Page 10 of The Senator's Secret

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 anyway. If I go to the police, this will be all over town and it will ruin my reputation. I am the attorney no one can touch. I am who the powerful go to when they need someone to pull their fat out of the fryer, and I have worked very hard to become that person. I trade in power and money every day behind closed doors and use those commodities to secretly help those who would never be able to help themselves—the poor and downtrodden. I’m like the freaking Statue of Liberty herself, and this mess has the potential to ruin everything. How ironic that my carefully crafted house of cards is about to come down with a few pictures of me in the arms of a well-known man.

The worst part: I didn’t even do it. Sure, he held me for a minute. Probably longer than he should have, but I tripped. That was it. And now it’s going to ruin everything.

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 could laugh, because four hours ago, I was planning on reaching out to his people for an all-too-different reason. I stare it down like it’s a bomb ticking down on the clock 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 hate how damn happy he sounds. As if my fall from greatness is something to be celebrated. Of course, he doesn’t know my life is hanging precariously in the balance. How could he?

“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. I want to scream. Everything is hanging by a thread, and I don’t even know how I can combat this. Clearly, the person who sent the pictures wants something from me. I just don’t know what. And why didn’t they just tell me straight out? Why make me wait?

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 live with. 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, but in reality, I’m more than screwed.

“I took a chance on Chancellor’s Magic Stick.”

Chapter 5

Well and truly screwed

Hope is nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

I should have known better. I was surprised when Chancellor suggested a place as innocuous as the Magic Boarding House, a favorite haunt for gamer nerds from all over the world. It features a large game store where people can play or buy hard-to-find games. And it also has a dark tavern where anyone can grab a bite to eat. My mistake was in assuming that a place as family friendly as this one wouldn’t be the setting for my epic fall from grace. But now, as I move toward the back of the tavern part of the boarding house, I spy him sitting at a booth in the far back corner, shuffling a deck of cards like he grew up in the back room of an Atlantic City casino—which, to my knowledge, he did not. And I know I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have underestimated him and let my guard down.

I was surprised when he asked me to meet him here, but then again, any of my regular haunts would be absolutely packed with people we know or who want to know us, and we are here to solve our mutual problem with the press.

I watch as he tips his wrist back to look at the Tag Heuer watch on his arm to check the time. It’s ten minutes to eight, and I am early. I’d wanted to get here first to establish territory and gain the upper hand, but it looks like the senator beat me at my own game.

He slides out from the booth and smiles as he notices me approaching his table with a rueful smile playing on my lips at his power move. I teeter a little in my sky-high heels when he flashes me those panty-melting dimples. I still wore my signature Louboutins, because they make me feel powerful, and Iampowerful, but I have replaced my Chanel suit with a pair of dark jeans and a dove-gray silk blouse with a matching dove-gray leather jacket over it. He looks at me like I think the Big Bad Wolf looked at Little Red Riding Hood, and I swallow back a nervous laugh that threatens to bubble up to the surface.

I need to keep my mind in the game in order to win this round with Senator Chancellor.

“Hello, Grace,” he says as he leans in and places a sweet kiss on my cheek before motioning toward the booth. “Have a seat.”

“Hello, Senator Chancellor,” I reply as I slip my jacket from my shoulders and place it on the bench seat beside me with my purse on top of it after I slide in. I toy with the small folded menu in front of me instead of meeting the watchful gaze of the man seated across from me. He makes me nervous and I don’t know why—or I do know why, but I’m refusing to put words to the emotions he stirs in me. This shy schoolgirl isn’t me. I am a “take life by the balls and forge my own path” kind of a woman, and it’s time she showed up to the party.

“Have you ever been here before?” he asks me, and I finally look up at his handsome face.

“No,” I reply softly. “Have you?”

He smiles what I can only assume is a genuine smile, because it’s not one I see on him often, before he answers me. “I meet friends here at least once a month.”