I opened Jason’s office, and he stood up, his eyes brimming with anger.
“What is it?” I asked him, raising my eyebrow once more. I realized, in that moment, that I really didn’t like Jason. He’d asked me out, and he hadn’t taken my refusal well. He was a sore loser as both a potential partner and a second-in-command. “Make it quick. I still didn’t cancel those phone interviews.”
Jason stepped forward. “I have a few questions for you, Amanda.”
His voice was so harsh, forcing me into a seat in front of his desk. I’d never sat there before; in fact, I’d never been to his office before. I’d always assumed it was below my pay grade. One of those Big Mouth Bass singing fish sat on his desk with a big sign that said, ‘HIT ME’ on it.
“I’m sorry? You have questions for me? Because I think the only questions we need to ask are to the voters,” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. His aggressiveness was outrageous.
Jason reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and leafed out a manila envelope. He tapped the edge of it against his lip. “What the hell is this about?” he asked. His voice was coy, almost excited.
I was tired of playing his game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, obviously,” I said, smacking my hand on my lap. “You won’t give me a single hint. Is it—I don’t know. Ratings from the week?”
He shook his head, his eyes glowing. “Guess again.” His voice was brimming with laughter.
I shrugged once more. “Fuck. I don’t know. A picture of your new laser hair chest removal?” I hated that the words came out of my mouth, but there they were. I watched him flinch, but only for a moment. Why didn’t this bother him more?
“All right. Give me the envelope,” I stated, swinging my hand over the desk. I twitted my fingers a bit. “I’m tired of playing your game.”
“Oh, no. I’m certain the entire federal government will be tired of playing your game in time,” Jason said, his eyes dark. “How’d you do it, Amanda? You sleep with the head boss? With everyone’s fucking boss?”
I flung my body over the desk now, growing so hot and angry. All thoughts of my supreme happiness from the previous evening had fallen to the ground, and I now sat in a pit of rage. I grasped the envelope out of his hand and I brought it toward my chest, huffing. My nose flared. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Look at the goddamned pictures,” Jason said haughtily. He wrapped his hand around his throat, feeling at a red rash that was growing. Nerves, I thought.
I opened the envelope, noticing that my hands were shaking. I hated that I was shaking in his presence. I cleared my throat and I removed the pictures, one by one.
In my lap sat three photos. All of them were of Xavier and I, making love throughout my apartment.
My heart sank. I felt the tears forming in my eyes—tears of shock, tears of anger. I couldn’t believe this was happening. One featured him behind me as I was positioned on all fours, on the table. A look of supreme pleasure rested on my face, and my breasts were open, so wide to the camera. In another, we were featured on the couch, my legs up around his neck and his dick thrust deep inside of me. His mouth was open in fits of pleasure. In another, I was straddling him, placing his dick in my mouth.
I brought my earnest, angry face toward Jason. “Who gave these to you?” I rasped. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. “Where the fuck did these come from?”
POWER #2
Chapter One
Jason, in a supreme, suave motion, swept the photos back into a folder, looking pleased with himself. I felt a single tear rushing down my cheeks as I gaped at him. The silence emanated between us.
He raised his eyebrow. “I can assure you that I’ve kept these photos to myself.” His ruffled shirt was tucked into his pants half-heartedly, like he’d been too excited about proving to me that he was above me, that he had my number—too excited to even tuck in his shirt appropriately.
“Why did you keep them? You could ruin me. You could ruin him,” I whispered.
Jason scoffed. “Of course. And you think I want that? To completely ruin you?” He cackled, tossing his head back. There was something so slimy about his laugh—something that didn’t make me so fearful. Rather, it made me want to cover my nose, like he was something foul-smelling that had been stuffed down my throat.
I wasn’t sure how to argue with him—how to reason with him. I cleared my throat. “Then what’s your angle, here?” I asked him, gesturing toward the folder. “Why would you come to me with these photos?” The images were still burned in my head: the images of me on that table, of his body over mine. I shivered. The worst thing that could ever happen had happened: I’d had an affair with the president and I’d been caught on camera.
“You mean—why did I place cameras in your apartment to catch this sure, brimming affair between you and the president?” he asked me. He cackled once more, leaning over his desk. I could smell his breath.
“I could turn you in—“ I began, so angry. “I could turn you in for—for breaking and entering—“
He laughed again, sniffing. “You really are hilarious,” he cackled. “Brains, humor, and beauty. No wonder the president wanted to fuck your brains out.”
I felt like punching him, then. I righted myself, no longer feeling like a victim. I wanted to kick this guy’s ass. “If you want to verbally abuse me with
these photos, then have at me and let me get the fuck out of here,” I said, my mind rushing. I knew that he had done this only because I hadn’t agreed to go on a date with him; I knew that he’d done this only because I had power over him. He wasn’t comfortable with it. He was rogue.
But he shook his head, ruffling his hand over his chin. “No, no. I want so much more than that. Sure, a jab here and there. But I think that I can use you, Amanda. And here, all this time, you thought that you could use me.”