Page 43 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

Judging by the expertly applied makeup on her face and the smooth waves of combed-out curls in her layered hair, I know she’s not lying. If I had known she was here waiting for me, I would have approached my morning differently.

“Is she ready?” A voice calls from behind Paris just as she steps back from me.

Now that she’s no longer in my line of sight, I see that the voice belongs to Stephanie Glass, the head of the TED x Women team.

I’m surprised that she’s taken the time out of her day to come and retrieve me from the green room.

“All done,” Paris declares, stepping to the left so I can stand.

Stephanie’s blue eyes roam over my features. “You’re stunning, Mrs. Taylor. Beautiful job, Paris.”

“Oh, I—” Paris starts, but I cut her off, leaning into the lie because I don’t feel it’s fair for her to potentially be reprimanded because I wasn’t aware she was available. “Yes, she’s amazing.”

“You made it easy for me, Mrs. Taylor.”

She comes in for a hug, and I tense at the promise of contact that never happens because Beck takes a step forward and clears his throat. Paris freezes, her pretty eyes growing wide at the non-verbal reprimand as she backs away.

“Let’s get you to the stage,” Stephanie says, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen over the room.

She steps out into the hallway and begins walking, leaving us with no choice but to follow her clipped strides.

The hallway that leads to the stage isn’t all that long, but it seems to take us forever to traverse it because we keep getting stopped.

By the time we reach the stage, I’ve met everyone on the film crew, all of Stephanie’s team, and the head of the venue’s janitorial staff.

They’re all lovely and extremely accommodating, which is great because I spend the rest of the day surrounded by them, being told where to stand and encouraged to emote ‘just a little more’.

It’s a harrowing and tedious process that makes me wish I could give the talk in person instead, because then my flat affect wouldn’t really be up for discussion.

We recorded my speech three different times, with Paris coming in to touch up my hair and makeup between the second and third take.

When it’s all said and done, we have a product that I’m proud of, which is all that matters.

Stephanie and her team seem satisfied as well, to the point that they insist on taking me out to dinner to celebrate.

The part of me that’s exhausted and ready to be done socializing wants to say no, but then Stephanie tells me it’s a Black owned restaurant, and I feel compelled to say yes.

My agreement sets Cal and Beck into immediate motion. The tension in their shoulders as they escort me to the car makes me regret my decision.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them when we’re alone. “I wasn’t thinking about the security aspect of it.”

Beck is behind the wheel this time, and those onyx eyes burn into me through the rear-view mirror, reminding me of the last time we got into it about security formations and protection protocols.

I half expect this to be the moment things go bad between us again, but instead, he shakes his head like it’s normal for us to be heading into another public setting with only two uniformed officers to support them.

“That’s not your job, Selene.”

“My job is to make keeping me safe easier, not harder,” I respond, aware of how wildly my attitude on this topic has changed. Weeks ago, I couldn’t bear the thought of them in my home, at my work, in my life, and now I don’t want to go anywhere without them.

“Well, you’ve never been any good at that, so we’re used to pivoting for you.”

Shock rolls through me as my jaw unhinges, trying to hit the floor.

Beck doesn’t even attempt to hide his humor at my reaction, and Cal, who is on the phone requesting more bodies with no success, barks out a laugh at my expense.

The injection of levity makes me feel less guilty, and it also soothes my nerves when Cal and Beck explain that only one of them will be going into the restaurant with me.

“We’ll have two officers on the exterior,” Cal says, frowning as he eyes the industrial style brick building where Feast is located. “One on the front and the other on the back.”

Beck runs a hand over his scalp and sighs. “I’ll go in with you, and Cal will stay with the car.” He shifts in his seat, fixing an earnest gaze on my face. “Unless you want Cal to come?—”

“No, I want you.”

Truthfully, I want both of them, and I’m so focused on how those words would sound coming out of my mouth that I’m not paying attention to what does. Both men stare at me, and the hum of building intensity starts to resonate in my chest, causing my thighs to clench.

“I mean—” I swallow, desperate to clarify, fearful of making it worse. “You’ve already made a plan, and I don’t see any reason to deviate from it.”

They share a look I don’t understand, and then Cal nods. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He hops out of the passenger seat and opens my door, offering his hand, which I take out of habit and the desire for physical touch that is usually a rarity for me, but seems to always exist when he and Beck are around.

We round the car together, and as soon as I’m in arm’s reach, Beck’s hand is on the small of my back.

He guides me away from Cal, who salutes us before climbing back into the driver’s seat.

Stephanie meets Beck and me at the door of the restaurant, and he drops back, keeping a respectable distance as we make our way to the private dining area where the rest of Stephanie’s team is.

She runs through introductions again when I’m seated at the head of the table, and conversation starts to flow immediately.

I try to follow the topics, I do, but every word my companions say is pushed out by the thrum of impatience that rattles my bones and begs to be alone with my men again.

My men, when did I start to think of them that way?

I muse silently, sipping my wine and allowing my gaze to wander to Beck.

He’s across the room near the doorway, eyes constantly shifting, moving over the faces and hands of the people at the table and the servers coming in and out of the room.

It’s too much for one person to keep track of, but he seems nonplussed.

He’s responding to Cal on the comms when he finally looks at me.

I watch his lips form the word “Hummingbird,” and my heart flutters at the thought of them discussing me even as my features remain still.

“He’s pretty intense,” Stephanie whispers, pulling my attention to her.

She’s too close to me, and her perfume, which smelled lovely earlier today, has started to sour a bit for me.

The floral notes are too heavy, drowning out everything else.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him so much as sit down today.

