“Explanation of what?” Xavier asked. His voice was leading, as if he were searching for something—an explanation for what was going on between us, instead of the campaign.
I cleared my throat. “Explanation of—of the campaign, of course,” I answered. I smiled at him, still looking somewhere far away from him, down the hall.
I spun back around and fled toward my desk. I passed by Jason’s, where I heard him speaking on the phone to one of our backers. It took all my strength not to spin toward him and pound his face with my fist.
I sat at my desk, feeling the chair dip beneath me. I cleared my throat, feeling such anxiety as I passed my eyes over my crew. This crew had been entrusted to me; I was meant to watch over it, to cultivate it.
Xavier appeared in the doorway, watching over all of us just as I was watching over them. I placed my hands onto my keyboard and began writing up a decidedly terribly email to another backer, something that I immediately deleted after I wrote it, my eyebrows still narrowed over my eyes. I had to get through the goddamned day.
Denise, from the previous day, approached my desk once more. In an uneasy, shaking voice, she tapped her pen against her portfolio and began speaking to me in what I was sure was English. I couldn’t understand her at all; the rushing in my brain was filtering out her words. I nodded as she tapped. Finally, I agreed to whatever she’d stated to me, and I watched her walk away with such stunning confidence. I had been her, only a few years before. I was only 29 years old.
And already, I was ruined.
I considered going into the president’s office and exposing Jason. I considered telling him what was going on, allowing him to arrest him. Before that day, Xavier had been someone I could trust. He had been more than a friend. He’d been someone I could laugh with over lunch, someone I was sure who held a comprehension of who I was and what I had gone through in order to get to the top.
However, I knew that if Jason didn’t hear wind of a promotion soon, he would expose the photos.
Suddenly, my computer bleeped at me, forcing my eyes to the screen. Suddenly, the computer showed an image of the president and I, both of us undressed and touching each other, our eyes closed. I saw such supreme desire on my face.
I snapped the computer closed before me, my face burning with such anger. I looked toward Jason, who continued to tap along at his own desk. However, his face reeked of guilt. He was teasing me.
I continued staring at him until he turned toward me and raised his eyebrows, mouthing the words:
“I’m coming for you.”
The words sent my heart directly into my stomach. I wanted to start crying. I brought my hands up to my forehead and felt my feet on the ground, bringing me up into the air. I sauntered toward the Oval Office, where I knew the president was sitting, waiting for me to approach him
Finally, I found myself at the door of the Oval Office. Outside, Dimitri stood, his face grim and long. “Amanda,” he said, nodding at me curtly.
“I require a brief meeting with the president to discuss his campaign,” I stated, my voice spewing with professionalism. I could turn it on when I needed it.
> “Absolutely, campaign manager,” Dimitri stated. His voice held none of the warmth of the previous years of our friendship. He flung his hand toward the door knob and opened it, revealing the stunning, light-filled Oval Office before me.
I entered the doorway and found myself face to face with the president once more. When I thought about it, I could nearly feel his mouth over my nipple, our tongues grasping at each other as we made love in my apartment.
I cleared my throat. “There’s something I must discuss with you, Mr. President.”
Xavier stood. His eyes looked at me with such familiarity. I knew that he felt terrible about the morning; I knew that he felt that I was backing away from our half-hearted relationship, unsure. But he didn’t know why.
“Amanda. Hello. I’m glad you came.”
I opened my mouth, my mind spinning. My anger was spewing in my heart. If only Jason hadn’t spied on me, I would be in Xavier’s lap now, kissing him. Falling for him. Laughing with him. But Jason had cut between us like a knife. I was so incredibly angry, because I’d planned to have this conversation with the president, anyway. I wanted to put Jason ahead. Not in my position, certainly. But I wanted him to succeed. At least, in that eternity that I would always call “before the photos” in my mind.
“I wanted to talk with you about Jason,” I said. I tugged at my oversized black jacket, nodding to him assertively.
Xavier sat down, gesturing forth to allow me to sit on the other side of his desk. “Please.”
I cleared my throat and sat, my eyes still peering over his shoulder and not toward his eyes. I could hardly look at him without being filled with desire. “I—“
“You don’t think he’s working out,” the president stated, interrupting me. “He seems much like a slimy snake to me. We can fire him immediately. I can have a whole series of interviewees to you in this afternoon.”
God, Xavier. Just shut up, I wanted to say to him. I couldn’t, of course.
I cleared my throat. “On the contrary, Mr. President—“ I spoke. There was such tension between us. I knew he wanted to fuck me in that moment; I knew he wanted to take me, there, on his presidential desk. “Jason is a true attribute to our mission here on the campaign trail. In fact, I would like to step down and allow him to move forward with the campaign. I’ll work beneath him; I wouldn’t abandon the campaign in a million years, of course.” I cleared my throat. I watched as his eyes lowered to the ground, disappointed. I knew that he felt I was doing this because of the other night, because I felt uncomfortable in his presence. I knew he felt he would never see me alone again. He was right.
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Amanda,” he whispered. His voice was so sad, filled with unhappiness. “I believe that you’re doing a fine job at the helm of the campaign. Suppose I didn’t allow you to quit?” His eyes turned up toward me, catching me for the first time. Our eye contact seemed to spew fire. I swallowed.
I shook my head. “There’s no possible way I can move forward at the helm of this campaign. I am sincerely sorry, Mr. President,” I said as resolutely as I could muster.