Page 4 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)
CAL
T he Taylors look all wrong together.
That’s the first thought that runs through my head when my eyes land on them in the hallway. The second is that the wrongness my brain is registering has nothing to do with the way they actually look, because they’re both attractive people.
Aubrey is an All-American, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in good shape for his age and still managing to hold on to all of his hair, and Selene is, well, gorgeous.
She’s all sable skin and soft, round features, deep-set eyes shaped like almonds and the color of browned butter.
Midnight strands that hang down her back when they’re straight, and—based on the pictures I’ve seen of her before her husband’s campaign manager or some press training expert demanded she change it—caress the back of her neck when it’s curly.
By all counts, looking at the two of them together should be a visually pleasing experience, but all I feel right now is uneasy because there’s an awkwardness in the air between them that makes being in their shared presence painful.
After the press conference and the lack of apology, I expected their energy to be a little off.
Aubrey’s affair is national news, and his failure to give his wife a public apology has been a topic of discussion for two weeks.
It’s even bleeding into the polls, with the Black, female demographic Selene has helped him secure throughout the campaign expressing doubts about giving him their votes.
Apparently, when Aubrey lost Selene’s trust, he’d forfeited his right to theirs as well.
So, yeah, weird makes sense, and awkward is to be expected.
But what’s really catching me off guard is the hostility swirling around them because it doesn’t feel new.
It’s too settled , completely at home in the space Aubrey puts between him and his wife when she pushes his hands away.
Loud in the absence of yet another apology, he’s denied her.
An overbearing tree with thick branches, deep roots, and a fully formed trunk that speaks of consistent sustenance, showcasing the fact that someone has been feeding it for years, keeping it alive with a silent disdain that turned into public infidelity.
My training requires me to walk the fine line of trusting my instincts and keeping an open mind in every situation.
It requires me to treat people as both predictable and unexpected at the same time, because it’s the only way to get the full picture of what we’re dealing with.
I remind myself of these facts as I set aside all my assumptions about the Taylors and their marriage.
The only thing I allow myself to hold on to is the knowledge that this couple is unlike any of the other pairs Beck—my best friend and the only man I trust to have my six—and I have guarded in the years since we left the FBI’s Counter Terrorism unit and joined the Secret Service.
Our past assignments have had us dealing with couples who were deeply in love and weren’t afraid to show it.
Hell, even the buttoned-up, frowns-at-public-displays-of-affection types had a certain air of devotion around them.
They might have hid it in simple gestures like a hand on the small of the woman’s back or a loving glance from across a crowded room, but it was there.
It’s not here, though.
I try to convince myself that it doesn’t matter, even though I know it does.
We can’t protect people if we don’t know the truth, and the truth of Aubrey and Selene is nothing like the picture his team painted in the security briefing we had in the living room.
His campaign manager had assured us there were no domestic concerns to contend with while Aubrey tapped away at his phone like his primary goal for the meeting was to convey how bored he was with the topic of his marriage and infidelity.
The only time he seemed particularly invested in what we were saying was when our team lead mentioned the role Beck and I played in foiling the attempted assassination of President Scott Warner.
The case, much like Aubrey’s affair, was national news, and Aubrey seemed to recall every detail of it, except, apparently, our names.
His face had turned red when he admitted to forgetting, but we’d taken no offense, introducing ourselves and shaking his hand.
Now his face is red again, and I bite back a laugh as I watch him stumble over his words, trying to introduce Beck to Selene even though it’s clear to all of us he doesn’t remember his name.
We all watch him snap his fingers and frown as he tries to recall it, and in the silence we leave him lingering in, I feel something like camaraderie among the three of us.
It snaps into place, holding firm even when Beck finally decides to put the man out of his misery.
“Agent Beckham, ma’am,” he says, holding his hand out to Selene. He focuses all of his attention on her, hiding his annoyance with her husband in a friendly smile.
Her pupils dilate slightly as his raspy baritone washes over her, and I clench my jaw to hide my smile. Beck is quite the charmer when he’s not being a cynical asshole.
“And this,” he’s saying now, slipping his hand out of hers and turning toward me, “is my partner, Agent Drake.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.”
Her skin is still warm from Beck’s palm when her hand slips into mine.
I’m impressed by how firm her shake is. Most women in this world like to go with a delicate, bent wrist with fingertips that barely graze your palm because someone, somewhere, told them power and femininity don’t go hand in hand.
