Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Jax
I lay still on the bed in the dark, waiting for the sound of the door closing behind Preston as he left for his trip. Our conversation from a few hours ago echoed in my mind. I couldn’t remember the last time I willingly told someone about my parents dying. Preston respected the boundaries I erected all week, but something in the way he confessed his trouble sleeping before trips felt like an olive branch. I couldn’t decide if what I felt at his departure was relief or sadness.
I threw the covers off the bed, grabbing my laptop, and made my way to the couch. The timing of Preston’s trip couldn’t be better. This book was due to my editor on Wednesday, and it needed work. My alpha readers, people I met online who only knew my pen name and not my face, mentioned they found the emotional connection between the two heroines lacking. Considering how much of this book had been scramble written under the cover of darkness while I listened to Preston snore softly just feet away, I wasn’t terribly surprised. One of the hardest things about being an author sometimes was stepping outside yourself and not projecting on the pages how you felt at a given time.
With my computer in my lap, I dug into my manuscript. The light pouring in from the windows signaled several hours had passed without my notice. I stood up and stretched, realizing I was truly alone, and comfortable, in an apartment for the first time in a long time. Sure, other places I’d stayed emptied out when roommates traveled, but this was different
As a longtime subletter, I felt wanted in a place for the first time in years. More than Preston making room for my stuff when I moved in last week, he checked in on me, consciously or not. The combined grocery run put more food at my fingertips than I’d had in a long time. He clearly didn’t know a FODMAP diet from a nutrition pyramid, but gamely asked me what I often ate for dinner, and adjusted accordingly. He made sure I ate all three meals, because we were together morning, noon, and night. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate on such a regular schedule.
And if Preston noticed my occasional longer-than-normal bathroom trips, he didn’t comment on them, just like he gamely used the bathroom spray I added to the back of the toilet each time he used the facilities too. If you were in Preston Brandt’s orbit, he looked out for you. That’s just the guy he was.
I made a promise to myself that I would try to keep up the habits of eating real food throughout the weekend. Per usual for this point in revisions though, my writing took over, and I ended up ordering delivery all weekend. By Monday morning, my book felt like less of a mess, but my stomach couldn’t say the same.
“Morning, Jax,” Laurel greeted me as I walked into the office that morning.
“Morning, Laurel,” I responded. “Have a good weekend?”
“Not too bad. My cousin just moved to the city for a new job, so Caitlin and I helped her move. We discovered a fantastic happy hour just down the block from her place though. You’ll have to come with us some time. No offense, but you look like you could use a margarita.”
I blanched at the thought of adding tequila to my mixed-up stomach. “I had a long weekend full of work on a personal project, that’s all.”
“Awe, not stressed because you’re missing Preston?” she teased. It was a relief to have someone else know that things with Preston and I weren’t real, but Laurel took advantage of this role at every turn.
I rolled my eyes, but then realized some truth lay in her question. “I miss his meal planning, that’s for sure,” I quipped, gripping my stomach in an exaggerated way that made Laurel laugh.
“Speaking of Preston, he’s arranged a little something for us on Thursday evening. I’m supposed to tell you to clear your schedule.”
I blinked, a little taken aback. Why wouldn’t he just tell me himself? I realized then that Preston and I hadn’t talked since he left Saturday morning. Did that make me a failure as a fake fiancée? I wasn’t sure.
“I’m not sure Thursday evening is good for me. I have this big deadline on Wednesday and...”
“It has to be Thursday,” Laurel cut me off. “The good thing about Senator Marsden and Preston being gone until then is the office will be quiet and distraction free. You’ll definitely finish anything he left you in plenty of time, maybe even be able to get ahead.”
I didn’t bother correcting her it wasn’t senatorial comms stuff I was concerned about. It seemed like there was no getting out of the mandated date night on Thursday.
“All right, Thursday. I’ve got it noted. I’d better get to it then. Those responses to the weekend talk shows aren’t going to write themselves.”
Laurel waved and got back to her own work, the phone ringing as I walked down the hallway to my desk. I sat down, turned on my computer, but pulled my phone out before getting right to work.
Jax
So Thursday? What are you up to, Brandt?
I started going through my email while I waited for him to answer.
Preston
It’s a surprise. I’ll meet you in the office at 5:45, okay? We land at DCA at 5:00. Send good travel vibes, please.
Jax
Anything I should know about a dress code?
Preston
Whatever you wear to work will be fine.
Well, that was nothing to go on. Maybe I could get Laurel to spill more details over the next few days. It would be nice to have something to celebrate handing off another book. It was lonely having a secret pen name, no one to share in your accomplishments. I opened the shared folder to start crafting statements when my phone buzzed on my desk again.
Preston
On second thought, wear something blue. It’ll bring out your eyes.
