Chapter 17
Clarke
I hated running or any form of physical exertion. And somehow, Will talked me into a three-mile run around the Capital. What was I thinking?
When we entered the lobby of my building, I hunched forward, palms on my knees, as I struggled to catch my breath. Will looked as if he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Damn hockey players.
Even when we had sex, he looked like he could go another two rounds with no break while I was a boneless mess, unable to move or think straight afterward.
“C’mon, girl.” Will tapped my shoulder. “I’ll make you a protein shake. Need to refuel this beautiful body.”
“I’m never running again,” I choked out as I rose to my full height.
Will hooked his arm around me. “You’ll learn to love it. Just how I’ll learn to love all your nerdy shit. For better or worse.”
I leaned against his hard bicep. “I’m not a nerd.”
“That’s debatable.”
I walked toward the elevator bank, and Will grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side.
“What the hell, Will?”
He pointed his finger across the lobby. “That looks like Ted Fairchild.”
I followed his finger, eyes wide in shock. “Holy shit! He was the Chief of Staff for Senator Banks until he ran for Senate.”
He lowered his arm to his side and looked at me. “The woman he’s with looks like a pro.”
Will was right.
“Of course, you would know that.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never paid for sex. But I’ve had enough offers to know when I see a pro.”
“I know her. Well, sort of. She lives on the twelfth floor. I’ve ridden the elevator with her and the men she brings home.”
I hid behind a pole and held up my phone. Focused on Ted and the hooker, I snapped pictures of them locking lips. Will removed his phone from his shorts pocket to take a few pictures.
As a political correspondent, a story this big could have made my career. Ted Fairchild was as high profile as they came. He was always in the news because of his political connections in town. The man was a giant asshole, but he had a lot of sway and influential friends.
I wonder how they will feel about him now…
Not that it was uncommon to find a politician caught in a sex scandal. This politician was a jerk and deserved to have his campaign shot to hell. We were a few months from the election, and he was ahead in the polls.
“Ted is a sleazeball,” he added, pocketing his phone.
“Do you know him?”
He nodded. “I met him through Duke Baldwin at a Caps game. He’s Duke’s wife’s ex-husband. They have a kid together.”
“Thank you. This story could… It could…”
Overcome by a mixture of emotions, I struggled to find the right words, so I kissed him.
Sliding my hands up his chest, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
Will just saved my ass. My boss had rejected the story I’d been working on for weeks for lack of proof.
And now, Will hit the jackpot of all political scandals.
I kissed him so hard and fast that we fell backward into the wall, and he hooked his arms around my middle. He smelled and tasted like sweat, not my favorite combination, but I could not get enough of him. We kissed until we were both breathless. After a while, I stole my lips from his.
“If I knew politics turned you on this much,” he muttered, “I would run for the mayor of Philly.”
“Shut up,” I groaned and shoved a hand at his chest.
He grabbed my hip and pulled me to him, planting soft kisses along my neck. I moaned and squirmed in his arms, though I didn’t move away from him.
“You lost the bet,” he informed me.
I stared into his pretty blue eyes. “No, I didn’t. You kissed me.”
“Nah, babe.” He ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair. “That kiss was all you.”
I sighed. “Whatever. Maybe I did. So what?”
Then his lips crashed into mine.
After our steamy kiss in the lobby, Will and I didn’t speak another word.
I took a cold shower to calm down and headed to the office.
Work was my number one priority. Having Will around would not deter me from my goal to be as successful as my father.
To write a story worth winning the Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting or the Edgar A.
Poe Award. He won both by the time he was my age.
It was not a race or a competition, but success was the only way to capture my father’s attention.
They say success is an addiction, and my father proved it.
He only attached himself to winners. Daddy dearest dined with everyone from presidents and heads of state to Wall Street titans.
Power ruled his world, a world in which I’d never felt as if I fit.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped onto my floor at The Washington Post. Coffee wafted through the air. I followed the sweet smell down the hall, hoping to grab a cup before the staff meeting.
I waved and said good morning to a few of my co-workers and made a beeline down the hall toward the conference room. Tired from the run with Will, I swapped out my usual heels for flats and the skirt for pants.
“Clarke,” Mark Tremmel said from the entrance to the conference room. He leaned his back against the door, holding it open. “You’re late.”
I guess I’m not grabbing a coffee.
I’d busted my ass back in Philly to get this job. But lately, I felt like I was on thin ice with my boss.
I checked my watch. It was three minutes to nine, but that was late by Mark’s standards.
“Sorry,” I said as I stepped into the room. “It won’t happen again.”
He slammed the door behind me, causing me to jump.
What the hell is his problem?
I acknowledged a few team members with a nod and sat beside Savanna. We hadn’t worked together since I’d first met Will in New York. Last year, we combined our resources and worked together on a story. The attention we garnered had brought us both to Washington, D.C.
“We need to talk, Mrs. Roman,” Savanna whispered.
I turned my head to see the smirk on her lips. “Shut up.”
“I can’t believe you married your booty call.”
I shook my head.
“Okay, people,” Mark said as he stood at the head of the table with his arms crossed over his suit-clad chest. “What do you have for me?”
Once a week, we had to pitch new story ideas to our boss.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him what I saw in the lobby with Will.
Everyone on our team was cutthroat, and even though political scandals weren’t uncommon in DC, I was hesitant to share this one.
The last good idea I pitched went to Zane Tucker, Mark’s golden boy.
Mark ripped the rug from under me in the middle of a meeting, acting as if I’d never presented the story.
Mark went around the table, adding his input to the seven people before me. Some people he dismissed, while others were told to pursue their leads. I debated whether to tell him about Ted Fairchild when he got to me. What if he gave away another one of my stories to his boys’ club?
I sucked down the fear and went for it. “I’m working on a lead,” I told Mark. “Possible political scandal.”
He propped his dress shoe on the chair beside him and leaned forward. “Let’s hear it.”
“Ted Fairchild. He’s running for—”
“Yes, we’re well aware,” Mark cut in.
“Did you know he likes the company of high-end call girls?”
Mark craned his head with interest. “Do you have proof?”
I nodded. “I spotted him this morning with a woman who lives in my building. She’s a prostitute.”
“You know this for sure?”
“I do.”
“This could be huge.” Mark’s devious grin stretched up to his dark irises. “Chase it down. See where this takes you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He nodded. “Good work.”
I let out a breath of relief. This story could catapult my career into the spotlight.
Savanna patted me on the back. “Girl, meet me for lunch. Seems we have a lot more than Romeo to chat about.”