Chapter 17 Naomi
It takes me a few seconds to pull out of my thoughts and focus on what he just said.
“What?” I blink.
“Governor, Naomi! O’Donnell is resigning. Something about his son getting caught with drugs, though that’s only between us. They’re going to shush that up, but he’s stepping down. There’ll be expedited elections in August now to fill his seat, since the Governor’s seat is not supposed to be empty this year when the Board of Commissioners and Mayoral elections roll in in November.”
I didn’t pick up on half of what he’s said, though one word stands out.
“Governor?” I mumble.
“Yes! This was the plan, ultimately, but that was years down the line. Don’t you see? This is happening right now itself!”
“Provided you get elected,” I say quietly.
My dad makes a ‘Pah!’ gesture with his hand, brushing my concern away. But it’s the snort-chuckle from Thad that raises the hairs on the nape of my neck. It sounds as if my father being elected is not a matter of winning the elections—it’s already been decided.
By whom, I have no idea. ‘They’ want him as the next Governor, and nothing’s going to stop that.
Is this what Valentino meant when he said things have happened? He’s an important man, someone who makes things happen in this part of the country. A change at political level will affect him, so of course he’ll have his finger on the pulse.
“Our lives are about to change, darling,” my father says as he squeezes my hand.
I know. And it terrifies me. More so when he exchanges a knowing glance with Thad then gazes at me with a smile oozing paternal solicitude.
What the hell is he getting us into?
***
The next few days happen in a whirlwind. It’s a flurry of people visiting the house, cars taking my father to and fro while I’m left blissfully on the sidelines at home. I haven’t recovered from the shock of the news. My father thinks I’m still under the weather somewhat, and I don’t downplay this. Until Thursday when a barracuda in high heels steps into the conservatory, her perfectly made-up eyes giving me a once-over from head to toe.
“That won’t do,” she says.
I expect her to snap her fingers and make a coterie of people appear to truss me up like in an extreme makeover, but this doesn’t happen.
Anya Brennan is my dad’s new PR manager. Tall, thin, blonde—in her navy-blue tailored suit, pristine white silk blouse, and stilettos, with her long hair swishing in a ponytail, she’s the personalization of Corporate Barbie. Except for the shrewd grey eyes which miss nothing, and she seems to find a lot lacking about me.
“Get yourself together, honey. This—” she gestures at my loungewear, “—is not fit for the entourage of the future governor.”
I’m tempted to poke my tongue out at all her feminine perfection and ask her who she thinks she is to boss me around, but I know what she means. I’d been hiding behind the idea that being sick with a cold might get me off the hook of being involved in this campaign. Someone from DC came over yesterday to lead his efforts, so I’m no longer needed as campaign manager. I’m just here to be part of the scenery now, coming out of the woodwork all resplendent and gleaming smiles for photo ops and what not with my father. In short, his political wife.
I hate this, but if that’s what it takes to get my life back once he’s positioned in his official seat, I will bite my tongue and bear with.
I trudge up to my bedroom, knowing I have to make an effort. It reflects badly on myself first that I let myself go this much. If Valentino were to see me now, I doubt he’d find this woman desirable.
A text notification pings once I’m upstairs. The lock screen shows it’s Valentino—or Tina, actually. I heave in a deep breath. We haven’t communicated since Sunday. Our text thread once I came back up after my father’s bombshell went something like this:
Me: You knew?
Tina: He’s told you?
Me: Yes! You could’ve given me a heads’ up!
At this point, the screen showed he was typing, disappearing, typing again…
Tina: I have my own fires to put out.
Me: Thank you for your concern.
Tina: What do you want me to do?
Me: Nothing!
We left it like that.
And now, he’s texted back. As much as I’m craving to find what he’s said, I’m wary of opening the thread again. What if he breaks up with me? Via text. I really am living in a sea of Taylor Swift lyrics with him, it seems.
I sit on the bed, debating whether to open the text or not. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I pull it up.
Tina: You were my first, you know.
My eyes boggle at his words.
Me: Yeah, right. I saw you with those other girls.
Tina: You were my first quickie.
Me: ???
Tina: In the attic.
Heat suffuses me when I think back of what happened on that rug. Valentino is a big man, proportionate everywhere. My hand barely wrapped around his girth. I was also right wondering how I’d be able to get him into my mouth. I hardly fitted the silky, hot head of his cock in, and my jaw was already stretching like never before after a few licks and sucks.
Me: You tasted so good.
Tina: Now you’re making me horny.
Warmth pools between my thighs. What I wouldn’t give to have his lips on my pussy and his cock inside me right now.
Me: Thinking of my tongue licking your slit, tasting you?
Tina: Fuck!
I loved the taste of his pre-cum. Clean, salty. I wanted to get his cum on my tongue, too, but my pussy was yearning for his fucking too much, and the bitch won in the end.
Another time…
Me: I want to see you.
Tina: You know we can’t. If your father finds out…
Me: I know.
