Page 20 of The Senator's Secret
“Of course,” Logan says, looking more than a little starstruck. I think we might be in dangerous territory of poaching him from the senator, and I don’t feel guilty about it at all. “Thank you.”
Carter sees him out while I dump the contents of the large envelope onto the top of the kitchen table. My apartment is so small I’m really only a few feet away from them. I could hear every single word of their exchange if my ears weren’t currently ringing. A set of keys hits the top of my battered, wooden table with a clang, and a handwritten note flutters down on top of them. I don’t want to pick it up. I don’t want to look at it. I know that when I do, it’s only going to add to my mounting frustration. And yet, like the idiot I have become around Jacob Chancellor, that’s exactly what I do.
I don’t know what I expected to find when I picked up the heavy linen notecard stamped with his seal and New York office info at the top. I am willing to bet they have the exact same stationary in his office in D.C. as well. But it’s the elegant yet masculine scroll across its surface that has me smoothing my thumb over the words that threaten to shove me over the cliff into a murderous rage.
Grace,
I have meetings all afternoon. Here are your set of keys to the brownstone. Your personal security code is 5652. Make sure to set the alarm for HOME when you are in residence and AWAY when you leave. Make yourself at home. And be ready for me tonight.
—Jake
In the immortal words of Cher fromClueless, “As if.”
I cannot believe that asshole had the audacity to tell me to “be ready for him tonight.” As if I am going to give him my body at the first available opportunity. And he’s not even going to be there to help me settle in his palatial den of iniquity! It’ll be a cold fucking day in hell before that asshole gets to win me as his prize. I’ll die fighting before I give myself to someone so cold and callous.
Carter walks up beside me, completely unaware of my inner turmoil after he quietly closes and locks the front door behind Logan. He takes in the keys and the note.
“Bad-ass,” he says. “Let’s pack up the killer pussies and crash the senator’s old money pad.”
Carter’s enthusiasm makes me laugh. “Anything for you, Carter.”
“Maybe he has crazy expensive alcohol we can snatch and drink like delinquent teenagers while he’s at work.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Great!” He claps his hands before he issues his orders to organize my chaos. “Change of plans. I’ll pack your suitcases and you pack up the killer kitties.”
“They aren’t that bad!” I shout on a laugh.
“You’re right. They are terrifying!” he yells over his shoulder before heading down the hall to my bedroom to pack up some clothes I will need over the next few days.
• • •
“THIS. PLACE. IS.AWESOME!” Carter’s enthusiastic shouts can probably be heard from outer space.
Sometime after Logan left my apartment and I managed to not burst a brain aneurysm over Chancellor’s callous treatment of me and this move, or whatever the hell it might be, Carter and I packed up my life as best as we could. He brilliantly labeled and ruthlessly organized in a way that would put high-ranking generals to shame. He packed my clothes for the next few days and my toiletries, and I packed the cats into their crates. It really wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I did have to take a quick shower, because Panda got so mad he peed on me, but otherwise, everything went as planned.
“I think I’m going to have to order not one but two Uber XLs for these beasts,” Carter said as he eyed my many pet carriers in the living room, each one full of a pleading cat. I just rolled my eyes and waited for the cars to arrive while I continued to pick up and organize. I also talked to my cats.
When the first car arrived, Carter, who I am now ninety percent sure was some great military general in a past life, had started ordering everyone around. I realize now his ultimate goal was to not have to ride in the car with the cats. And he succeeded.
One car was loaded with my two suitcases and several boxes of the cats’ accoutrements—a scratching post, a kitty condo, food bowls, litter boxes, and more. The carriers were loaded into the back of another Suburban, and then Carter offered me a hand up into the backseat of the SUV. But as looks can be deceiving, my dutiful assistant was really just ensuring his own survival. He slammed the door closed behind me before I could even say one single word and then he ran—yes, ran—to the SUV behind the one I was in and hopped in.
There were a handful of photographers outside of Chancellor’s New York home when we pulled up. Thankfully, I looked decent enough. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun and my makeup is soft and natural with a little pale-pink blush on my cheeks and a clear gloss on my lips. After my shower, I had tossed on a cute pair of jeggings and a fitted NYU crew neck sweatshirt. I took a deep breath and pushed it out before plastering a small smile on my face just before I pushed the car door open and stepped out into my new normal.
Flashes snapped around me, and I brushed a loose hair back from my forehead before turning to the driver to help him gather my babies to take them into their new home. I felt a pang of remorse; I probably should have warned Jake about the cats, but he wanted me to be the lady of the manor, and that’s exactly what he’s going to get.
“Grace! Grace!” they shouted at me. “How long have you been with the senator?”
I didn’t answer; I just grabbed a cat carrier and the keys that felt like they were scorching my palm and walked up the concrete and brick steps of the senator’s home.
“Does the senator know you have cats?”
I had set the carrier just inside the door of the vestibule before heading back down the stairs to grab two more. Carter was holding the press at bay while the drivers unloaded the cat boxes and my suitcases.
“Do you think he’ll be able to stay faithful to you when every single woman in New York wants a piece of him?” one shouted, and I felt my composure slip just a bit before I smiled a brittle smile and waved to them as I walked up the stairs one last time.
I slipped my phone from my jeans pocket and sent off a quick text to the man of the hour.