Was my fake fiancé flirting with me? Certainly not.
Shaking my head, I put my phone on silent and got to work. Laurel wasn’t wrong. It should be easy to get through tasks today without the guys in the office. If I could sneak out early and get back to my book, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
W ednesday night, I sent my finished manuscript to my editor at nine and promptly passed out until the next morning. I woke up to three texts from Preston.
Preston
Did you see this? www.youtube.com/x7tU8LmP
I clicked on the link and saw the trailer for the new season of Survivor. I learned this week through texts that Preston binged old seasons in the evening, but only while he traveled, like a real weirdo.
Preston
The champions seasons are never my favorite, mostly because they give me the urge to cross reference their original seasons. It’s exhausting.
Please forget I ever told you that. It’s embarrassing and you could use it to jettison my future campaign if things between us go south.
I laughed out loud. Texts between Preston and I had regained that jokey cadence we’d lost after the couch purchasing incident. My stomach gave a nervous twinge at the thought of tonight. I presumed whatever his big surprise turned out to be would involve lights and encourage talking face-to-face. Preston Brandt was getting under my skin. There was no doubt about it.
My stomach twisted again, this time alerting me that nature was calling. This week had reached a point where anything I ate made me sick, no matter how safe it normally was for my system. Sometimes when I reached this stage, careful eating helped me get back on track. Other times, like this week, I entered a fuck it phase, and ate whatever sounded good and was convenient. As I cleansed the bathroom of this most recent encounter, I fully realized the error of that choice, given Preston would be back in this apartment with me tonight. Hopefully I could snap my system out of it with small meals and bland food choices.
The day turned out to be a real shitstorm in the professional realm as well. At his final campaign stop last night, Senator Marsden got into a shouting match with an opposition voter who interrupted his speech. Damage control took precedence most of the day, and we were scrambling to keep up with normal daily tasks.
“It’s after five, you know. You don’t have to be working so diligently. Senator Marsden is off on an emergency two-hour session with his kickboxing instructor, which should lull him to sleep for six hours, instead of his usual four.”
I smiled at my desk at the sound of Preston’s voice. Without looking up from the document I was editing, I said, “That’s rich coming from the man who admitted to regularly staying at the office past seven before he went and got himself engaged.” The smile widened as I took him in, all tall and handsome in his suit, leaning against the wall. His posture read tired, but his eyes sparkled.
“Birds of a feather, I guess,” he said, returning my smile.
“Guys, let’s goooo,” Laurel whined, appearing next to him. “Caitlin’s already there waiting for us and you know how long the line gets if you get there too long past six. I need a drink after today.”
I grabbed my coat and bag, following them out of the office. “I don’t know how long the line gets. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Preston answered mysteriously before Laurel could get a word out.
We entered the tunnel like we were heading back to the Capitol from the Russell Building, but then took a turn I hadn’t noticed before. I looked all around, trying to guess which direction we were headed, hoping they weren’t actually going to murder me as part of the second week on the job hazing.
“The Library of Congress?” I asked, as we started climbing a set of stairs at the end of the tunnel. A sign overhead showed our arrival at the building. “But isn’t it closed? It’s after five.”
“It’s Live! at the Library on Thursdays,” Laurel explained excitedly. “You get to be in the building after dark. They still do the tours and such, but there are adult beverages and music. It’s fun.”
We walked through the metal detectors and checked our coats and bags. I took in the marble and architecture of the building, craning my neck every which way. We climbed another set of stairs to the main level, where a crowd of people waited in line in the central open area, under the painted ceiling.
“Bless her. She got in line when I told her we were walking over. Let’s go.” Laurel led the way toward a pretty black woman in a red dress and tights, giving her a peck as she stepped close. “Caitlin, this is Jax, Preston’s fiancée I was telling you about.” The emphasis on the word gave away that Caitlin also knew the truth.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand to shake hers. “I can only imagine the energy this one brings into a home, considering how she is at the office.”
“I’m a fucking delight, thank you,” Laurel said, snaking her arm around Caitlin’s waist. “Plus, my energy means I’m great in bed.”
Caitlin looked at Laurel adoringly before meeting my eyes and muttering from the side of her mouth, “She’s not wrong.”
We all laughed. Preston asked Caitlin about her job at a human rights law firm. That conversation kept us occupied until our turn to order drinks came around.
“Just water for me,” I said to the woman looking at me expectantly.
“Wait,” Laurel interjected. “I’m not meaning to be a booze pusher if you really don’t want a drink, but didn’t you say you had a big deadline yesterday? Do you want something to celebrate? We can toast, and you can tell us what it was?”
I looked at Preston who shrugged. I turned back to the bartender, who looked a little less patient than she had thirty seconds ago. “I’ll take a Prosecco, please.”