He doesn’t even look tired. The man has stamina . ”

I’ve heard Monique talk about enough men to recognize the lust infused into the last part of her comment.

Objectively, I know that Beck is an attractive man.

I know that many women speak about him this way, or even worse, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting negatively to Stephanie’s words or feeling disgusted by her conspiratorial smile.

Sitting my wine glass on the table, I push to my feet. “Excuse me.”

Stephanie’s smile falters as I move away from the table, unsure of where I’m headed. Beck watches my approach with a slight dip in his brows, which spells curiosity. “You okay?”

Since I can’t tell him I’m fighting the urge to strike a woman for even hinting at speaking about him in a suggestive manner, I nod and call up a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just going to the restroom.”

He looks between the table and the hallway where the bathroom is, clearly weighing letting me out of his sight against leaving my food and drink unattended and vulnerable to tampering.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell him, taking advantage of his indecision and heading down the hall without him. The bathroom is empty when I enter it, and I take up residence at the sink furthest from the door, washing my hands with cold water and soap just so the trip doesn’t feel useless.

As I’m drying my hands, the door swings open. I glance up and breathe a sigh of relief when I find that the woman I’m now sharing space with isn’t Stephanie or another member of her team. The relief is short-lived, expiring quickly when the woman crosses her arms and scowls at me.

“I know you,” she spits out. “You’re the bitch that’s trying to take away our guns.”

My stomach turns at the pure malice she’s managed to fit into the few words. In some distant part of my brain, I know I should be offended by her calling me a bitch, but I’m not. At this point, I’ve been called everything but a child of God by social media trolls and far-right media pundits.

The woman taps her foot. “What? You don’t have nothing to say now?”

“No, I made my thoughts on gun control quite clear.” I toss my paper towel in the trash can between us and start towards the door that she’s deliberately blocking. “It’s unfortunate that you don’t agree with my stance, but I don’t think either of our minds will be changed by a bathroom debate.”

Her scowl deepens, lines appearing on the pale skin around her mouth as her cheeks flush with fury. She steps forward, cutting me off with a finger to my chest. I flinch, and she smiles maliciously.

“Unfortunate? You know what’s unfortunate, Mrs. Taylor?

That someone hasn’t put a bullet between your eyes like they did your mixed-breed bastard of a son.

Yeah, that’s real unfortunate,” she drawls, laughing when her mention of AJ pulls an involuntary whimper from me.

“Don’t worry, though,” she coos, backing away. “There’s still time for that.”

It doesn’t occur to me that she didn’t even use the bathroom until the door swings shut, and I’m alone again, frozen in place, processing being terrorized in the place I came to seek reprieve.

I don’t know how much time passes between the woman’s departure and Beck’s arrival, but knowing him, it couldn’t have been long.

He bursts into the bathroom without knocking and takes me in.

I already know what he sees. Outside of my clenched fists there are no indicators of the emotions rioting inside me, and I wish that the pain would show on my face, that it would make itself plain, present itself “normally” so I didn’t have to do the work of explaining how deeply I feel, how badly I hurt.

I wish that just this once, the evidence would be there, and I wouldn’t have to do the impossible work of convincing people to believe in things they can’t see.

My entire life has been spent defending the apparent contradiction of my existence: saying I’m sad, yet being questioned about not crying, being happy, and yet being punished for not showing it with a smile.

I expect Beck to need that—the declaration of feelings to circumvent the abnormal presentation of them—but he never asks for it. He looks at me and knows that something is wrong.

“What happened?” He closes the space between us in two long strides, one hand on the holster on his hip and the other reaching for me. He draws me into him, squeezing me firmly against his body as he shifts us around, kicking the door of each stall open to make sure there are no lingering threats.

“She’s already gone,” I murmur against his chest. The words wheeze their way out of me, a result of the lovely vice grip he has on me. He’s already raised Cal on the comms, and I hear him barking instructions for Beck to bring me out through the kitchen, but he’s still listening to me.

“Who was she?” he asks, pulling the door open and popping his head out to make sure the hallway is clear. “What did she look like?”

“I’ve never seen her before.” I close my eyes, conjuring her face. “She was white, shorter than me, but not by much. Dirty blonde hair and green eyes.”

Beck repeats the description to Cal and rubs my arm. “That’s good, Selene. That’s good. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

“Black sweater, black pants, no jewelry.” I squint against the light as I open my eyes to find Beck staring down at me. “That’s not helpful, is it?”

“It’s accurate, and that’s all that matters.” He gives Cal the last of the information and then tells him we’ll be at the back entrance in five minutes.

“That should be enough time to say goodbye to Stephanie?—”

“Fuck, Stephanie,” Beck growls, the depth of his tone sending vibrations from his chest through mine. “What did this woman say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, Selene.” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Did she threaten you? Did she touch you? Did she—” he flounders for another word, and I sigh, deciding to put an end to his search.

“She called me the bitch that was trying to take away her guns.”

“Fucking Texans,” he hisses. “What else?”

“She said she wished I were dead. Same old, same old. It’s not America if someone isn’t wishing for the death of a Black woman.”

I’m paraphrasing, of course, but I’m honestly too tired to rehash it verbatim. Plus, no part of me wants to repeat those ugly words about my son to Beck of all people. I don’t know how close his grief lingers to the surface, and I won’t have some random woman’s hateful comment triggering him.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He grimaces. “Yeah. That’s more than enough.”

“Do you think the officers will find her?”

“Probably not,” he says, regret passing between us when he finally lets me go. “But Cal and I will.”