Page 9 of The Senator's Secret
The trap had been set.
“Sexy Senator Spotted with Mystery Woman.”
Chapter 4
Work, work, work… oh crap
Today is going to be a beautiful day!
I reach over to my nightstand and pick up my phone. I slide my finger up the screen to silence my alarm. I’m probably one of very few people who don’t hate Mondays. Mondays are a great start to the week. I like to see my schedule all plotted out and planned. My secretary is a god among men, and what he can do with a spreadsheet and a calendar reminds me that the rest of us are just mere mortals. I’m truly lost without him. Luckily for me, I don’t have to be.
Also, Carter sees the mission of the greater good. He loves all the cloak-and-dagger shit that goes with running a secret legal aid society using the money I make from our high-profile clients, not to mention Jules kicks in a bunch of her old family money when no one is looking while she rules the air waves as one of the nation’s leading anchors for Eagle News Network. He has likened us to Clark Kent and Lois Lane. I’m Clark.
The silly code names Carter has monikered for us always make me smile, and that is exactly what I’m doing now as I throw back the covers and make my way into the kitchen to feed my tiny furry army. All eight of my little loves hustle into the kitchen and wait in their spots for breakfast when they hear the telltale signs of me moving in the morning. I turn my Keurig on before I pull their bowls from the cabinet and dish up their grub. Everyone is silent this morning as we are back to our early morning routine.
I quickly brew a cup of coffee and make my way back to my bathroom to get ready for the day. I strip off my pajamas and turn the taps in my shower to heat up the water before stepping into the tub with my coffee cup in hand. Time is of the essence!
By the time I finish washing, my coffee is also gone. I turn off the water and grab a towel. I wrap it around my body while I brush and dry my hair with a round brush before styling it in a sleek ballet bun on top of my head. I hang my towel back up on the rack before brushing my teeth and applying a light amount of makeup for a classic look. I smile at myself in the mirror. Last night, Jules helped me realize I need to put my personal feelings for Senator Chancellor aside and do the right thing for Open Arms. And it does feel right. After work, I’m going to contact his office and ask them to put my project on his desk.
I make my way into my closet and suit up in my uniform of the day—Chanel and Louboutin. I put a classic watch on my wrist and small diamond studs in my ears before heading out for the day. Again, the elevator arrives with a ding as I hit the call button, and when I step out the front door of my building, a cab magically appears as soon as I lift my hand in the air in that age-old signal that is bred into all New Yorkers.
Today is going to be an amazing day!
• • •
I FEEL LIKE THATRhianna song—work, work, work. All day long, Carter and I move through our schedule of one high-powered client after the next, solving problems as we go. I kind of feel a little unstoppable today. I have that gut feeling everything is about to work out just the way it’s supposed to, even though on my way uptown this morning there was another cache of tabloids all featuring Senator Chancellor splashed all over them. But then again, there’s nothing new there. Every morning, titles like “Jake’s Big Snake Tell-All” or “My Night in the Sexy Senator’s Bed” grace the front pages of every publication.
Jules even has to cover him often, as her job as a major cable news anchor requires it. Thankfully, Jules is a class act. She only covers the election and his work as a U.S. Senator. She wouldn’t lower herself to common gossip.
I’ve just finished with another client in the conference room and am heading back to my corner office when Carter stops me in the hallway.
“Hey, Clark,” he calls out, making me smile.
“What’s up, Carter?”
“I need your lunch order for the deli,” he says. “And this was left on my desk for you.”
“That spinach and berry salad that I can’t seem to stay away from. With some grilled chicken please. And what’s this?” I ask as I take the plain manila envelope from his hands.
“I have no idea,” he says with a shrug. “I should have lunch in your office in thirty.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” I make my way back into my office and shut the door behind me. I drop the envelope on top of my desk and sit down in my chair. My feet ache from my power shoes, but I don’t care. The pain keeps me aware of my surroundings, and right now my Spidey senses are dinging away as I stare at the sealed envelope in front of me.
I carefully pick it up. It doesn’t feel very heavy. I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders back. It’s probably nothing. But it doesn’t feel like nothing. I slide a delicately polished fingernail under the seal and lift the flap. I pull out a single sheet of paper with a short, typed note on it and find I was right all along; this isn’t nothing. This is bad. It’s so very bad.
Today is not amazing!
“No. No, no, no, no, no!” I say as I shake the envelope and a stack of glossy pictures falls out on top of the note. I can already see what they’re of, and it doesn’t surprise me like it should. I can still feel his hand burning its imprint onto the skin of my ass. One look at my face and my arousal is there for all to see, not to mention the outline of my hard nipples pressing against the silk of my favorite little black dress. My worst fears have been imagined. It looks like last night I accidentally became another notch in the bedpost of Jacob Monroe Chancellor, and all because of a carelessly dropped dessert spoon.
He looks like he wantedyoufor dessert.
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’ve ever had has been not only respectable but also discrete—hell, the last two signed Non-Disclosure Agreements—and if I’m being honest, a little boring. Actually, my life is more than a little boring. So boring that I just don’t know how this could have 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. And not in a good way. Not in the way it flushed last night when the sexy senator gripped my ass in his strong hand like a man who knew what he wanted to do with it. And for a split second last night, I wanted him like I have never wanted a man before. Crap.
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 am the master of my world. I keep myself poised and in control no matter what. 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 was my dad’s desk in his office at his own law firm, and when I was a little girl, I used to say the ornate carvings on the front were “fancy.” It sits proud with its elegant scroll work along the edges.