Laurel was right. I did want to take this opportunity to celebrate with my new friends. I hadn’t eaten much today, but my stomach had been fairly stable since this morning. One glass shouldn’t hurt.
We sipped our drinks on the mezzanine level, leaning against the banisters and people watching. Laurel and Caitlin seemed to know half the people here tonight, someone always coming and going, saying hi, offering plans for the weekend, or extending an invite to some dinner or another.
Preston leaned down to mutter in my ear. “I’ve never felt like a collective third wheel before.”
I laughed softly, as I nodded in welcome to yet someone else stepping up to say hello. “Who knew your coworker was so popular?”
“Not me,” he answered. He nodded at my empty glass. “Do you want another drink?”
I glanced at the line and took stock of the effect of the bubbles reaching my head on a mostly empty stomach. “No, I think I’m good.”
He took my glass out of my hand and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. “Let’s go wait in line to walk through the reading room, then? The only problem with happy hour is so many of the exhibits are food and drink free.” He extended his elbow, and I threaded my hand through it. Ever the doting fiancé, at least while we were in public.
We chatted about his trip and he caught me up on the Survivor drama he watched this week, even though I had no idea who he was talking about. Soon, we were ushered forward and walked into the reading room. The size and grandness of the room struck me. The dome ceiling rose over the multiple floors of stacks, while chairs created individual workstations facing either the center of the circular room or the shelves of books. The hush of the room promised productivity and enlightenment, just by the vibes of the space.
Preston gently propelled me forward as the people behind us crowded in where I had stopped still.
“I should come here and write,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” he asked quietly as we completed our too quick circuit and exited the room.
“Oh, just imagining what it would be like to work in that room. Seems pretty quiet.”
“Definitely no senator outbursts, needy interns, or Laurels distracting you in that room. I think it’s pretty easy to apply for a card during business hours.”
I looked longingly over my shoulder. I wish we could have stayed longer.
“Come on, there’s an overlook where you can take it in uninterrupted.” Preston jerked his head toward a marble staircase leading to large glass panes overlooking the reading room.
We started heading that way when I saw a familiar face in the crowd.
“Fuck,” I said as I grabbed Preston’s arm and pulled him to the side of the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his head swiveling around in concern.
“That’s that devil woman over at The Dispatch who got me fired.” I leaned out from behind Preston and noticed her heading right for us.
I looked around and noticed a little alcove underneath the stairs next to us. I pulled Preston with me, leaning my back against the wall, my eyes closed. Maybe I overreacted slightly at the sight of my nemesis. I landed on my feet okay, but like I told the senator, I wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t come after me again. Avoiding her seemed easier.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Preston’s voice sounded from directly above me. I realized I still held onto his arm with a death grip and had pulled him flush against me in my fervor to get out of sight.
I looked up at my fake fiancé, taking my time to examine his features up close. The way his brow furrowed in concern at my worry. The fullness of his bottom lip. The flecks of brown and gold in his hazel eyes. The way those eyes were on my mouth.
“Jax?” he asked, his arm finding its way to the wall next to my head, as if he needed help standing.
“No,” I said, before pulling his head down, crushing his lips to mine. Almost just as quickly, he pulled his head back.
“No?” he asked, the confusion clear on his face.
“No, to telling you what’s going on. Yes, to the kissing,” I answered, throwing all caution to the wind.
Whether I could thank the adrenaline of spotting Peggy in the crowd or the feeling of a live wire lighting up my body when Preston’s lips met mine, any residual effects of the wine fled. Preston slid his arm from my grip, wrapping it around my lower back. He arched my hips into his as he deepened the kiss.
My shoulders dug into the wall behind me, even as he supported us with the hand above my head as he leaned in. I moved my hands up his chest, looping one around his neck to return the pressure, while the other tangled in his hair. Our mouths moved together, fiery and tender all at once, as we mapped each other’s lips. Preston groaned into my mouth, which I took as an invitation to tangle my tongue with his.
Then, two things happened almost simultaneously. First, the service elevator to my left chimed. The doors rattled open, revealing our tender embrace in a private spot at a very public event. Second, my stomach cramped threateningly, letting me know punishment lingered only moments away.
Preston stepped back when the elevator doors opened, running his hand across his mouth. A Library of Congress employee stood there looking amused. I slid to the side, out from between Preston and the wall, straightening my dress.
“I, uh, I need to go. You should find Laurel and Caitlin. I’ll see you back at your place. Later.”
I turned and nodded at the employee with as much dignity as I could and started walking toward the edge of the room, searching for the bathroom I noted when we walked in.
“Jax, wait,” Preston called from behind me, but I slipped into a group of visitors exiting the reading room, dodging this way and that to cut through the crowd, leaving him behind.
I locked the stall door behind me and put my face in my hands. What the hell was that?