and my fingers started to flick with the thrum of the electric guitar. I screwed my eyes tighter, my face scrunched. Lord only knew what I looked like, but since the door was closed I didn’t care. Wasn’t as if anyone could see me.

Or so I thought.

“Radiohead. Nice,” Liam’s voice, husky and low, interrupted my moment of clarity.

My eyes popped open. The pen dropped from my mouth and rolled down my chest to the floor. Disoriented, I grunted, “Huh?” I hadn’t even heard the door open.

Liam leaned into the doorframe, a charming grin on his lips. His blue Oxford shirt with a white collar and cuffs was perfectly tucked into his crisp khakis.

Oh be still my heart.

Scout and I had been dead on when it came to Liam and ladies. The women flocked him. Not that I blamed them. Every time he walked into a room my chest would tighten along with other lower extremities. He could charm anyone, except me. We constantly butted heads, but that was part of his appeal. He hadn’t been joking when he said nice didn’t necessarily mean safe. For me, Liam Baxter was most definitely not safe. He was dangerous and mysterious, a toy to play with.

Yes, a toy. That’s all he was. Nothing more. Not someone who tantalized my senses every time he came near me. No. He wasn’t a temptation. An uncontrollable desire.

Just a toy.

Yeah. Who was I trying to convince?

Liam tilted his head, scrutinizing me. I realized then that my skirt had hiked its way up my thighs during my little head banging session. I dropped my feet to the floor and slipped them back into my black patent leather stilettos. Covered by the mask of my desk, I straightened my houndstooth pencil skirt back down to my knees.

“Radiohead,” he thumbed toward the record player on the shelf. The song had come to an end and the tick of the needle bouncing clicked through the speakers.

“Yeah? What’s wrong with Radiohead?” I inquired, shuffling papers around my desk.

Liam pushed off the door and stepped into my office. He picked up the needle, placing the stylus in its stationary position. “Nothing’s wrong with Radiohead,” he stated, plucking the album jacket off the shelf. “Personally, I love them.” He shrugged a shoulder, flipping the cover in his hand, perusing the back. “I just took you as more an eighties girl, that’s all.”

Outrage surged through me. That was the insult of all insults in my opinion. It ranked right up there with being called a Republican. I rose from my seat. The sound of my heels clacked against the linoleum flooring as I approached him. I ripped the cover from his hand. “Watch your mouth before I smack it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes dancing. “Threats of bodily harm. Hmm. This is serious.” He did that whole eyebrow raising thing, which made me want to smack him even more.