The ticks go blue, but he isn’t typing back. What could he say, anyway? We’re both stuck, prisoners of the life that was thrust upon us by our respective families.
I might be in the gallows right now, but there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Come August, when my dad is made Governor, I’ll be free. I’ll just have to hold on until then.
Will Valentino wait for me, though?
***
More than a month has gone by. Valentino and I have texted a few times, but neither of us has mentioned seeing each other again. I’ve heard wisps of talks my dad is engaging in. The door always closes on me or behind me before ‘big’ business gets discussed, but I hear some bits here and there. A pole pivot of his campaign will be safety, namely going after construction companies that cut corners and put innocent people’s lives at risk.
I was concerned for Valentino at first—his family business is mostly in construction—but I know he has nothing to worry about. He’s not the kind of man who’ll skim funds at the expense of innocents’ lives. Nor would his father have done this, either. I refuse to believe the person who brought up a stalwart man like Valentino would be crooked.
Still, I care about him, and I listen for any tidbit I can find about my dad’s plans. And lately, I’ve found a new treasure trove of information I can dig into.
Anya Brennan often leaves her files on the back seat of the car—I make sure to glimpse whenever I can skim the papers as I gather her stuff for her. She’s taken to making me tag along with her everywhere she goes. Like I can be useful to her in her PR efforts, though I know nothing of PR, and that field doesn’t really overlap with policymaking, which is my strength.
This morning, I’m having it up to here with her ordering me around like I’m her subordinate, or worse, an unpaid intern. I’m hovering in the kitchen, hoping to make her late so she’ll decide to leave without me.
My father’s not home, as usual. I hardly see him anymore. I’m looking forward to a blessed moment of quiet and stillness. We’re always tumbling in and out of hotel conference rooms, itinerant campaign offices, community centers where I have to smile so much, my cheeks hurt. Right now, I can just be as everyone else is gone. Who knows, I may even get to sneak next door and see if Valentino is home. We haven’t seen each other in so long, but the texts, as sporadic as they are, are keeping the lifeline between us alive.
I’m about to take a sip of coffee when my spine bristles and all the hairs on my body stand on end. My skin is hurting from the smarting; it’s not at all a pleasant feeling. My fingers freeze on the mug, my breath going shallow and coming in small, barely perceptible pants.
“Naomi,” a voice whispers near my ear, chilling me to the bone.
A cold pressure lands on the small of my back, making me recoil, but I bump into the counter. There’s nowhere to run. It feels like a hand on me, an unwelcome touch that’s icy and like dry tentacles.
Everything in me seizes up. The voice is saying something—I know it’s a man—and it sounds like “Finally” but I can’t be sure. His touch is now crawling up my spine, featherlight, disturbing. I can’t shake him off, because he has me pinned between him and the counter. My heart is galloping, my vision going black.
I can feel his hand slipping under my cashmere sweater. I didn’t think to wear a bodysuit or thermals underneath—it’s mid-February, and thus not so cold even outside. So, his touch lands directly onto my skin. It’s cold, but it hurts somewhat, like dry ice burning. It makes me recoil, but it also makes me edge backwards into him. Oh, God. His fingers are crawling up… I gasp, which seems to egg him on, as I can now feel the press of a stiff cock against the crack of my ass. I tense up, but is the asshole getting turned on by this? His wet tongue is now on the shell of my ear.
“Naomi, honey,” he murmurs, breath short and tone husky.
My blood has frozen by now. I can’t move. My vision is going dark, a loud ringing like the whoosh of water when diving filling my ears.
I’m gasping for breath, the movement heaving my chest up and down, and he’s now touching my bra—
“There you are!” an exasperated Anya bellows from somewhere behind me. “We’re going to be late, Naomi.”
I barely have time to blink before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me in her wake. Did she push the guy away? Because I’m no longer caged in; I can move. The mug lands down and crashes into pieces. I can’t feel hot coffee on me—what happened? But someone is tugging on my hand, and the touch feels safe even though it’s clenched tight around my fingers.
I walk along like an automaton. A part of me wants to know who’s the man who just cornered me, but I also don’t want to know. Not yet. I don’t want this monster to acquire a face.
I’m bundled into the passenger seat, and we’re on the road, Anya silent behind the wheel. I can’t look at her, or at anything really. My vision is returning but it’s patchy, with no focus. My breathing is erratic, too, though it’s getting better as we keep going.
We’re in Newark when I blink and focus. Looks like Anya is taking us into New York again.
“Stop the car,” I mumble urgently.
She wastes no time easing onto the side of the road. I’m out before she’s killed the engine, half my body still in the car, half leaning out and puking on the wet asphalt.
This goes on a minute or so, then I ease back into the warm interior and close the door.
She hands me a tissue and a bottle of water. “Are you okay?”
I nod, then squeak out a small yes. I stumble out this time, use the water to rinse my mouth, and get back in.
“Did he hurt you?” she asks.
“No.” My heart skips a beat. “But he started to…”
“I know.”
The hardness in her voice makes me look at her properly, and what I see has me confused. Anya’s jaw is tight, her lips a thin line, expression thunderous.
