Authors: Tara Oakes
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense
~*~
The carpeted hall leading to the conference room is narrow and I have to dodge more than one volunteer along the way, nearly tripping in the heels I’m unaccustomed to wearing this time of day.
The glass enclosed conference room comes into view, and I see the group of men situated around the modern table. My dad, with his ever-greying hair and matching grey suit, is seated at the head of the group, his tie slightly askew from a long day’s wear. Roger’s shiny head is facing away from me, and I can see the coiled wire, discreetly placed behind his ear, indicating the intercom device utilized by the entire security team.
To his left is Cooper’s blond silhouette, his slim frame is posture perfect — he’s my dad’s campaign manager. Across the table, perfectly situated to see my approach is none other than the man of the hour....
Agent Christopher Gibson. Since he’s already made the move in my office to bring up nicknames, perhaps I should call him by his — Pretty Boy.
I know he hates it even more than I hate the moniker he gave me while we were dating. Princess. Some might consider it a compliment, but I always felt there was a dark undertone to it, like he was somehow poking fun.
I can see by the gestures of the men around him that they’re speaking to him, but cannot hear what’s being said ... the room is soundproofed. He ignores them and simply locks his gaze on me before I make my entrance.
His short, dark hair has just a bit of height in the front, and is perfectly styled with just a bit of shine from the gel used to keep it in place. His symmetrical features and strong jawline grab the attention of a curious middle-aged volunteer who passes me as I reach the door to the meeting room.
“Oh my God …” she whispers to herself at the newest addition, the man candy among the drab cookie-cutter politicians who usually fill these rooms. I’ve come to know Tami well — we gossip over the latest reality TV developments in the breakroom every day.
“Is he real, or am I dreaming again?” She’s practically drooling.
I laugh. “He’s real, Tami. He’ll be working around here for a little while.”
Her face brightens, her lips stretching into a smile. “See, Jess?
This
is why I volunteer for your dad. It’s not about what your country can do for you … it’s about what you can do for your country. With the help of a drop-dead gorgeous man like that, of course.”
I roll my eyes. Tami’s been married over twenty years, and her favorite motto is “I can look, but I can’t touch.”
Well, she’s damn well looking right now. She’s looking really hard, too.
“Whoa!” I stumble past her and try to stop myself from falling, but it’s no use as I topple to the ground, sending a maelstrom of papers up into the air.
“Jessica!” As he’s closest, my dad is the first to lunge from his chair, and takes hold of my arm; helping to lift me from the inglorious face-plant I performed in from of the entire room.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Darling? Are you all right?” Cooper’s New England accent expresses concern while he moves to help, taking my other arm as I crawl to my knees.
A strong grip takes hold of my waist from behind and pulls up hard, bringing me to my feet so fast that I fall into the impenetrable barrier behind me — Chris’s chest.
“She’s fine, she’s fine. Just a little distracted. Heels were always a little tricky for her.” I’m close enough to feel his words vibrate as they rumble through him and into me.
I feel something else, too — something subtle and familiar, yet overwhelming. I clear my throat and step away from Chris, putting space between my ass and his....
“Oh, that’s right. You two know each other already,” Cooper’s quick to add.
Please, Lord. Don’t let this turn in to a pissing match. Cooper damn well knows we know each other. It was one of the many reasons he not only objected to reaching out to the FBI for help, but vehemently opposed requesting Chris specifically be assigned to the case.
“Let’s just move along, shall we?” I feel the heat rising, covering my neck, my cheeks, and I can only pray they don’t look as red as they feel.
I keep my eyes low, studying the ground before each and every step — not only to avoid another tumble, but also because I just don’t have the nerve to meet anyone’s eyes.
My dad’s seen me make an ass of myself
plenty
of times. It’s not him I’m too embarrassed to look at … it’s the person standing directly behind me, whose eyes I can feel burning into my back. Knowing him, those eyes are fixed right on my ass.
“Let’s dive right in,” I toss the hefty file of paperwork and photographs onto the sleek table surface directly in front of the seat I think is best to take as my own. Sitting beside Chris will keep me from having to look directly at him.
The three gentlemen take the seats they hastily abandoned due to my groundbreaking performance in high-heeled acrobatics.
“Blackmail. Plain and simple.” I flatten my palm onto the top photo and fan them out like a blackjack dealer in Vegas.
The dozens of high-resolution black and white images litter the work area.
I can feel Chris shift in his seat next to me. “Are those what I think they are?”
I nod, not at all happy to acknowledge the truth. It’s kind of like a Band-aid, though. Just rip it off and wince through the pain.
“Yup. Yours truly, in nothing but a G-string bikini, on a stripper pole.”
It’s hard to describe what I feel as I say those words aloud. Shame. Anger, Embarrassment.
Dad nearly had a heart attack when he saw the pictures for the first time. There I was, his baby girl, his pride and joy, looking like a raging whore. I immediately began to explain myself, to offer justification for what he was seeing at the time, but it was a hard sell.
It
still
sounds utterly ridiculous when I say it out loud.
