Best Friend's Ex Box Set

I tried to bite his hand then. I tried to pull my legs up to kick him. My brain seemed to scream, internally.

“Now, now. Just calm down,” Jason cackled maniacally. “I know you’ve been through a great deal. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, in a few different ways.”

I allowed my mouth to relax. I tried to calm my body, my aching joints, my feet. But my heart wouldn’t stop beating so wildly in my chest.

“Okay. So. At the beginning of this—shall we call it—spiel, I told you that I wanted one thing, initially. And that was to be campaign manager. And you told me I would get what I wanted.”

My eyes gleamed toward him. I remembered telling the president that Jason should be the campaign manager, that it was meant for him. I remembered hating myself for doing it. It had been all I was working for. And then I was giving it away.

“And the president ramped up my responsibilities, yes. He told me he was considering me for the position,” Jason continued. “But then, he ultimately gave everything to you. Every meeting, you run. Every meeting with a congressman has you at the helm.” He arched his eyebrow. “And I’m sure you can comprehend why that would make me feel out of sorts. Can’t you?”

I nodded quickly, feeling my throat aching as I attempted to take in my oxygen between his fingers, deep in my nose.

“And then, of course, there’s this issue of you being—missing. Missing from your apartment, so I can’t keep an eye on things. Missing from meetings—and mysteriously appearing just a few moments after the president arrives. What am I meant to think of all this?”

I shrugged my shoulders. He opened his fingers, just a tad, allowing me to slurp up some oxygen and dart out some words. “It was a coincidence! I didn’t even know the president was late—“ I lied.

He clucked his tongue at the back of his throat, shaking his head. “Is that right, my dear? Well. I suppose my next question has to be this. Does the president know anything about the photographs? Have you done what you’ve been told to do—in keeping your mouth shut, I mean?”

I jerked my lips out once more. “I haven’t said a word to the president,” I lied once more. My voice sounded desperate. The sun had lurked beneath the clouds, and I was shivering beneath the shade of the tree.

Jason blinked toward me, expecting something more. He wanted me to give myself away, to tell on the president, to give him SOMETHING. But I had nothing. I blinked toward him, feeling as his arm loosened its grip a bit. All at once, I pushed against him, full force. I shoved him away from the tree, and I darted out of the shade,

up the steps, and into the shell of the gleaming White House. I wanted to yell, to scream out the attack! But I knew if I did, the photographs would be revealed. And so I cried into my elbow for a moment as I rushed forward, never looking back.

Even mid-tears, I steadied myself. Jason was finally coming to the end of his rope. He couldn’t take the pressure anymore. He was impatient, and he was probably about to make his move—to reveal the photographs to the world. I breathed heavily, trying to bring this comprehension to my mind. He was a ticking time bomb, and Xavier and I needed to act fast.

So much was on the line. I had to alert Xavier. I had so much to talk to him about—so much about our personal relationship, yes, and then so much regarding Jason’s terrorizing over us both. I sat on the steps that led up to the West Wing and cried into my hands for a moment, feeling like the soft, weak girl I’d never been. I’d always pitied those girls—those girls who couldn’t comprehend what to do with their problems. I’d certainly never been one, no. But here I was. Nearly falling from the edge of the cliff.

Finally, I righted myself. I wondered where Jason had gone. The staircase, the only one that brought you up from the Rose Garden, echoed only with my staggered breathing. I placed my hand on the wall and steadied my shaking body, inhaling and exhaling and appreciating every second of oxygen.

I hadn’t believed that Jason was capable of such terror, of such violence. My mind was suddenly rooted in ideas only of survival. I marched up the steps, knowing that I had to leave the White House, immediately. I had to give Jason time to cool off. I had to give myself time to think. I found myself in front of my desk, breathing heavily over my papers. I felt Jason’s presence in the room, several feet away. He was discussing something with one of the campaign team members. Both of them looked toward me as I staggered into my desk. I was a goddamned mess, and I knew it. Sweat dribbled down the line in the center of my lips.

“Miss Martin. Are you all right?” The young girl asked me, taking small steps toward me.

Jason leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. I was sure I heard the word “drug” amongst them. I grew hot, angry. The girl’s eyes molded toward me once more, confused. I wanted to shake her, to tell her it all wasn’t true.

I grabbed my things and swept through the room, now hearing the scattered gossip throughout. “Well. She has been sick an awful lot lately. What do you think it means? She’s a drug addict, obviously. Can’t get so far into the nation’s capitol without a little—you know. Extra oomph.”

My face burned. I dropped a few slips of paper as I scurried from the room, past the remaining offices. I found myself in front of the Oval Office, knowing that the president was in there. I wanted to stroke his chest, to ask him to tell me that everything was going to be all right. I knew that if anyone could assure me that the world was round, that it would continue to spin, it would be him.

In the shadow of the Secret Service agent beside me, I stroked the door longingly, wanting him. Wanting to touch him. I wanted to tell him everything that I’d been thinking—about our potential future, about how perhaps it would get in the way of the all-important nature of MY future. The one I had worked so hard for. I wanted to ram my fists against his chest, like a woman in an old black and white film, and demand answers from him. He was my president. And I needed his guidance.

But the agent leaned toward me and shook his head. “He’s not in, Miss Martin. He’s in a meeting with his wife.”

The skin on my face turned a sour white. I nodded toward the agent and thanked him, feeling my legs turn to jelly. I wound from the Oval Office, down the steps, and into the gleaming foyer below. A chandelier glinted above me.

I would find a way home, then. I would root myself in my bed and calculate the perfect, most essential plan to counter what Jason was effortlessly planning, somewhere in a strange, dark lair across the city.

Chapter Five

When I swept into Rachel’s home, however, I found her leaning against the counter, a glass of wine already in her hand and a smile on her face. She winked toward me. “I have some serious news,” she smiled.

I brought my hands to my face, allowing the worry from the previous day to fall around me. “What is it?” I gasped.

She eyed me, bringing her eyebrows up high on her forehead. “I have a date!”

I clapped my hands together, allowing my papers and folders to fall to the ground before me. They scattered, monstrously, on her fine, hardwood floor. I brought my hands around her thin shoulders and hugged her supremely, feeling such a happiness course through me. “I can’t believe this is true! Is it that—“