Page 1 of The Senator's Secret

Prologue

Crashing Down

“No. No, no, no, no, no!”

This can’t be happening. My hands shake as I flip through picture after picture. How could this have happened?

I’ve been so careful. I have meticulously watched every move I have ever made throughout my entire life. I never drink too much or eat too much. I have never partaken in recreational pharmaceuticals or otherwise. I don’t stay out late and party. And every lover I have ever had has been not only respectable but also discreet. Hell, the last two signed Non-Disclosure Agreements.

I just don’t know how this could’ve even happened.

My heart is beating so fast in my chest I feel like I might be sick. Drops of sweat are trickling down from my temples and between my breasts, and my skin is flushed hot.

But anyone looking in the windows of my palatial corner office would see exactly what I want them to. This is what I show the world every day, that I am calm, cool, and collected. I keep myself poised and in control no matter what. My hair is pulled back in a perfect ballet bun on top of my head, my makeup is light and tasteful, and my suit isChanel. I don’t play around. I have worked way too hard for my career. My reputation precedes me all over town—andthistown is an important one.

I let the stack of glossy drug store one-hour prints fall on top of the plain manila envelope they came in where it sits on top of my mahogany desk. In secret, I call it my fancy desk. It sits proud with its elegant scrollwork carved along the edges.

I didn’t grow up like this. My parents are respected attorneys here in New York, but I made the family name a commodity in high-power circles, where they need me and desperately want to know me.

I recoil from the envelope as if it’s a rattlesnake sitting on my desk and not the stack of worthless paper that it is. But my conscience whispers that it’s not worthless. This envelope of pictures could beveryvaluable in the right—or should I say wrong—hands. There are plenty of people here in New York who would just love to get their hands on this caliber of ammunition to use against me.

This package was sent to my office by courier with my name type-printed on the front and a note inside written in thick block letters.

I’ll be in touch.

Don’t say a word.

I’m sure if I took it to the police, there would be no fingerprints either. But I can’t do that. If I go to the police, this will be all over town and it will ruin my reputation. And my reputation iseverything.

The worst part: I didn’t even do it.

I tap the red-painted sole of my black patent leather Louboutins on the carpet. It’s the only outward sign of my distress, and I keep that shit thoroughly hidden behind my desk. Now the question is, how do I proceed? I need to figure out what to do to keep my world from crashing down and fast.

I pick up my cellphone—the latest model that hasn’t even been announced yet—and slide my carefully manicured index finger up the dark glass. It scans my face and unlocks. I scroll through my contacts until I see the one I don’t want to dial with every fiber of my being. I stare it down like it’s a bomb ticking down every second before it explodes in my face—just like I know this decision will later—before I finally force myself to take a deep breath and hit the Call button.

“Hello?” a whiskey-smooth voice answers. I hate that the sound of him makes me furious and my panties wet. This is definitely an unwelcome predicament.

“I need your help,” I say. The words taste like sawdust on my tongue, and acid churns in my belly.

“What an interesting turn of events,” he replies, and I detest how damn happy he sounds. As if my fall from greatness is something to be celebrated. Of course, he doesn’t know that my life is hanging precariously in the balance.

“Don’t sound so smug,” I warn my adversary. “This affects you as much as it does me.”

“Like I said—interesting. Meet me at the Magic Boarding House Tavern at eight o’clock,” he says. “I’ll be waiting.”

I open my mouth to issue a witty putdown, but I’m too late. A dial sound goes off in my ear, letting me know that slimeball hung up on me.

My only hope now is that he can get me out of this mess. I know it’s going to cost me; I just hope it’s a price I’m able to pay for in one way or another. And also that I can stay strong and resist a certain U.S. senator with less than questionable morals and his stupid dimples, because sex and blackmail certainly don’t mix.

“Jake’s Big Snake Tell-All”

Chapter 1

Don’t look

Thirty-six hours earlier

Iknew he would be here.