Chapter 179
Hugo watches Mr. Carpenter like a hawk, so he notices the way Mr. Carpenter immediately stiffens at Edward Zimmer’s name.
Good. Hugo wants to make him uncomfortable. But he also wants Mr. Carpenter to think they might be in the same boat. Zimmer likely has dirt on Carpenter. Why couldn’t he have dirt on Hugo as well?
At least that’s what Hugo wants him to think.
Mr. Carpenter says, albeit somewhat tightly, “Mr. Zimmer will be a good president.”
“Yes,” Hugo lies. This time he wants it to be obvious.
He thinks he’s successful when Carpenter looks at him curiously.
Hugo pushes a bit deeper. “A man that… resourceful… should know how to handle the office.”
Mr. Carpenter stills again. For a Whisperer, he’s not very good at hiding his reactions.
“Don’t you think?” Hugo presses.
“Yes, well…” Carpenter clears his throat. “Why don’t we go inside? You will be very impressed with the crown molding. It’s the highlight of the door, undoubtedly.”
Hugo follows him inside, thinking Carpenter might be more willing to talk within the relative security of an empty house, but no matter how much Hugo mentions Zimmer again, Carpenter continuously redirects the conversation to the house.
In the end, Hugo is left empty handed of proof, though he has formed a rapport here. He’s hopeful he can exploit that in the future.
“What do you think?” Carpenter asks, at the end of the tour. “Will you be putting a deposit down today?”
“Not today, but I would like to swing by again and show some of my friends. Would you be available?”
If Carpenter had any kind of sense, he would hear alarm bells from what Hugo said. Hugo had already told him that he was in a hurry to buy, so for him to delay now would be suspicious.
But Carpenter once again proves that his greed outweighs his sense. “Of course, Hugo. Reach out to me whenever you wish.”
“Thank you… Chester…” Hugo says and feels dirty afterwards.
I work hard in the office, upset at myself for letting my past get in the way of my job. It hurts and is scary, knowing I will see Edward again, but I have to push myself. Miles needs me beside him to help him with the general election. If I’m busy hiding away, I’m a hindrance more than a help.
So I watch and rewatch all of Edward’s videos, ignoring my flipping stomach and my racing pulse. My fight or flight instinct seems to kick in whenever I see his face or hear his voice.
I’m hoping that exposure to it might help me settle down.
He can’t hurt me anymore, I remind myself. I’m a grown woman, not a defenseless little girl. I have Miles and Hugo and my family, all looking out for me. Security too. Miles thinks I don’t notice the man in a suit following me everywhere I go, but I do. I don’t say anything because I don’t mind.
Because I’m no longer avoiding Edward, I’m standing alongside Crystal and some of the other staff as we watch a sudden press conference from Edward’s team. I’m watching the moment the current president steps out and up to the podium.
Photos flash at a high speed rate, their shutters sounding through all the microphones.
The president is an older man with graying hair and a scar above his eye that he claims was from a motorcycle accident in his youth. He’s generally well-spoken and well-liked by both sides of the political aisle, though his policies have pissed off one side more than the other.
For him to be at Edward’s press conference sends a clear message. That bipartisanship he’s fought so hard for is gone.
“I am publically endorsing, for the next president, Edward Zimmer,” the president says.
Crystal gasps. Another staff member curses.
My own heart sinks. We always knew that the president would endorse Edward. He had to, sticking to party lines. But I’d hoped he would give us more time – time enough for us to fully expose Edward and have him be publically shamed.
No such luck.
The camera cuts away to Hugo, who walks onto the stage all smiles and happiness. As he eagerly shakes the president’s hand, they both turn toward the cameras. The perfect photo op.
It’s sure to be all over the news for the rest of the election.
“What do we do?” Crystal says, looking at me.
“We put out a statement,” I tell her. “We say that we are disappointed by the president’s choice but we will continue to work hard to show the people that the best path forward in this country is to support Miles for president.”
Crystal immediately starts taking notes as I speak, then nods throughout.
Suddenly the television turns off.
“So many glum faces in this room,” Miles says from behind us. He lowers the television remote to one of the desks. “The only thing that happened is something we expected anyway. This is no reason to give up.”
“The president is well-liked,” says another staff member. “He will draw away votes.”
“Then those are votes we will need to work extra hard to win back,” Miles says. “Don’t forget what we are fighting for: a stabilized economy, a stronger workforce, affordable housing and groceries. We are the best candidate to bring these ideas forward. The country needs us. We cannot lose hope.”
A few of the mores skeptical in our bunch start to come around as he talks, taking in all of his words. Soon, everyone feels motivated to work again.
“Miles will dominate at the debate,” I say. “Then everyone will know we are backing the right candidate.”
With that, everyone cheers and returns to work.
Miles walks closer to me. Giving me a cheeky grin, he whispers, “I’ll dominate, huh? Maybe we should practice that too?”
My cheeks heat up, blushing.
Ten minutes later, we are supposed to be prepping for the debate. I did bring in questions somewhere. They are likely on the floor now, along with other things from Miles’s desk.
We are supposed to be careful. The most careful we’ve been is locking the door.
My back is flat on Miles’s desk. He’s leaning over me, his hips between my outstretched thighs. His mouth is over mine, swallowing my moans and gasps.
Our clothes are askew. My dress is pulled up to my waist, my panties are around one ankle. Miles’s pants and boxers are around his ankles.
He’s pounding into me with enough force to shift the desk beneath us.
We need to be quiet, I know that. But it’s so difficult when he’s driving so deeply, filling me so full. God, and when he angles, hitting that tender spot inside of me with each inward thrust.
I claw down his back, wrinkling his clothing, holding on for dear life.
He stills a moment, checking the condom. It must have shifted slightly with the force of his thrusts.
In this moment, I regain a sense of clarity. “This is supposed to be debate prep…”
He grins as he thrusts into me again, as eagerly as before. “Then. Ask. Me. Something,” he says with each thrust.
Most of my thoughts immediately disappear. Well, later at least I can say that I tried.
Yet, as my thoughts scatter and pleasure overtakes everything else, I think of only one question.
But it has nothing to do with the debate.
Do you love me, Miles?