She saved me. Literally.
“Did you see who it was?” I ask.
“Not here,” she bites out.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly know I can trust her. With my life, even. She’s on my side. I saw her as the enemy before. Who wouldn’t, when the first thing she asked after giving me another once-over once I’d changed the day of our initial meeting was, “Do you have anything to hide? Because it’s best you tell me now lest we find out later and end up in a shitstorm I’ll have to clean up for everyone involved.”
Not exactly bestie material. But today, she came through. Thinking of that man’s cold hand on me— I gulp and shiver.
We take to the road again, silent throughout the trip. Anya stops the car in a small alley in Tribeca. She motions for me to exit, then follow her into a brick building from the back entrance that’s hidden by the emergency staircase.
We stop in front of an elevator.
“Seven-seven-five-nine,” she says with a nod at the keypad on the wall. “It’s a keyless lock.”
I enter the code, and the elevator takes us up, the doors opening onto a loft apartment with brick walls and big industrial windows. The interior is done in shades of viridian green and terracotta orange, which sounds chaotic but ends up rather calming.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Somewhere safe,” Anya says as she takes my hands in hers and pulls me to sit on the couch. “You’re sure you’re alright?”
“I…” I was all set to say I am, but I start shivering again. Anya pulls me into her arms, and I find myself sobbing away.
I got assaulted. In my own house. Almost raped.
Who would do this?
If Valentino comes to know about this, that man would be dead within the hour. Which means I can’t tell him. I can’t have him do something like this. Because these aren’t just words—Val would literally kill that person, with his bare hands, too.
“I knew that rat was up to something,” Anya says.
I pull away from her, stunned. “You know who it is?”
She frowns. “You don’t know?”
“I didn’t see him.”
She shakes her head. “Naomi, it was Thad.”
I gasp as horror fills me. “But he’s a robot.”
“With a dick. That’s always going to supersede any programming.”
“I can’t believe…” I pause and look at Anya, my eyes narrowing. Some things are clicking, some events lining up in my mind. “You never leave me alone around him.”
“With good reason. Look what happened today. You thought I’d left, didn’t you?”
I nod. “And so did Thad. The slimy…” I don’t even have words for this. “Wait till my father hears about this.”
Anya sighs. “Your father’s not going to do anything.”
I recoil in my seat. “What? No. He will. He—”
“He won’t. Thad has been appointed to his entourage by his biggest donor.”
“Still, he won’t put his career before his daughter.”
“It’s politics, Naomi. Of course he will.”
The absurd idea I once had when I met with Thad the day after the ball in our conservatory slips back in. At the time, I imagined my father might want to marry us off.
Is that why Thad thought he could take liberties with me? Because I’m to be his wife?
“I don’t get a say in this, do I?” I ask, realization dawning on me.
“In someone raping you? Of course you do!”
My mother might not have had a say… What am I thinking? And what’s my father thinking? I’m not some pawn he can move around as he pleases.
“I’m with someone,” I say out loud.
“Tina?” Anya shrugs. “I’ve seen texts popping up on your phone under the name.”
I can only blink at her, working to not let my mouth gape. If she saw, then who else did? Thank goodness I changed the name when I stored the number.
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” she continues gently. “My girlfriend’s name is Zara.”
I’m suddenly ashamed—I can’t let her think I’m gay when she just confessed this. “It’s a man. I changed the name in my contacts.”
“Ah.”
I don’t see reproach or condemnation on her features. How, and why, did I ever think her cold and unfeeling?
“And you miss him, this man? I don’t suppose you’ve been having many opportunities to meet lately.”
I chuckle, which comes out as a snort. “When you’ve been carting me around everywhere every day?”
She laughs, too. “It was for your own good.”
Her words make us both sober up. I can’t believe she was protecting me from Thad all along.
“This is a safe place, Naomi. And I gave you the code. Whenever you need a breather, come here,” she says as she gets up.
I start to follow, but she puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Stay. I was going to bring you to the office with me today to go through some paperwork. No one will know you’re not there with me. I’ll pick you up around six, okay?”
Tears are pricking my eyes at her kindness. I get up and hug her.
After a few seconds, she pulls away. “Call your man. See if you can’t meet up today.” She winks. “Maybe even fit in a quickie, who knows?”
The memory of Valentino telling me I was his first quickie slides in, and I can feel myself turning bright red. Anya laughs as she leaves.
Glancing around the room, it’s only now I realize she also brought my purse. It’s on a stool near the kitchen island. I go to it and retrieve my phone.
I have a free afternoon, away from prying eyes. And after what happened at home… I close my eyes and blank out this episode. It happened, yes, but I can’t let it destroy me or do anything but empower me to be my strongest self. I know what to look out for now, and I have an ally—better yet, a friend—in Anya.
And the one person who makes me come into myself and my power is none other than Valentino.
I find a pin of my location then send a text.
Me: I miss you. Come see me. I’ll be here all afternoon, alone.