Page 37 of A Man of Power

“Well, you did your best.”

I don’t tell him that my best might not be good enough. What if my gut is right and I just didn’t find the missing evidence to back my intuition?

Bastian’s eyes meet mine. When did I start thinking of him as “Bastian” and not “Sebastian”? I don’t know, but the transition happened seamlessly as if giving him a nickname was the simplest thing in the world. It’s unnerving. I’m treading in dangerous waters, and he’s a shark.

“You have to let it go,” he commands. “We’ll find you a new research project this week. Maybe you can deep-dive into some information for my transportation bill?”

I nod. “Sure,” I say slowly.

He takes my chin in his hand and forces my gaze to meet his. “Let. It. Go.”

I let out a long breath and nod again.

He rinses off and offers me a giant fluffy towel from a heated towel rack. I wrap myself in the luxurious cotton fibers and wait for him to dry off as I watch his muscles ripple with each swipe of his towel. Why does he have to be so perfect? Well, aside from that arrogance, but otherwise, he’s damn near perfect, even when he’s being a total playboy fuckhead.

He tosses me some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I have to roll the pants down a few times to make them stay, but they work, or at least they will for the ride back to my apartment. As we exit the bathroom, he hands me a small gym bag. It has my clothing from yesterday inside it.

I follow him to his car, and he drives us in silence toward the city.

The sun is rising as we get to the Potomac River. He’s taking a back way, driving us along the GW Parkway. He points to a tree branch hanging overhead and I gasp as I see a giant bald eagle sitting there.

He chuckles at my reaction. “I have yet to drive down this stretch of road without seeing one. It’s fitting, isn’t it?”

The GW Parkway leads to George Washington’s home, Mount Vernon. And he’s right, it is fitting. I giggle. “You always see one?”

He nods. “Every time. Strange, huh?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

He grins as he continues steering us toward our destination. “Why don’t you skip the hearing today?”

My head nearly rotates off my shoulders as I swivel it in his direction. “What? Why?”

He pats my leg. “I think you’ve become too invested. You have me better prepped than any other staffer ever has for a hearing on a matter that, quite frankly, is a done deal.”

I frown. “What do you mean, a done deal?”

“It’s a formality because of the size of the companies and such, Congress isn’t going to stop the merger. It’s more like a debriefing. You should get to work on the transportation stuff.”

Now I’m glaring at him. “But I’ve spent all this time prepping. What if Jared says something and you don’t know to ask a question?”

He gives me a pointed look. “And are you going to be in a chair next to me?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

He raises one eyebrow and part of me wants to smack him. “So there’s no point.”

“Fine, Congressman, whatever you want,” I state from between gritted teeth as I cross my arms and look out the window. He laughs at my surliness. Damn it, he is such a fucking asshole sometimes. I continue to give him the cold shoulder as I watch the monuments appear in the distance. Fine, if he doesn’t want my help, then I will go do research, just as he requested. As he pulls up to my apartment, I realize I missed class last night. Fuck! I’ll have to email my professors, I’ve been really good about not missing any classes, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but I don’t like the fact that I was so wrapped up in his chaos that I forgot about school.

He parks in front of my apartment. “I’ll meet you at the office,” I say as I get out of the car.

“No. I will wait. Be quick,” he replies.

I groan and slam the door like a petulant child before walking inside to go get dressed.

* * *

After a quick change,I’m back downstairs. He’s standing by the car talking on the phone. He looks every part the D.C. playboy politician. He’s in a crisp suit with a red tie that has some blue pattern on it. He’s practically an American flag, a very sexy American flag.

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