Selene clearly isn’t a proponent of that mindset.
There’s strength in her grip and intensity in the eye contact she forces herself to give me, and I have to admit, if only to myself, that all the conservative old white men who spend their days online comparing her to Aubrey’s mistress are right.
Selene Taylor is nothing like Sutton Ellsworth.
The speechwriter is youthful, naive exuberance while Selene is regal, exquisite wisdom.
She’s the beauty of aging, a walking testament to the glorious embrace of passing time and lessons learned.
She’s calm and quiet power that isn’t afraid to get loud.
Over the course of our threat assessment, which included an in-depth look at Selene’s online presence, I came across posts that talked about Sutton’s soft, feminine energy and described Selene as hard, and she is hard.
The set of her jaw. The sharp line of her brows.
The harsh slope of her shoulders. She is hard, but only in a way that tells me she knows all too well that this world isn’t a safe place for a Black woman’s vulnerabilities, that softness and warmth are not luxuries she can afford.
“Selene.” She pulls her hand out of mine, splitting a commanding look between Beck and me. “Please call me Selene. Mrs. Taylor is my mother-in-law, and I’ve always hated being referred to as ma’am.”
Beck nods, but his jaw has gone rigid. I can practically feel his prim and proper upbringing and the training protocols that warn against getting too close to the people you’re guarding rebelling against the request.
“Of course, Selene,” I answer with an obedient smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.” She cuts an accusatory eye at Aubrey, who keeps his features set in a mask of indifference. “But I’m glad to have you all the same.”
The awkwardness is back, and this time it reaches out, pulling Beck and me into the bubble of discomfort. Beck shuffles his feet, and I know he’s anxious to get on with it. He doesn’t like small talk.
“Well, we should keep moving.” Beck aims his words at me, but they’re meant for everyone. “We’re supposed to be ensuring the floor plans we received from Mr. Taylor’s assistant last week match the actual layout of the house.”
Selene’s brows fall in on themselves as she turns to her husband. “You sent them plans for the house last week? I thought this was a recent development.”
“I never said that.” Aubrey flashes an annoyed glare at us, like it’s somehow our fault that he didn’t tell his wife they were getting a security detail even though he’s known for weeks.
After the press conference, there was an uptick in threatening language aimed at Selene from the same people celebrating her husband cheating on her, which made our presence less of a suggestion and more of a requirement for Aubrey to continue campaigning safely.
His team had been reluctant to accept a detail, something about it not fitting with his established image, but the powers that be insisted, telling him it wouldn’t be good for his image if his wife was harmed and it came out he was aware of the threat and did nothing to prevent it.
Judging by the perplexed look on Selene’s face, it seems none of this information was passed along to her.
“I could fill an entire book with the things you never said, Aubrey.”
He lets out a long, exasperated sigh, and I get the sense this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.
“I’m not doing this with you, Selene.” He glances at his watch, impatience gathering in the corners of his eyes.
“Now, you can either stand in this hallway and embarrass yourself in front of two perfect strangers, or you can come and meet the rest of the team, so you can get back to your work. The choice is yours.”
I knew the moment Beck and I were assigned to this detail that I wasn’t going to like Aubrey Taylor, but I never expected to want to punch him in the face on day one.
Actually, I never thought I’d want to hit him at all.
Out of the two of us, Beck’s the one that’s usually curbing the urge to commit an act of violence, but in this moment when Selene’s skin has taken on a red undertone indicative of embarrassment and hurt is causing her lips to tremble the way my mother’s used to when she’d talk about how my dad left her?
I want to lay him out. I want to grab him by his throat and squeeze until he gives her the apology she deserves, not just for his current transgressions, but for past ones as well.
For everything he’s ever said or done to make her feel the way she feels right now.
The desire builds inside of me even as I watch Selene quell the emotions that inspired it. She pulls in a deep breath and crosses her arms, squeezing herself tightly. Then she turns to Beck and me, hitting us with a smile that’s polite and distant, but somehow still dazzling.
“Agent Beckham. Agent Drake. It was so nice to meet you.”
And without another word, she steps around us, continuing her journey to the living room where the rest of the team will be waiting. Aubrey stalks off behind her, leaving us standing in the pungent cloud of loathing and misery wafting off of him and directed at his lovely wife.
Beck looks at me and raises a brow. “ This should be fun.”