I’m not too worried about disappointing Roger. He’s compensated handsomely to remain discreet regarding situations like this. Not to mention … he’s been in politics long enough to have seen far worse.
Cooper was pretty harsh when I had first told him. We had only been dating about a month or so. He was aware of my history with Chris, and wanted to know every detail about how we first met. It was probably his own insecurities playing out, needing to know all about his imaginary competition.
Chris and I had only broken up shortly before Cooper first asked me out. I was in a rough spot at the time, having thrown myself into my work to distract myself from the heartache left behind by Chris’s absence after going our separate ways. I had been spending day and night staring at computer screens and getting ready to get daddy’s re-election campaign up and running.
It wasn’t long before I realized I was lonely.
I already spent more time with Cooper than almost anybody else, as our work responsibilities closely tie into each other’s. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he’s cute in his own little way. Most importantly, though, dad thinks the world of him.
Sitting here now, across from Cooper, I don’t feel as self-conscious as I had when I first told him. He claimed he understood, he swore he didn’t judge me for it, and I believe him.
Chris, on the other hand ... I’m not worried in the least at how he feels about seeing the pictures. He knows the whole truth. Although these pictures show a hell of a lot, they don’t show one important piece of the puzzle.
They don’t show Chris, sitting in the front row.
“What are their demands?” Chris is all business, even though his hands are full of half-naked pictures of his ex-girlfriend.
I swallow hard, hating how my poor decisions have affected my dad and his campaign the way they have.
“Fifty thousand dollars, wired into a secure account.” I explain to him as I hand over the email listing those exact requests.
Chris inhales deeply, steepling his fingertips as he examines the text on the printed document. I can see his jaw moving slightly, as if he were grinding and clenching his teeth.
“It’s chump change,” Cooper is quick to add. “We should just pay it and be done with it.”
Chris’s attention shifts to the man sitting opposite him. Chris knows nothing about my relationship with Copper, but you’d never be able to tell by the look of contempt in his hardened eyes.
“Fifty-thousand dollars is a lot more than
chump change
to most people in this country.” It’s very clear these two men come from
very
different backgrounds. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t pay it.”
“Exactly!” I agree. “They’ll only ask for more, later.”
Cooper shoots me a quick look, clearly unhappy that I’m disagreeing with him so adamantly.
Chris is loosing patience with my dad’s right-hand man, and chooses to ignore him and address the man in charge, instead.
“Excuse my bluntness, Senator, but I’m pretty sure you’re worth somewhere in the neighborhood of … ten million? Maybe more?” Dad’s attention is now piqued. There’s a silent unspoken rule among people of my father’s stature. You don’t talk about money — not your own, anyway. “I’m guessing the person who sent this knows that. They also know that if something like this were to be leaked, at just the right time during the campaign, it could garner a nasty little reaction from some of your constituents.”
Dad nods. Most of the people who vote regularly for him are very conservative. Sure, most of them probably go to the type of strip clubs depicted in these pictures every Saturday night and stuff their stiff dollar bills down into the crotch of the women dancing on the poles, but they’re also the ones who go to church the very next day and pretend it never happened.
“So why wouldn’t they ask for more?” Chris’s question is obviously rhetorical, but Cooper decides to answer.
“They’re probably not asking for more money because they think we’ll just chock it up as a good investment and not bother to flush them out. Blackmail
is
a crime, Agent Gibson.” There is a sharpness to Cooper’s words.
Dad isn’t sure who to side with. He shifts his eyes back and forth between the two men.
Chris shakes his head. “Nah … there’s only one place they could’ve gotten these photos. One man controls this type of information, and believe me, he’s not worried about a silly little thing like getting jammed up for blackmail.”
He’s talking about Nick Faccione, a.k.a. Nicky The Fish, the man who owns the strip club where these pictures were taken, the man who Chris himself helped to throw in jail for close to ten years.
Cooper’s eyes narrow on Chris, with the two of them locking stares in a very uncomfortable way.
“You can be sure there’s a very real reason why you’re only being asked for
chump change
. I have an idea what it could be, but there’s one way to know for sure.”
Each pair of eyes around the table widens, including my own, curious as to what it could be.
“I’ll take a trip to Barnsworth Penitentiary and see what I can find.” Chris finally offers.
I find my breath catching. Unless something has changed, Barnsworth Federal Penitentiary is where Nicky The Fish is housed.
“I’m going, too.” I quickly gather the mess of papers, fully prepared for the barrage of objections.
It doesn’t matter, though. Each of these men knows, first-hand, just how stubborn I can be; and, deep down, they must know that their opposition won’t do anything but waste time.
Continue reading Jess and Chris’s story
About the Author
Tara Oakes is an author from Long Island, N.Y, where she lives with her husband and their little pet family. She is an avid reader, a DIY'er and writer of all things romance, with over thirteen published works for you to enjoy.
When not writing or reading, Tara enjoys gardening (without much success) and all things
Real Housewives
related. Please feel free to contact her as all feedback and fan interaction is much welcomed and highly appreciated.
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