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“I know what I see,” she continues, and I stop pacing as I wait for her to say something that will make me feel even worse… But her expression softens. All I see are big blue eyes peering at me with sympathy. I liked it much better when she hated me. “You’re clearly in more pain than you’re willing to admit,” she finishes.
Running a hand through my hair, I look away.
“Wouldn’t you be pissed that you had to hear about your parents’ deaths from the fucking news?” I admit out loud, and then dare to look at her again. “I am so inconsequential to everyone on my parents' staff that no one bothered to call me!” I raise my voice, feeling pent up anger that I have no way to release. The cabin of the plane is unable to contain all the rage and grief I have contained inside.
“What about…”
“Rausch?” I cut her off, assuming she’s referring to him because he showed up in my hotel the morning after, but not because he gave a shit about me. “He’s the reason I’m doing this.” I grab my empty glass and take it over to the bar, refilling it myself and holding a hand up to the stewardess who goes back in the galley.
Turning back around, I lean against the bar to face her. “He was going to let Lottie go,” I say. “Who the fuck knows what else he’s tried to do?”
“Lottie?”
“Our housekeeper,” I answer. “She practically fucking raised me.” I look over at Evangeline before continuing, “And before you go judging my privileged life, her family was more of a family to me than my own,” I say defensively.
Evangeline is quiet and so I continue, adding softly, “I called home earlier – I didn’t expect anyone to answer, but Lottie called me back. She told me that Rausch had called to talk to her about settling things with my parents’ house and their staff.” It was the one thing that fueled me further to go through with this. Destroying one person’s life was deplorable, but I couldn’t let him take the only constant person I’d ever known while growing up.
“I can understand that,” she says, causing my eyes to snap over to hers.
“Rausch is not someone you want to have control over you,” I say with a purposely ominous tone. “My father trusted him, and by all means, he did his job well, but sometimes…” I pause. “Sometimes I wondered who was really in office.”
“I got that impression when he called me a hooker.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, and when he told me to go back to the corner I came from,” she says with slight amusement.
“Oh, come on now.” I walk over to my seat, feeling a little turbulence as the plane moves through some clouds. “I didn’t think you were the kind of woman to get offended that easily.”
Her black eyelashes flutter against her bangs. “A man like Rausch wants power, but he can’t get it on his own, so he has to take it from someone else.”
“Is that your official diagnosis?”
“That’s what I know.”
I lean back in my seat and cross my legs, impressed, and unable to hide it. I’m beginning to realize that there is so much more to her than just a pretty face. “You’re very observant.”
“That’s my job.”
“I thought your job was to spread your legs?”
“Only someone simpleminded would think that. You said it yourself, Dare,” she accentuates my shortened name, “but only part of it. Every powerful man’s downfall is underestimating a woman,” she says. “Even a hooker.”
I can’t help but laugh. “History just might prove that statement correct.”
“Rausch is someone you want on your side in a political battle, but having him as an enemy is political suicide.” I shake my head and sigh before looking at her when I say, “And Rausch does not like me.” Which is reason enough for him to make me grovel, if not take everything away from me.
“I wonder why that is?” Evangeline asks sarcastically, tipping her chin at me.
“I’ve never wanted to be a politician, so I don’t give a shit if he likes me or not.” I smooth the wrinkles from my pants and look back up at her. She’s studying me in a way someone does when they’re deciding whether they trust you or not. “Besides, it’s just plain fun to be the thorn in his side.” I lean back into my chair, my body tired, and my mind weary. We get closer to Virginia with every mile the plane eats up, and the uneasiness in my stomach gets harder to ignore.
“I don’t like you,” Evangeline says with a stoic expression, “but I like Rausch even less.”
Her eyes are just as tired looking as mine feel. “It’s late. You should get some sleep before we arrive.”
I rise from my chair, only to drop to my knees in front of her. Her eyes go wide, and I can’t help but notice the thrumming pulse in her neck at my closeness. “You can recline the seat by pressing this button on the side.” I lean over her, and as a result, push her thighs apart as I take hold of her hand and guide her to where the button is. She smells like cherry blossoms, which is impossible, because we’re not even in Washington D.C yet and they’re out of season, but still, I smell it on her skin like a phantom omen of where we’re headed.
I put pressure on her finger, causing the seat to recline slowly, and watch as her breasts rise and fall with each breath under her sweater. When I decide she’s reclined enough to be comfortable enough to sleep, I let go of her hand and sit back on my heels, resting my palms on the tops of her thighs. Her muscles flex beneath my hand, the way skittish horses do.
Maybe she was right when she said the downfall of a powerful man was underestimating a woman, but what a downfall it is when it’s at the hand of a beautiful woman.
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