Page 10 of A Man of Power

He leans on the wall and waits for me to unlock the door.

“Uh, do you want to come in?” I ask because politeness was drilled into my brain by my mother, probably starting before birth.

He shakes his head after pausing for a moment. “No. I should be getting home. I’m heading out to my house for the night.”

“Oh, you don’t live in the city?” I ask, confusion forcing my eyebrows to knit together.

He shakes his head. “I have a studio apartment near the office for late nights, but my main home is farther out.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight, Alexis,” he says as he pushes off the wall. I can smell his cologne as a whoosh of air hits me.

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” I answer, my voice sounding breathier than normal.

I watch as he turns and walks back to the elevator, disappearing inside without saying another word. Going inside my apartment, I shut and lock the door. I lean back against it and stare up at my ceiling. Would he walk all his female employees up to their doors? Did I just cross a line? Did he just cross a line? Sighing, I toss my bag on a chair. I need to shower and go to bed, but mostly I need to stop thinking about Sebastian North.

Chapter5

Sebastian

Kensington Place.My headlights illuminate the street sign as I make the turn. It was a no-brainer to build here when Conner bought the property. Every home on this street is owned by one of my fraternity brothers. Every person on this street has direct connections to the man in the White House because he, too, is a fraternity brother. The irony that we all are kingmakers isn’t lost on me.

I pull into my driveway. The lots are large on our street. Aside from Conner, we each own two acres, which means I can barely see Conner’s and Aiden’s homes through the tree line. We took the last three lots at the end of the street, ensuring the cul-de-sac was all ours. I just wish we had more time to enjoy this private neighborhood we created.

Aaron Beacher, the current press secretary at the White House, lives in the first house on the left. Declan Kline, a federal judge who previously clerked at the Supreme Court, lives in the first house on the right. Then, there’s Bradley Jenkins, a lobbyist, and Kevin LaCosta, an FBI agent, and of course, Paul and Paxton Young, who are prominent attorneys and actual brothers. They were all members of our pledge class. And we took our pledge very seriously, so seriously that the man who had been our fraternity president’s older brother, a former frat president himself, now sits in the White House. Jason Lewis.

Aaron, Declan, Bradley, Kevin, Paul, Paxton, Conner, Aiden, and I were all pledge brothers in college. We formed a tight bond. It was never a question that when Conner bought this land, we’d all build our homes on it. The type of vows we took to protect each other are sacred. It helps that we do actually enjoy each other’s company. There’s seldom a month that goes by without a birthday party or a backyard barbecue. In some ways, our days of having a drink and hanging out in college haven’t changed that drastically. Only now, we drink better alcohol and watch sports games in state-of-the-art home theaters.

I glance over at the lit driveways leading to my best friends’ homes. Conner most definitely is in the city tonight at his penthouse, likely entertaining a lady. Conner’s little black book is something legends are made of. Aiden is probably already asleep. He’s a morning bird, always has been. It used to drive Conner insane. I smirk at the memories of him trying to wake Conner to go for a morning run.

More memories of those times drift through my mind as I park my car in my four-car garage and walk into my silent house. The fact that I live here is absurd. It’s five thousand square feet of space that I don’t need. It’s nowhere near the size of Conner’s house and ever so slightly larger than Aiden’s. I’m fucking Goldilocks.

Sighing, I open my beer fridge and pull out a lager as I glance toward the pile of mail that my cleaning lady left on my island. I toss some bills to the side, throw out junk mail, and look down at theWashington Tribune. I leaf through the political bullshit of the first few pages. I note some scores of games in the sports section. As I go to turn past the local news section, I frown, pausing as an article catches my eye.

MISSING COLLEGE STUDENT LAST SEEN IN ROCK CREEK PARK

I scan the article. Her parents are offering a reward for information. This was in broad daylight. She went for a jog. The details are so different from what I witnessed all those years ago, but it still makes my blood run cold.

I stare at the calendar on my desk. The approaching date seems ominous, the memories haunting. I walk out of the room. Tossing my beer away, I decide to do the only thing that calms me, working out. I throw on my gym clothes and start up the treadmill. I crank my music so loudly that no other thoughts can creep in my head as I sprint. I run until my legs burn until I feel nothing. When all the memories are silenced, I finish my run, grab a shower, and crawl into my bed, hoping for a dreamless night.

* * *

Don Carrollton is standingoutside my office door. Fucking great. This asshole is always breathing down my neck. He’s a modern-day crusader, only his cause is unknown. He pretends to be a lobbyist for various clients, but I think his endgame is really just to razz opponents. He hates me because I once called him out at a party about incorrect data he was reciting. Now, I’m public enemy number one. His favorite game is to get in the face of those he hates, rile us, and try to get us to publicly fight him so he can post it all over social media.

“Congressman, do you have a second?” he asks. I already see his assistant pulling out his phone to film whatever interaction is about to take place. I glance through the glass in my office door and see a wide-eyed Alexis.

I hold up a hand. “Sorry, Don. I’m on a tight schedule today. Perhaps another time.” I start to grab my door handle when he steps in front of me and holds up his phone. It’s a picture of a mother weeping over a casket.

“Your policies are bad ones, dangerous ones. This child didn’t have to die!” His voice rises slightly, and I see a few people talking down the hall turn to watch us.

I clench my jaw. He wants a rise out of me, but I can’t let him get one. “As I was saying, I can’t talk right now, Don.”

“But, Congressman, your law caused her death. Don’t you want to save young people, like Kara?”

My fist clenches as my eyes shoot daggers in his direction. I’m two seconds away from losing my shit. He knows Kara is a weakness for me. He wants me to get physical, but why? What’s his endgame? My rationale is starting to wane as he pushes the phone close to my face.

“Her death could have—”

---